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Squalor and Sympathy

by Matt Dovey

Anna concentrated on the cold, on the freezing water around her feet and the bruising sensation in her toes. So cold. So cold. So cold, she thought. A prickling warmth like pins and needles crackled inside her feet. It coursed through her body to her clenched hands and into the lead alloy handles of the cotton loom. Each thought of cold! kindled a fresh surge of heat inside and pushed the shuttle across the weave in a new burst of power. Anna’s unfocused eyes rested on the woven cotton feeding out of the back of the machine. It looks so warm.

The constant clacking of looms that filled the factory changed tempo, quieted slightly. Anna glanced to her right, where Sally White worked.

Sally was standing, her feet still in her water bucket, and talking to herself. “Sodding thing, gone and jammed on me again. No wonder I can’t meet numbers.” She was peering into the loom at where her shuttle must have caught.

“Here, let me help.” Anna took her bare feet out of the bucket and stepped over. Her own shuttle slowed and stopped as she released the handles.

“You can’t, Anna. If Shuttleworth sees you’ve stopped work, there’ll be hell to pay. I’ll get it sorted. Don’t you worry about me, you look after yourself.” Sally’s fingers were deftly picking at threads of cotton, darting in and out like a chicken pecking for seed. She had good reason to be so delicate: when the jam cleared, the tension in the threads would launch the shuttle across the loom, even without power, and any fingers in the way would be ruined.

“Don’t be daft,” said Anna. “It’ll take no time with two of us.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ears then reached in and held the shuttle, letting Sally unpick the knots and tangles more easily.

“Oh you’ve a good heart, you have, Anna. I do like you. Ain’t many folk like you around no more. The world’s a selfish place these days, and always looking out for itself. I’m glad you’re in it to look out for others still.”

Anna stared up at Sally. Her hair and skin were so pale as to be almost white, especially in the weak sunlight of the factory. She was only twenty-two, Anna knew, only five years older than Anna herself, but she looked worn through, like milk watered down too thin. “Why don’t you say something about this shuttle?” asked Anna. “It’s near worn out!”

“I can’t say owt about it. If I say I need a new shuttle, it’ll get docked from my pay, and I can’t afford that. I’m already having to work double shifts since my George shipped off to India with the Company. A new shuttle’d cost me a week’s pay, and I can’t have my Charlotte going hungry all that time, little angel.” Sally unpicked the last knot and pulled her fingers back quick like. Anna released the shuttle and it flew across the weave, sliding to a rest.

“She not old enough to earn something herself, yet?” asked Anna.”

“My Charlotte? Oh no, not yet. Well, I mean, she’s five now, and I hear they’re using kids that young down the lead mines ‘cos they scare easier at that age. They send them down to get all frit up by the dark, and then they sit them in a bucket with a load of mined lead, and them kids look up and see a bit of light at the top of the shaft and they start lifting the bucket with their Squalor ‘cos of how they’re so frantic to get out.”

“No!” Anna covered her mouth in shock. “That’s awful, the poor buggers!” The image of her brothers down a pit, terrified and sobbing, flashed into her mind, and Anna gave a shudder that had nowt to do with the factory’s winter chill.

“I know, terrible how people’ll take advantage of them that need the pay. If they tried to take my little Charlotte away from me and scare her like that, I’d tell them what for. They’d be jumping down that mineshaft themselves to hide from me, I tell you. The things they do to us desperate folk are awful. I’m not surprised them Luddites are making progress like they are.” Sally sat down again, feet in the water bucket and hands on the handles, and started her loom up.

Anna peered around, making sure no-one was close enough to overhear, then leaned in closer to Sally. “I keep hearing about these Luddites, since I started, but who are they?”

Sally checked around herself before answering, her voice barely audible over the sound of her loom. Her shuttle never slowed: she had the knack of focusing her Squalor without thinking about it. “I hear they started off wrecking machines, right? Supposed to be this one woman called Nelly Ludd who didn’t agree with engines, said they were instruments of cruelty and shackles round the poor. No-one’s ever seen her, but there’s this whole following now, and they aren’t just wrecking the odd machine anymore. I hear they’re threatening to shut factories down, if Shuttleworth won’t listen to their demands.”

“What they asking for?”

“Saying they’re the voice of the people, right? That everyone’s getting worked too hard and paid too little, and it ain’t fair to take advantage of people’s suffering to drive machinery. Squalor’s a gift from God to help them what need it most, and twisting it like this is the Devil’s work.”

“Sir John ain’t that bad as they go, though, is he? He don’t hurt no-one to coax their Squalor, not like some I’ve heard of.”

“Anna Williams,” boomed a voice. Anna startled in shock, and saw Sir John Shuttleworth on his balcony. He stood with a speaking trumpet, reading a sheet of paper—probably a list of names against looms so he could pick her out from the floor. She glanced back at her shuttle, stationary on the weave.

Sir John lifted the trumpet to his mouth again. “Come up to my office please, Anna Williams.”

Anna picked her way across the factory floor, rough stone hard on her bare feet. The clattering and clacking of the shuttles beat against her ears as her heart beat against her chest. She passed row upon row of grim-faced women, all with their feet in water buckets, all gripping lead handles tight. The cold made ‘em needy for the warm cotton coming out the looms, wishing they could wrap themselves in it. That need drove their Squalor, and their Squalor drove the machines.

Sir John Shuttleworth stood at the top of the iron stairs, awaiting her. His swept-back silver hair was stark against the black cloak he wore; his back was straight and his hands were clasped behind him. He stared down his hawkish nose at Anna as she climbed, and indicated his open door.

She hadn’t been in the office before. It was rich and warm, all mahogany and gilt, but the smell was what stood out. Where the factory floor was the single sharp note of sweet cotton, the office was earthy and musky and full of subtle scents, as complex as a summer forest at dusk.

She was about to step onto the plush rug before the desk, eager to feel its softness between her toes, when the noise of the factory cut out and Sir John’s voice said, quiet and dismissive, “Please remain on the floorboards. The water from your feet would damage the carpet.”

Anna set her foot down again and lowered her eyes as Sir John brushed past.

He seated himself and studied her over steepled fingers. “Miss Williams, pray tell: do I employ you to stand around conversing?”

“No, Sir John.” Be a meek little mouse, that’s what he wants.

“Are you singularly possessed of the unique ability to drive your loom without actually being sat at it?”

“No, Sir John.”

“Then kindly explain why you waste my time and factory space on conversations with your neighbour!”

“I was helping her unstick her shuttle,” Anna said, lifting her face to look at Sir John. “It’s getting awful worn, and it ain’t fair to make her pay for—”

“Is your shuttle in full working order, Miss Williams?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Then no-one else’s shuttle is any of your concern.”

“But if you’d just—”

“Enough!” Sir John slammed his palm on the desk, cutting Anna off. “This insubordination will be noted on your file.”

She lowered her eyes again. So much for meek little mouse. Can’t help but get involved, can you?

Sir John shuffled through papers till he arrived at her file. “Your address is Mrs. Hobble’s orphanage in town?” His voice was no longer angry, but curious. Anna didn’t trust the change.

“Yes, Sir John. I been raised there these last six years, and Mrs. Hobble lets me rent a room still.”

“And, in your opinion, are the boys there healthy, well-fed and strong?”

Anna stumbled for a moment. Boys? It was all women on the factory floor. Sally said men didn’t have the common sense to make a loom work, they were stupid brutes that could only use fear and anger for their Squalor. What could he want boys for? Children? There’s no work for kids except—oh no, the mines! What if he sends my brothers down a pit? Daniel’d choke down there, he hates being cooped up. Even Charlie’d struggle, and Jacob’s so young—

“You seem to be having some trouble, Miss Williams.”

Anna said nothing.

