Saturday 21st May 1842 Something terrible has happened. I can scarcely bring myself to write the words. I AM TO START AT THE MILL ON MONDAY. "You said never," I cried to Mother. Her face was white. "Oh Eliza," she said. "I'm so sorry. If there was anything I could have done..." "Where am I to work?" I demanded. The room was so quiet that I could hear myself breathe. "In the carding room. Sickness. They need more hands." I wasn't Eliza any more, just a pair of hands. Factory hands.
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Edition: My Story
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