“Perhaps it is that you do not trust me. No, do not trouble to deny it—I fully expect you have heard mutterings on the floor… especially of late.” His face darkened for a moment; he dispelled it with a soft shake. “The truth is, I do not expect you to understand. I work for the betterment of the Empire and to the glory of Queen Victoria, a goal too lofty for your concerns. Thanks to Parkes’ new lead alloy, Britain alone possesses the secret to channelling Squalor for industrial purposes. The Prussians may think to challenge us, fuelled as they are by the coal reserves we so sorely lack, but we are lifted anew by a fresh spirit of invention built on the Squalor of the working class. The prize we compete for is the world itself, and all Britain would prosper from its riches; and if the price seems heavy now, the reward will be worth it. You may not trust me, but I assure you that, ultimately, I work with your best interests at heart. So I ask again: are the boys at the orphanage healthy and robust?”

Anna searched for something, anything to say, but what could she do? Sir John donated to the orphanage, and if he thought Mrs. Hobble wasn’t running the place right… “Yes, Sir John. Proper fed and raised well.”

“Good. Do tell Mrs. Hobble that I shall be enquiring with her forthwith, and she is to ensure that the boys are ready for presentation at all times. That will be all, thank you.” Sir John indicated the door behind Anna and turned to his papers, his earlier tirade apparently forgotten.

Pale faces followed her back to her loom, but Anna paid them no mind. What have I done? If he takes my boys… but what else could I have said? Oh, if only I’d not stood around nattering.

She stopped, her path blocked. Maud Farlin, gruff, broad, and imposing, stood in her way.

“You all right, girl?” asked Maud.

“Yes, thank you.” It hadn’t taken Anna long to clock Maud. She was the mother of the factory floor, but not soft and caring. No, she was a mother fox, watching over everyone and fighting for ‘em tooth and claw. Properly speaking, she was just another worker, but all the women looked to her.

“Shuttleworth didn’t give you no grief now, did he?”

“No.”

Maud stared intently, but Anna kept quiet. She’d let her mouth run away with her too much already today.

Maud grunted. “All right then. But you let me know if ever he does, right?”

Anna nodded and went back to her loom. In a few moments her feet were back in the water bucket, her hands were clasped around the lead grips, and the shuttle was running back and forth across the weave and filling Anna’s ears and mind with noise.

---

The winter winds chilled Anna something terrible as she walked the two miles back through Burnley, and she was grateful for the kitchen fire when she stepped in through the side door of the orphanage.

“Anna! Oh love, you look frozen.” Mrs. Hobble looked up from the tall kitchen table where she stood slicing bread. Her clothes were faded, layered on her round frame, but there was still enough colour in them to clash. “Come in, quick, and shut that door. Here, have yourself a slice. You need something in you to ward off a chill.”

Anna sat on a kitchen stool and unwound her scarf as Mrs. Hobble spread a thin layer of watery butter on a slice of bread. Anna took it without argument and began to eat.

“I’ve brought my rent,” she said between slow mouthfuls, putting a mixed handful of shillings and pennies on the table.

“Oh, you daft sod, I keep telling you, we don’t need your charity. You can stay here for nowt for as long as there’s room.”

“The house is riddled with holes, there ain’t never enough to go around, and you’re always taking more orphans in, so don’t tell me you don’t need charity.”

“We need charity, love, but we don’t need yours. You’ve got yourself to look after.”

“You looked after me for long enough, so if I can help in any way, I will.”

“Oh love, you don’t half say some daft things. Seeing you all grown up and standing on your own two feet is repayment enough, especially seeing you grown to care for others. You’re not that feral girl looking out for her own that I first met. So don’t you worry. You owe us nothing.”

“Even so, I ain’t taking it back. It’s yours.”

Mrs. Hobble put the bread knife down with a sigh. She’d sliced off a dozen or more slices of bread in the time they’d been talking, but the loaf hadn’t gotten any smaller.

Anna frowned. “Are you going hungry again so as you can stretch the food for the kids?”

“Needs must, love. Using my Squalor’s the only way I can get enough food to get them through this winter.”

“And what good is it to them if you can’t get through the winter? Take the money to buy some more and have yourself something to eat now. There soup left in that pot?” Anna nodded towards the kitchen fire.

“Aye, love, some chicken broth. It’s been on for three days though, so it’s getting a bit thin. I don’t know as it’s worth stretching out any longer.”

“You’ve gone hungry for three days? I’m not having that! Get that money put away in your desk and I’ll sort us both some bread and broth. Three days, you daft bint!”

Mrs. Hobble smiled, an exhausted smile between cheeks cracked red by winter, but Anna thought she could see some pride there, too. “All right then, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She went back into the house, skirts rustling as she left the warmth of the kitchen.

Anna sliced the last of the bread up, taking care with the knife against the tough, stale crust, and then took two bowls over to the pot and ladled some chicken broth out. Three days! I can’t hardly remember hunger like that. It must be bruising her insides to be so empty. Anna’s stomach clenched in sympathy, an oddly warm sensation. She filled both bowls: it hadn’t looked like there was much left, but somehow it stretched. It was surprising how much these old iron pots could hold.

The door burst open and her three younger brothers rushed in, tumbling into Anna’s legs with shouts of excitement.

Anna laughed, put the bowls down, and crouched to hug them each in turn. “And what are you little buggers doing up still, eh? I expect Mrs. Hobble here put you to bed an hour or more ago, yet here you are!”

Jacob, the youngest at seven, pulled Anna down into another hug and whispered in her ear, “We love you.”

A tide of love and gratitude swept through Anna while Jacob’s small hands tangled in her dark hair. “I love you too,” she said through a choked throat.

“We miss you when you’re not here,” said Charlie, the oldest of the three boys. He was taller now at twelve than Anna at seventeen, and just as serious as her too. He’d been old enough when they’d arrived at the orphanage six years before to know what was going on, and he’d needed to grow up near as fast as Anna; Daniel had been only two at the time, Jacob not even walking yet.

Anna would do anything for them to keep their innocence.

“Well I’ll still be here in the morning,” she said, smiling, “so you can get yourselves to bed now, aye? Go on with you, up the wooden hill you go!”

They filed out the door past Mrs. Hobble. Jacob and Daniel chattered as they went, and even Charlie was smiling. Mrs. Hobble saw them up the stairs before she came back and sat at the counter for her broth and bread.

“Eat up then,” said Mrs. Hobble, dipping a slice.

“You’ll look out for them, won’t you?” asked Anna in a quiet voice.

“Of course I will! I always have, haven’t I?”

Anna smiled weakly, but she couldn’t shake the image of the boys down a mineshaft, frightened and alone in the closed-in dark.

“What’s on your mind, love? Not like you to ask those sorts of questions.”

“Sir John had me in his office today. Asked if there were many strong boys here.”

“What’s he asking you that for?”

“I wish I knew. He pulled me up for talking instead of working, but when he saw I lived here, he started asking about the boys. He’d never have known to ask if I’d not been idling for him to catch me. He said he’d be by any time to inspect them, and for you to have ‘em ready at a moment’s notice.” Anna wiped round her bowl with the last of her bread, round and round, round and round. “Mrs. Hobble?”

“Yes, love?”

“Don’t let him take my boys, will you? When he comes, don’t let him take them. Please.”

Anna’s eyes welled up, and Mrs. Hobble reached across the counter to squeeze her hands.

“I just—” stumbled Anna. “I know it’s selfish of me, ‘cos he’ll take other boys instead, but I want them to have their childhood as long as they can.”

“You’re allowed a little selfishness, love. Everyone is. You think I run this place out of goodness? I’m as selfish as anyone. I only do this so as I don’t have to work in them mills. Everyone has to look out for themselves these days, ‘cos no-one else’ll do it for you anymore.”

“I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of ‘em. I want them to know how to stand up for themselves.”

“Now that’s one lesson I don’t think they’ll have any trouble learning, not with you around to teach them.”

Anna smiled again, but more genuinely this time. Still, it was tempered by sadness, like cold rain on warm skin. “I just hope they don’t have to learn it as hard as I did.”

---

Anna clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. They ached from hours of cold. Her bare feet were almost blue in the water bucket, though it was difficult to tell in the gloom. Another gust of winter wind blew through the factory, raw and biting.

Shuttleworth had declared the doors remain open at the start of the shift, “to encourage motivation and boost production”. Everyone knew why: another of his factories outside of town was still burning this morning, a great plume of black smoke dropping ash all through Burnley. _Nelly Ludd and her Luddites_ had been the awed rumour at first, Nelly Ludd and her Luddites_ the bitter recrimination after Shuttleworth’s announcement, _Nelly Ludd and her Luddites a whisper lurking beneath the rattle of the looms, Luddites CHUDUNDUN Luddites CHUDUNDUN Luddites CHUDUNDUN.

The whispering had died now, though. Only the looms clattered, lulling Anna into a chilled torpor. Even Sally, who chattered through every shift, had fallen silent.

Which made her sudden scream all the more jarring.

Anna’s heart dropped past her guts as she leapt up. A scream like that meant only one thing in a cotton mill. Sally was sobbing on her stool, cradling her hand, face paler than Anna had ever seen it. Inside the loom the shuttle was tangled in yarn and glistening bright red with blood.

Sally’s good hand was half to frozen solid when Anna reached for it, muttering reassurances and gesturing for her to show her wounds. Bloody hell, ain’t no surprise her fingers got clumsy if they’re that cold.

Anna’s breath caught when she saw the ruin of Sally’s fingers. They were splintered and twisted, bone and tendon showing white through the red ribbon of muscle. A shiver ran through Anna and her hands clenched involuntarily, itching with imagined agony.

“Oh, Sally…” Tears blurred her vision as she wrapped a gentle hand around those broken, ragged fingers. All her sympathy welled up inside, near to choking her, building to a heat in her chest like coals glowing under breath. Sally couldn’t work the loom no more, and little Charlotte’d be crying with hunger every night. Charlotte! Sally wouldn’t ever stroke her angel’s face again, not tickle nor tease her.

The heat from Anna’s chest started to run down her arm and—she felt sure of it—into Sally’s fingers.

For a moment she stood there, confusion and astonishment locking her in place. The heat died, and her arm loosened, and she lifted her hand away.

Sally’s fingers were pink and raw, like new skin after a burn, but they were straight and whole again. In a week they’d show no sign of the injury.

Maud Farlin stomped up with some of her women and looked to Sally, her gruff face set grim. “What happened?”

Sally was vacant and numb, pale with shock.

Maud looked to Anna instead. “Did you see it?”

“No, but her shuttle’s stuck and there’s blood all over the weave. Reckon it caught her as she untangled the threads. Cold fingers ain’t fast fingers.”

Maud grimaced. “Aye, girl, that’s the Lord’s truth. Well let’s have a look, Sally. See how bad it is.”

Maud reached thick fingers down and lifted Sally’s hand into a feeble beam of sunlight.

“Teeth o’ Jesus,” said one of Maud’s women, “don’t know as I’d still be sharp enough after a full shift to focus my Squalor and fix myself that good.”

Anna kept quiet. What had happened? What… what was that?

“This is on Shuttleworth,” said Maud. “I’m amazed we ain’t had more of this today. Near as amazed as I am that you fixed yourself up, Sally. Ain’t many could do that.” She looked at Anna as she said it, looked at her closely, before turning to her women. More had gathered as they talked, and Maud raised her voice to them all. “I ain’t standing for this. No-one should have to risk themselves with these long shifts and cold draughts for his profit. C’mon Sally.” Maud put her hands on Sally’s shoulders and gently, but firmly, stood her up and led her out of the bucket of water and up to the front of the factory floor, beneath Shuttleworth’s balcony.

Anna got caught up in the group of women and hustled along with them.

“Shuttleworth!” shouted Maud. The factory slowed as all the women turned, uncertain what was happening.

No answer came from the office.

“Shuttleworth!”

Maud’s voice echoed in the silence. All the looms had stilled. Thin cloth whispered as women stood and joined the crowd.

“Shuttleworth!”

The door opened at last and Sir John stepped out, expression distracted and annoyed. He seemed surprised to find the mass of workers staring at him and his factory halted. The anger in the air broke through his arrogance for the briefest second before he regained his composure and set his hawkish face in a mask of disdain.

“Pay will be docked for this stoppage. Further punishment will be meted out to the ringleaders in due course, but I have more pressing appointments in town.”

In town? Oh Christ, not the orphanage! I’ve got to get to the boys! Anna tried to wriggle her way out of the crowd but she was held in, pinned at the front of it all.

“I will return at two hours past dusk, and I expect you all still to be working,” continued Shuttleworth. “If production does not meet my expectations, then I have a number of… newly redundant workers in need of fresh employment.” He turned to leave, black cloak flaring out as he spun.

Maud said, “We’ll not stand for this anymore, Shuttleworth.”

If the floor had seemed silent before, it almost ached with the absence of sound now.

Anna could feel the wrath in Sir John from here. The way he moved back to face Maud Farlin was too controlled, too tight, with none of his usual flamboyance.

“I do not care what you will stand for,” he said, knuckles white as they gripped the railing, “because it does not matter to me. You think your petty concerns are important when set against the Empire? Against progress?”

“You think us less important because we have to worry about food on the table each night?” Maud’s voice was just as quiet, just as angry.

“I think you less important because you are less important, woman! Learn your place and keep to it, else I will find someone else to fill it. All of you!” He stormed down the iron steps and out the factory, rage in every step.

“You hear that?” yelled Maud, face still upturned as if Shuttleworth remained on his balcony. “You hear what he thinks of us?” The crowd grumbled. “He thinks us inferior! He thinks us contemptible! He thinks us desperate!”

We are desperate. Anna tried to worm her way out of the crowd, her terror growing lockstep with the mob’s fury.

“Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” Maud faced her audience now, gesturing roughly. “Put you down like that? He ain’t no better than us. He’s no God-fearing man like he pretends. He’s sent by Satan himself! Building his dark mills on our fair moors! He’s a canker on our land and a canker on our souls. Why should we let him drag us down with him? Why should we suffer at his tainted hands? No more of his abuse or his scorn or his evil! No more!” Maud turned and stomped out, the looms seeming to quake as she passed, all the women behind her.

Anna followed out the door and then fled up the road, leaving the mob to their riot.

---

Anna ran for the orphanage, ran with abandon and fear, ran as fast as ever she could.

When Shuttleworth’s black and gold coach passed her, going back the other way, she ran even faster still.

She burst in through the front door and raced through the old house, searching for Mrs. Hobble, searching for the boys.

“Hello, love.” Mrs. Hobble’s voice was soft.

“Where are the boys? Where are the boys?”

“I’m sorry, love, I tried to keep them back… he had me gather all the boys in the front room, and I made sure your lads were tucked away, near hiding behind the sofa, but he went straight to ‘em… walked past all the boys standing proud and confident, like he wanted the frightened ones. I’m so sorry, love, I really am.” She twisted her coloured skirts between her hands.

Anna swallowed back the tears and the screams and the panic. Her throat hurt when she spoke. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for trying.” She gripped Mrs. Hobble’s arms in as reassuring a manner as she could muster, and then turned and fled before she could break down.

He wants the frightened ones. Boys that’ll scare easy down a mine. Where’s these mines he’s taking ‘em to, though? He said he’d be back at the factory past dusk, he must be taking them there first.

Anna ran. The exhaustion of a full day’s shift and the bitter Lancashire winter dulled her thoughts till she became focused on the run, the run to the factory, the run to the boys, eyes glazed and feet pounding and lungs burning like they were on—

Fire.

Fire, filling the horizon, blazing orange against the night.

Fire filling the factory and eating it up and casting the dark iron beams as shadows, huge black ribs bending inwards like a consumptive wreck on his deathbed.

“No…”

The heat of it washed against her face from all these hundreds of feet away, and the sharp smell of burning cotton stabbed at her nose. The fire flared in a gust of wind, and part of the roof collapsed.

“No!” she shouted, lurching forward into a sprint. Maybe there was a corner that hadn’t caught yet, maybe they’d gotten out and were standing the other side, maybe she could find them and help them and—

Strong arms wrapped themselves around her and lifted her off the ground.

“Careful now, girl, easy now. Easy!”

Anna kicked her heels and struggled against the grip, but she was held tight, and she was exhausted. She went limp, and let herself be lowered to the ground. A half-choked sob burst from her throat.

“Easy now, girl. You don’t want to be running down there.”

Anna looked up through tearful eyes. “Maud? Maud Farlin?”

“What you doing back here, girl?”

“I—my brothers—I—” and Anna collapsed again, a broken doll with strings cut by grief.

Maud waited. Anna wept out her tears, and mumbled, “They were in the factory.”

“Say what, girl?”

“My brothers. They were in the factory.”

“Can’t have been. We made sure no-one were about. What would they have been doing in there?”

“Shuttleworth took them from the orphanage earlier. He picked them out special and took ‘em in his carriage, so now they’ve burnt with him in that factory.” She broke down in tears again.

“Nelly!” shouted a new voice, rising up the hill—one of Maud’s women, thunder on her face. “We best get going. We’ve dallied too long.”

Maud—Nelly?—turned to the new woman. “Aye, in a moment. You lot need to vanish. Go on, all of you.”

“You can’t hang about. If they catch themselves Nelly Ludd, they’ll go hard on you.”

“I’ll be all right. I can look after myself, can’t I? Now get on with you.”

The woman clenched her jaw, but walked away without further argument.

Anna picked through what she’d heard. “Nelly… Ludd? You’re Nelly Ludd? What’s been attacking all the factories hereabouts? But you work in ours!”

“Aye, girl. So as I could keep an eye on that toad Shuttleworth. So as I’d know when he wasn’t about and we could burn his factory without burning him. I ain’t becoming a murderer on his account.”

It took a moment for Nelly’s words to sink in. “Sir John… wasn’t there?”

“No, girl. Nor was your boys. We knew Shuttleworth was coming back, so we waited till he left again.”

Relief washed through Anna. They’re ok, they’re ok, they’re not dead, they’re ok.

“Where are they, then?” she asked, looking up from the damp grass. “Has he taken them to his mines?”

“Shuttleworth ain’t got no mines, girl. Where’d you hear that?”

“But—why else take them? Where could they be?”

“Damned if I know. But they ain’t here.”

“You’ve got to help me find them!”

Nelly barked a single laugh. “I’ve got to get away from here is all I’ve got to do. I’ve got my own worries, girl.”

Anna stood. “No. No, you will help me. ‘Cos I know it was you now, what’s been burning the factories.”

Nelly’s face darkened. “You threatening me, girl?”

“What you gonna do? You wouldn’t burn Sir John for all he’s done, but you’d hurt me? Kill me? No, I don’t reckon that’s your way. I reckon you’ll help me. Because whatever he’s got planned with my brothers, stopping it would hurt his cause, and you’ll do it for that, if not for my boys.”

Nelly stared for a long moment, and then her broad face cracked a wicked grin. “I like you, girl. You got fight. Come on, then.”

“Where we going?”

“To Gawthorpe Hall. To Shuttleworth’s home.”

---

Habergham Drive was a tunnel through trees made bare by winter. The full moon slipped through the naked branches and littered the path with fractured shapes.

Anna and Nelly had walked in silence since turning away from the burning factory.

Nelly said, “Girl, say what’s bothering you.”

“Why did you burn the factory?”

“To stop Shuttleworth. To show him he can’t have it all his own way.”

“Like what?”

“Like chilling the factory floor so we work faster. Like us suffering the poisoning from Parkes’ bloody lead alloy. Like paying us in pennies and promises of an empire we’ve got no interest in.”

“Like you, then.”

“Careful how you speak, girl. I ain’t like him.”

“No? Burning that factory down to get back at Sir John? There’s people on that floor need those wages to eat, for their kids to eat, but you’ve made the decision for ‘em. You’ve dragged them into your fight whether they wanted it or not.”

“I’m being brave for them. They’d never stand up otherwise.”

“I expect Sir John’d say the same about his Empire, if you asked him. He’s being strong for ‘em, showing them how to stand up tall so as they can build something magnificent.”

“Tell me, girl, how does your Squalor work? Yours, mine, everyone’s?”

Anna’s indignation stumbled at the swerve in the conversation. “Well… necessity. Deprivation, I suppose. Squalor gives you just enough of what you need most, and you’ve got to really need it.”

“Exactly. Anyone could use Squalor, even all the toffs. But you ain’t got that necessity if you’re comfortable. So you think Shuttleworth and his kind’ll ever let us share in their wealth? No. They need us poor to build this Empire. Their machines’d stop dead if we ever had it good enough. The rich’ll get richer and the poor’ll stay poor and they’ll keep us in our place so as they can keep exploiting us.”

“And you don’t exploit people? You use them as tools to try and change the world in a way you reckon is best, thinking you know better. There’s ways of changing the world without ruining lives like you have tonight.”

“I ain’t the one who’s stolen your brothers,” said Nelly, quiet with rage.

“No, I suppose you ain’t at that. You’re the one helping me get ‘em back. But even then, you’re doing that to get at Sir John, not out of charity. You and everyone else in this world, you’re all so selfish now.”

Nelly didn’t seem angry at that. If anything, she looked sorrowful. “Aye, girl, the world’s a selfish place now. Time was people cared for others. We didn’t only have Squalor to save us then. We had Sympathy too.” Nelly looked askance at Anna, an odd expression in her eyes, but she put a finger to her lips before Anna could ask more. She stepped behind the trunk of an ash tree at the edge of the wood and motioned for Anna to join her. “We’re there.”

Gawthorpe Hall was imposing in the night, a looming black shadow detailed in silver moonlight. The gravel drive was flanked by open lawns and ornamental gardens. Two coaches stood by the stables, one large and ornate, the other simpler but detailed in gold. Shuttleworth’s coach.

Men in red jackets and towering bearskin hats stood at the entrance, watching the approach.

“What are they doing here?” muttered Nelly.

“Who? Those soldiers?”

“Soldiers? Girl, they’re the Queen’s Guard.”

“Shouldn’t they be with the Queen, then?”

“Aye, girl, they should. But the Mourning Queen hasn’t left London for four years now. Not since Prince Albert died.”

“How we going to get past them?”

“We ain’t. Let’s try round the back.” Nelly moved off through the trees, keeping an eye on the Queen’s Guard and warning Anna into stillness whenever a mounted patrol moved round the garden.

A handful of Douglas-firs lined the side of the River Calder behind Gawthorpe Hall, enough of them to hide Anna and Nelly as they crept round. A painted wooden door stood at one corner of the hall, a warm light spilling from the kitchen window next to it.

“You’re faster than I am, girl. See if you can work that door open.”

Anna hunched low and ran across the lawn, a tingling fear at the base of her neck as she crossed the open space, praying against any guards rounding the corner. She grabbed at the black iron handle but it held firm and wouldn’t turn—locked. She tried again, heaving her shoulder against the door, but it remained stubbornly solid. The crawling fear was growing stronger, pressing in, and with a curse Anna turned and ran back to the safety of the treeline.

“No good,” she said, panting clouds of breath in the cold air. “There’s got to be another way in.”

“Hold this,” said Nelly, taking off her winter coat and passing it over.

“What you doing?” asked Anna.

“This hall’s been here more than two hundred and fifty years. Penny to a shilling there’s still a privy that drains into the river. If I can find the grate and work it loose, you might be small enough to make your way in.” Nelly finished taking her boots off and dropped into the river before Anna could question it further.

Anna was near frozen after a few minutes stood there. A frost was already settling under the clear, starry sky, and the wind bit through to her skin. I don’t know how Nelly’s managing in that water. I can bare feel my toes just stood here. The exhaustion was catching up. She’d worked a full shift that day, and Squalor came at a price, drained something out of you. Two guards passed by on horseback, and Anna ducked down behind the trees. Crouched there, tucked away from the wind, Anna’s eyes and limbs grew heavy.

The sudden splash of Nelly heaving herself onto the riverbank shocked Anna back awake. “Help me out, girl,” said Nelly, teeth chattering.

Anna grabbed Nelly’s out-stretched hand and hauled her up onto the grass. Anna put the winter coat around her, but it didn’t seem to help stave off the chill.

“Found… the grate,” said Nelly, coughing and shaking, “but… couldn’t open it… lead, not iron, so… not rusted.” Nelly pulled the coat tighter around her, but she still convulsed with shivers. “Stayed in… too long. Had to try though…”

“Nelly, you’re gonna freeze to death! You need to warm yourself!”

“Too cold to… focus… my Squalor.” Her coughs were already weaker, rasping in her throat.

Oh Christ, she’s going to die on my account, that wind’s cutting through me and I ain’t soaked through with river water. I can’t imagine how cold she must be, in her guts and in her bones. Anna wrapped her arms around Nelly and tried to warm her, tried to give over some of the heat that was churning in her own chest, but the wind and rain stole away what little she had to give. She looked around, desperate, and her eyes caught on the kitchen window and the door next to it.

Anna heaved Nelly up, an arm around her waist and Nelly’s arm over her shoulders, and all but dragged the big woman to the door. She pulled hard at the handle but it was as firm as before, even with Nelly lending what strength she could.

Oh Lord, that’s it then! The chill’ll get in her bones and she’ll die out here, stuck the wrong side of a door from the stove that’d save her. She only needs to get through this door and get in! And as Anna felt the cold that she knew Nelly was feeling, felt it inside her, a new warmth flared out of her bones and through her fingers and the door gave way—

—and they stumbled into the kitchen, trying to catch their balance. Heat washed over them as Nelly slumped against the stove and Anna shut the door against the bitter winter.

“How… how did you do that… girl?”

Anna’s mouth opened and closed, but she had no answer.

“Doesn’t… matter. Find your brothers.” Nelly’s voice was settling, the shivering lessening. “Go!”

Anna nodded and went to the kitchen door, cracking it open so she could peer through to the hallway beyond.

Tall canvases lined one side of the hall. Dark figures looked down from centuries past, repainted as ghosts by moonlight through the full-height windows. Warm light leaked from a door at the other end of the long gallery, but the hallway itself was empty. It seemed all the guards were outside.

Anna scurried down the hall, but as she passed through the bright shafts of moonlight, two Queen’s Guard on horseback turned the corner outside the house, clearly visible through the leaded windows.

She ducked inside the door at the end, heart pounding, eyes closed, throat clenched. As the seconds passed with no sound of alarum, she slid to the floor and breathed again.

The rushing in her ears subsided, and she opened her eyes.

Sir John was in the room, crouching over something in the flickering candlelight.

Panic and bile rose up her throat, and Anna cast about for somewhere, anywhere to hide. A plush sofa sat in the corner nearest her, and she scrambled towards it.

As soon as she crouched behind the sofa she peered back round it. A few candles struggled against the darkness, barely illuminating the rich hangings and thick carpets. An enormous chandelier glinted in the half-light above where Sir John crouched with his back to her, busying himself with a wide metal bowl. It must have been five foot across, and made of lead alloy to judge by its dull reflection. A bundle of cables trailed off behind an ornate modesty screen.

The door opened wide, and Anna pulled herself back into the corner.

“Ah,” came Sir John’s voice, “Your Majesty.”

Queen Victoria stepped into the room, yards from where Anna hid. She crossed the drawing room and sat in a large high-backed chair before the bowl, projecting authority, expectation, and not a little impatience.

“Well then, Sir John, let us be on with it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, a moment’s more preparation,” said Sir John with a bow. He moved smoothly from the bowl to the modesty screen, careful not to show his back to the Queen.

Anna moved to the other end of the sofa and tried to see where he went, but it was too dark behind the screen to see what he was up to.

She heard a whimper from behind it, though. A whimper she knew.

Boys!

A deep thrumming sound swelled up from the large lead bowl, and a cold light cast new shadows across the drawing room, stealing the darkness Anna had been about to move through. If he’s hurt them behind there…

The shining figure of a gentleman stood over the lead bowl, floating inches above it, as if on a step. He wavered, like a mirror underwater, and there was a leaden sheen to him. He was staring at Anna with a stern, unblinking expression.

The Mourning Queen stood and reached out one gloved hand to him.

Sir John stepped back into the room from behind the screen. “Prince Albert returned to you, Your Majesty. As promised.”

He’s calling the dead back! How in the Devil’s name is he doing that? Oh this ain’t no good thing. It can’t be. I’ve got to get the boys out of here!

Anna watched Prince Albert, waiting for him to look away, but he remained completely still.

Completely.

Queen Victoria stared at Prince Albert, and Sir John at Queen Victoria.

Cautiously, Anna slipped out from behind the sofa and along the wall. The shining image of Prince Albert pivoted to follow her, unmoving and static, but always facing her. He ain’t real!

Sneaking with absolute care, Anna passed inches behind Sir John’s back, in full view of the Queen and saved only by Her Majesty’s fixation on the shining apparition. Anna kept her eyes on Sir John, ready to run at the first sign of him turning, until she was behind the screen and stepping over the bundled cables.

Charlie. Daniel. Jacob.

Her brothers were sat on plain wooden chairs, wide-eyed and terrified. All three held a pair of lead handles, like the ones on Anna’s loom, cable trailing from the bottom and into the room.

Anna rushed to Jacob, youngest of the three and nearest her, and hugged his face to her neck. He felt cold—not winter cold, but deathly cold.

“Oh Jacob, what’s going on?” she whispered beneath the resonant thrum of the machine.

Jacob pulled his head away and stared over her shoulder, face taut with fear. Anna followed his gaze to a canvas of Prince Albert that hung on the screen. The image was the spit of the apparition in the bowl.

Charlie, the eldest, sat in the centre, and met Anna’s gaze as she turned back.

“Charlie! What is this?” she hissed.

“Anna, get out of here!” he whispered in reply. “You can’t risk getting caught!”

“I’m not going anywhere till I know what’s going on.”

“We have to bring Prince Albert back! Sir John told us of the Prussians and their invasion, how we need Prince Albert to stop them rampaging about with their filthy coal machines!”

“Rampaging Prussians? What nonsense is this? Look, there ain’t no way of bringing the dead back. That ain’t Prince Albert out there, it’s only an image!”

“Please, Anna, we have to do this!”

Anna looked at Charlie—really looked—and across at Daniel and Jacob. They were terrified. Desperate for salvation—salvation they needed from Prince Albert. That desperation was driving their Squalor and creating the image.

She had to get them out of here. But how could she do it without Shuttleworth knowing? If the image of Albert disappeared, he’d know something was up and catch them before they got away.

I’d take their place if I could, but I ain’t frightened enough for Shuttleworth’s machine. Oh, if only I could be as scared as them! Think, Anna, think. You’ve got to feel their terror like you felt Nelly’s cold, like you felt Sally’s pain, like—

—oh good Lord, that’s it. That’s how I’ve been doing it. It ain’t just what I need. It’s what _anyone_ needs, if I feel it strong enough.

Not just Squalor. Sympathy.

“Give me these,” she said, taking the lead handles from Charlie’s hands. “Get your brothers and get out. Go to the kitchen. There’s a woman there called Nelly, she’ll help.”

“What are you going to do?” whispered Charlie.

“I’ll bring Albert back, don’t you worry. Now go!”

As Charlie went to his brothers, Anna gripped the handles tight. _They’re so young. They’re so scared. Terrified of the Prussians, and only Albert can help. Albert. Albert._ Her stomach lurched with a hot fear. The lead handles were cold in her hands, a cold that spiked up her forearms like ice needles in her veins. Charlie was talking to Daniel and Jacob, and the cold surged as they released each handle. Her arms were numb now, and the ice was stabbing at her chest, roiling against the heat in her stomach. The light in the room began to dim.

The boys had all stopped to watch her. She turned to them with gritted teeth. “Go!”

The cold ebbed as her concentration broke. Stupid! Think of their fear, think of their fear, think of their—

“What is going on?” hissed a new voice.

Sir John stood the other side of Anna, his eyes filled with anger.

All the fear and terror and uncertainty in Anna, hers and the boys’ both, coalesced into a white-hot rage.

“You tell me, Shuttleworth. Scaring young boys like this? Terrifying them? No. You’ll not do it to them. I’ll do it for ‘em.”

Shuttleworth’s face was dark and clenched, quivering with anger. “Fine. Do it, and drain yourself. Divided amongst three, they would have had the strength to survive, but you will lose your life in this, _fool_. And see if I care.”

Another voice broke in. “One is alarmed at the mention of the loss of life.”

Shuttleworth almost jumped out of his skin as Queen Victoria spoke from behind him. Anna’s brothers stepped back into the modesty screen, knocking it over.

“Your Majesty,” said Shuttleworth, “my most abject apologies. Merely technical difficulties and nothing to be concerned with.” Sir John all but scraped the floor in his obsequiousness.

“On the contrary, the welfare of my subjects is of the utmost concern to me. What precisely is the arrangement here?”

“Ah… well, the lead alloy handles are a conduit for the emotions and energies of the—”

“One presumes you are about to lecture on Squalor. I assure you, Sir, I am aware of how my country prospers. My confusion pertains to the presence of these children and the apparent threat to their lives.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. The apparatus concentrates a desire for the Prince Consort, in this instance produced through fear, hence the requirement for such young… volunteers. The girl, however, is an intrusion shortly to be removed.”

“Fear? Why would anyone be afraid of my Albert?”

“The children were told of a threatened Prussian invasion, Your Majesty, that only Prince Albert could stop.”

“What utter nonsense!” Queen Victoria looked at the boys, at Anna holding the lead handles, and finally at Shuttleworth with imperious disdain. “No, this will not do. I will not stand by whilst one of my subjects sacrifices herself to save others. It is a queen’s duty to protect her citizens, and it is my place to make the sacrifice. I thank you, young lady, for reminding me of it. If you would be so kind?”

The Mourning Queen gestured. It took Anna a moment to realise she wanted the lead handles; she passed them over in a stunned silence, cables trailing.

The Queen spoke as she took hold of them. “A desire for the Prince Consort, you say? Who could have a stronger desire for Albert than I?”

“Your Majesty,” Shuttleworth panicked, “please, no!”

But his voice was lost beneath a sudden swell of noise from the bowl, an enormous hum that Anna felt in her ribcage, and the image of Prince Albert bloomed anew above the bowl: a thousand times more brilliant than before, and moving now, turning to face the Queen and look upon her, and despite the piercing blue light of that figure, Anna could see, quite clearly, the smile upon his face.

The Queen returned the smile, eyes shining with delight, and then collapsed to the floor, dead.

---

Dawn’s light stained Gawthorpe Hall with shades of pink and peach, and the frosted lawn twinkled copper and silver beneath Anna’s feet.

“You realise what you are then, girl?” asked Nelly.

“I figured it out in there. What you said earlier about Sympathy. Squalor’s a selfish thing, but Sympathy, caring for other people… why me, though? Why now?”

“You care about other folk, girl. You’re selfless in a way most have forgotten. And you’re of an age now where you’re not just thinking of yourself. Children are all wrapped up in themselves, but you’ve grown up. You think of them around you. I wondered if it was you as fixed Sally White’s fingers yesterday. Reckon it was.”

The Queen’s Guard marched Shuttleworth out of his own front door in shackles and threw him into a coach. Queen Victoria was borne behind him on the shoulders of her guardsmen, held high on a stretcher, lead handles still gripped in her hands.

“What’ll happen to him?” asked Anna. Daniel and Jacob hugged her from each side, and Charlie stood close by her shoulder.

“For regicide? They’ll strip him of his title and hang him.”

“I didn’t want him to die. In his own way he was trying to do the best for people.”

“If he thought he was what was best for folk, we’re better off without him.”

They fell silent as the carriages rolled past, gravel crunching in the crisp winter air.

“Come on then, girl,” said Nelly once the carriages had passed into the freezing mist that clung to Habergham Drive. “We can use you in the movement. A Sympathy witch looks good for us.”

“No.”

“No? Don’t you want to help?”

“Aye, I do. But I want to do it my way, Nelly Ludd. You ain’t what’s best for folk neither. You can follow me if you want, and Lord knows you’d make a powerful difference, but I’m changing the world my way. We can make the world a better place without having to make it worse first.”

Anna squeezed her brothers close in the chill morning air. “Come on then, boys, best get you home. Mrs. Hobble’ll have fretted herself half to death by now, worrying about us all.”

Daniel looked up from her side. “Haven’t you got to change the world, though?”

She smiled. “I have, aye. But I reckon I’ve got to get you lot to bed first. Now go on with you!”

She walked down the drive with her brothers beside her.

A moment later, Nelly Ludd followed.

---

Host Commentary

…aaaaand welcome back. That was SQUALOR AND SYMPATHY by yours truly, Matt Dovey, and if you enjoyed that, well, I’ve been everywhere round here. At PodCastle I’d particularly recommend CLOUDS IN A CLEAR BLUE SKY from episode 667 for something else very British and THE BONE POET AND GOD from episode 578 for something to make you cry; or episode 653 WHY AREN’T MILLENNIALS CONTINUING WORSHIP OF THE ELDER DARK? if you want something to make you laugh. There’s also episode 467 if you prefer the absurd, co-authored with Stewart C Baker as Baker and Dovey: HOW I BECAME CORUSCATING QUEEN OF ALL THE REALMS, PIERCED THE OBSIDIAN NIGHT, DESTROYED A LEGENDARY SWORD, AND SAVED MY HEART’S TRUE LOVE. It is possible you could chart a correlation between title length and humour content, yes. I’ve also been at Escape Pod, PseudoPod and Cast of Wonders, though, so you’ve plenty to choose from, whatever your mood.

Now to save myself from the agony of having to dissect my own story here by myself, and all the rambling that would entail, let’s dissect it with Graeme!

Matt Dovey

Graeme Dunlop, welcome back to Podcastle. And first off the bat: Would you like to introduce yourself for those listeners who might not have been around for your original editorial run?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Thanks very much Matt. Hi, I’m Graeme Dunlop, Some of you might know me, but some of you won’t. I’ve been around Escape Artists for quite a number of years. But specifically, Podcastle I was editor from April 2015 to January 2017. I used to host the pod and I would sometimes narrate stories, 

 

Matt Dovey

Yes, it’s lovely hearing your voice again because it just sounds exactly the same as it always did. It’s a real kick of nostalgia for me because I was listening to it when you were hosting a lot of time as well, before I was onboard. I’m trying to work out if we crossed.. we might have just about crossed over. I started when it was you and it was definitely Jen that brought me on. I think you were still just about around before Khalida took over.

 

Graeme Dunlop

That’s right. Yeah. I would have been.

 

Matt Dovey

I think it was July 2016. Ish. I started around then. I think so. Yeah. So it would have been a few months cross over. So speaking of me joining around 2016 Why this story by such an esteemed author as the ennobled Matt Dovey? I presume it was for more reasons than just to make me feel incredibly awkward at this point.

 

Graeme Dunlop

Oh, well that helps you know? 

 

Matt Dovey

*Laughs* fair enough. Make the British man squirm, Fair enough.

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah, This was one of the pictures that sorry, one of the stories that we chose Rachel, I think Rachel K Jones and I, when I was still the co-editor. And I think it’s one of those ones that just struck a chord with me. Now, I’ll be honest, I’m quite an anglophile. So, you know anything that’s set in an English melieu does bring it bring it strike a chord with me. I actually lived in England for probably about eight years. So, but this one, there are some stories that just kind of stick in my head. Obviously, there’s a lot that’s gone through at the time, but this one, there was something about it. I found it quite easy to actually do the outro some of the outros when you’re hosting, to try and make yourself sound as erudite as Alistair for example. 

 

Matt Dovey

Yeah, exactly the comparison I have in my head every time as well.

 

Graeme Dunlop

Exactly. It’s just about impossible, but this one I found quite easy. I think it was a fairly vivid story. I listened to it again recently. And there’s a lot of things I really like about it. It makes me angry sometimes listening to it, you know, like Sir John’s dismissive attitude of Anna and I don’t expect you to understand what I’m doing for the Empire. And you know, that kind of bullshit.

 

Matt Dovey

Yeah, there’s a lot of it’s still floating around British politics. I’m afraid.

 

Graeme Dunlop

There is, yeah, I do keep an eye on that. There’s, there’s genuine warmth here, like Anna’s love for her family and Anna and Mrs. Hubbell. And even you know the people, the way they interact, the people on the floor in the factory. There’s a genuine love and care and that’s something that’s, that’s really attractive. I know when I did the original host outro for this… There was a lot of things I said, but I think it’s, it’s, I posed a question or rather I’m sorry, there’s, there’s a thing at the end where the sympathy comes out. And it’s… it’s the warmth and it’s the it’s the counteracting, the counteracting force to the squalor. And it’s, it’s… it really gives a story a hopeful ending. It ends on a note of hope. And at the time, I said something like is our world too far gone to still value, that kind of deep sympathy? It can certainly seem that way at times. But I’d like to think we could all look beyond ourselves and, you know, look to the hopes and dreams of others. And honestly, that was, what, six years ago or whenever it was, even more so the day you pose that kind of question. But you would hope that there is still that kind of sympathy that we can have with each other to help each other pull through life.

 

Matt Dovey

Yeah, I think, I think there’s two competing forces out and I think they are class forces appropriate to the story I think, you know, social media is a huge enabler of that kind of sympathy. I mean, Twitter made me a better person and allowed me to see other perspectives, even if it wasn’t joining in the conversation. Just seeing conversations happening between other people gave me perspectives I might not have considered and understandings and I am a better person, in a lot of ways for the 10 years I spent on Twitter. And I think it’s telling that it’s then being bought and is being as far as I can tell, very deliberately destroyed by the richest man in the world. You know that… That is our source of sympathy and solidarity and I do I can say, solidarity is the greatest power in the world. And, you know, it’s interesting that, you know, this story comes back up again at a time where we are talking about AI tools, everything and so the Luddites are being referenced a lot again, and the whole thing about the Luddites wasn’t that they were against progress. Cory Doctorow has a great piece on this. They weren’t against progress. They were against, you know, skilled artisans being undermined and the skill and pride in the work being taken away. And that is what we’re seeing with AI creativity, for want of a better word now. AI isn’t creative, but it is undermining the creative arts. AI could probably spit out a action spy thriller script that’s you know, alright for a Netflix 50% rating one. But it’s never gonna give you you know, the real heights of cinema

 

Graeme Dunlop

That’s really interesting because there’s a podcast I listened to Kermode and Mayo’s Takes, yeah,. They’ve been talking about this a lot recently. And one of the things they say is that the AI it could spit out a first draft. Okay, and then people can take it from there. But talking about creativity that cuts out the whole thing of how do you even get creative in the first place? It’s You do the work, you make mistakes, and you build on that. So if the AI is doing that first draft, it’s cutting out a whole layer of the creative process and taking away experience.

 

Matt Dovey

For me, creativity is one of the definitions in my head is it’s the combination of two novel elements, two things that haven’t been combined before. Oftentimes I started with writing a story by taking two different ideas and seeing if I can sort of mash them together. Then an AI can’t do that. It can’t take novel things. They can only take things that have already been done, that it’s already stacked and interpreted. So yeah, he’s really taking away that real hearts of creativity. And yeah, you might get layers on top, you know, once humans have edited a bit, but it’s, it’s always going to have a cold dead robot heart isn’t it?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah it is, yeah, definitely.

 

Matt Dovey

So yeah, so I see I can’t see those forces of sympathy in the world, but I can see also the forces sort of aligned and arrayed against it because, you know, if I’m going to start getting very conspiratorial, a large part of the function of capitalism is to keep us miserable to keep us malleable and exploitable. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Well, that’s true. 

 

Matt Dovey

You know, they we have to be have the threats of homelessness and starvation over our heads to coerce us into partaking. We could feed the world. I mean, I’m being idealistic. I know, and it’s always more complicated, but, you know, a lot of how capitalism operates these days is coercion and keeping us miserable. And that is what the factory owners are trying to do here and take advantage of and quite a literal way. But in a metaphorical way, it’s what happens. There’s been I’ve read some articles recently about Why is America so lonely now? Because there is no downtown community anywhere anymore. Everybody’s just out in the suburbs disconnected, and there’s not a third place for people to be. The idea that you have your work, you have your home, but you also need to have a third place to exist socially. And that’s been ripped out of America in particular. And I mean, pubs are closing a record rate in Britain, it’s happening here as well. Not quite as fast but you know, it’s, it’s keeping us like sheep isn’t it I suppose? It’s keeping us miserable enough to be, but still with enough hope to think we could be happy. And then we will keep spending the money and tricking ourselves on the treadmill to attain that happiness isn’t it?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah well. That thing definitely comes out in your story. That’s one of the things that they say because the, the factory owner was very much Oh, I’m doing this for the Empire you could never understand blah blah blah, but later on, Nelly – Nelly Ludd says Well, do you think that you guys who have been downtrodden are the only ones that can produce a squalor? No of course not. Anybody can produce the squalor but you have to have the conditions to make that thrive. And the people who are in power, they’re too comfortable, and they’re not going to let go of that. So, there’s never going to be a time when this kind of thing that we’re using now benefits all of us in the same way that you’re talking about with capitalism keeping us down. 

 

Matt Dovey

Yeah, it needs those layers capitalism. It needs people to be you know, a working class at the bottom so that some people can live it up. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

That’s right.

 

Matt Dovey

There’s never going to be a time where they share it equally, because then the system collapses. And it’s just more literally the story, I suppose, isn’t it? 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah. 

 

Matt Dovey

Goodness, I’ve not thought about it for a lot of years, to be honest, I mean, that was my first story. Published story

 

Graeme Dunlop

Was it?

 

Matt Dovey

It wasn’t my first written one I had like 10 years of writing before that, you know, about five years before that actually of just, you know, trying to get published but that was my first professional published story that one. Yeah, not a bad way to start. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Definitely!

 

Matt Dovey

Never quite managed to write anything that long again and it took a while though- it was about six months it took to actually get into shape and the initial drafts really didn’t explain the magic at all they showed it but they never gave any eplanation it just accreted created layers of explanation so it makes sense to a reader rather than just to me, which is an important consideration.

 

Graeme Dunlop

How do you feel about the story now then? You’re still you’re still happy with it?

 

Matt Dovey

Yeah. I worry that the ending is almost a bit too pat and I’ve been trying to get away. I have an instinct to try to tie everything up at the end of the story in a way that is often in stories, but it’s not very true to life and I’m trying to create messier stories almost rather than polishing them as much as I did this one. I remain unconvinced I had the best idea for the machine at the end.  I really like the squalor magic and some of the examples of, with you know, the makings of the bread and the cutting of the soup and how it just keeps going. I really like the way the trains work and everything. I’m not quite sure that machine at the end I can’t remember – what’s the factory owners name?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Sir John Something or other.

 

Matt Dovey

It’s ripped off it’s a real factory name I ripped off but yeah, sort of the machinery that he’s got and everything it’s you know, there might have been better mechanics there. I feel like perhaps could have could have been more solid idea was a bit tangential. But you know fundamentally, I still stand by a lot. They’re stuck. With that sort of, you know, working class  power is not not even something I realised I was sort of writing as strongly as I did at the time. Very rarely, when I write a story do I actually know what I’m writing about? And it normallytakes about the third or fourth revision once I’ve had a couple of rounds of feedback for clicks around Oh, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. If anything, like politics around class warfare, for want of a better phrase, and sort of solidarity and the way people are towards it, that’s only gotten stronger and calcified. So I absolutely sort of stand behind the philosophy and the theme of it, definitely.

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah. Cool

 

Matt Dovey

Which you know, not it’s not true of all my stories, but this one it is I think. I’m still proud of this one. I think I did a decent job on it.

 

Graeme Dunlop

Good stuff. Yeah. Well, we like it for sure.

 

Matt Dovey

Enough to see us through those 10 minutes of conversation. So thank you. Thanks. So enough about me, what more about you then. How did you come to be involved with Podcastle in the first place?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Ah! well that’s a long and boring story, let me tell you,

 

Matt Dovey

*Laughs* This is the moment!

 

Graeme Dunlop

There’s a few, I dunno, circuitous things because I have been involved with a lot of things in Escape Artists. I was the audio producer for pseudopod for about six years. I was, actually the co-founder of Cast of Wonders as well.

 

Matt Dovey

Yes! You were.

 

Graeme Dunlop

And I’ve done a lot of stuff with the chief, sorry with the technical stuff, the websites and what have you in the background. So I think the very first time I started listening to stuff I was listening to Pseudopod. I think it was on Will Weaton’s recommendation actually, back in the day, so a long time ago. But that really got me in and then I started listening to some of the other pods Podcastle or Escape Pod. Well, that was the only three the time and I got involved in the forums a bit. And then I think there might have been a call for narrators and I, you know, I felt what the hell I’ll give this a go because I do like, public speaking and so on. And I’ve done I don’t know, narration for other things. So I wrote in and Rachel Swirsky, who was the, the editor at the time, gave me a go with a story that you actually ran recently in May, which is Biographical notes to a discourse on the nature of causality with aeroplanes by Benjamin Rosenbaum.

 

Matt Dovey

That was Anne Leckie’s choice, and it is a very excellent story.

 

Graeme Dunlop

It is yeah. And that was the one that Rachel gave me a chance with. And I didn’t have any proper audio equipment. I had some old crappy, realistic microphone or whatever it was, and I went ahead and did that. And I was so excited when that came out. I made my wife listen to it and poor woman because it’s actually one of the longer pieces that pseudopod sorry, Podcastle. Yeah. And I was just so excited. It just it was such a buzz. To hear. Hear… Well, I liked my narration of it anyway. But because I just I just love narrations. I love the way I think my bio says something about I love the spoken word and stuff but I do. I love the spoken word and narrations when you get a good narration for a story, man, it just lifts it. It’s it’s a magical thing. It really is. And that was my first and that was that was just amazing. And then it was not long after that, that a similar thing happened with the audio production for Pseudopod. So I wrote in for that and said hey, you know I’m interested in doing this. I didn’t know anything about audio, honestly. But it was the Lich King Ben who was, who taught me how to do the the audio stuff there and he was he was jumping out so I jumped in and I started doing the audio and that was awesome because I got to have a bit of a dialogue with Al, Alastair for quite a while and, and with the Pseudopod alums Sean and Alex and, and I got to hear narrations, I got to hear lots of very erudite stuff from Al. I just honestly the guys erudition is amazing. I don’t know how he does it? It was like for Pseudopod every week. You know, there’d be something different. He’d pick up some really, really important points with each story. He seemed to be able to say something about any of the stories something interesting. That really makes me think. 

Matt Dovey

Yeah, 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Anyway, so yeah, I got to do all that. And then a little bit down the track. There was a time when we were going through some transitions. I say we: that’s Escape Artists so I guess I felt like part of the family and Podcastle was at a bit of a crossroads. I think at that time, I had become a slush a slush reader. And I’m sorry, what do they call it now? Associate editor?

 

Matt Dovey

Associate editor? But yeah, slush reader. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

I’d been doing that for a while. And we’re in a bit of a crossroads. And we needed, needed something to carry us through. So I volunteered to be co-editor along with Rachel K. Jones. And so I stepped into a whole other area. Now, I talked about audio production. I hadn’t done anything like that before. And this this whole thing with Al’s erudition. That’s that’s like a bit of a recurring theme to me. I’m like, God, this guy knows all this stuff. How can I do an outro like him? And that was saying with the editors some of the some of the people I think had been semi professional editors or whatever stories before. I never done anything like that. I’m just a reader, right. But we stepped up and you know, I learned a lot of stuff about the kinds of stories that Podcastle likes to run. What would make a good, or you can’t see the air quotes I just did. But a “good” podcast story. Yeah. And working with other people as well. So that was great.

 

Matt Dovey 

A lot of learning on the job then throughout

 

Graeme Dunlop

Very much so, learning on the job Yeah. Yeah, let’s let’s leave it there.

 

Matt Dovey 

So what is it you’ve got against Escape pod that you’ve never worked there then? Given You’ve done Cast of Wonders, Pseudopod and Podcastle. why do you hate science fiction Graeme?

 

Graeme Dunlop

*Laughs*well, I don’t exactly hate science fiction. 

 

Matt Dovey 

No, I know. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

I’ve narrated a few stories for them, but comparatively few. It’s just an area I’d ever crossed over into. Possibly there was more crossover between Pseudopod and Podcastle or something

 

Matt Dovey 

To be fair, you co-edited one, audio produced another and founded a third. I mean, you can’t really be too upset that you only happen to narrate a few stories for the fourth. I think you’ve got a pretty good track record there. Did you have an assistant editor that was sort of helping with all the sort of background, you know, when it was you and Rachel were you doing all the contracts and stuff and finding narrators and sorting everything out between you?

 

Graeme Dunlop

We had Khalida Muhammad Ali, who was the assistant editor, and we had a bunch of associate editors of course. And from, from the start we had I think Rachel and I were coached a lot by Dave Thompson, who was a long-time editor. 

 

Matt Dovey 

Five years. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah, exactly. Yeah. So I think a lot of the mechanics were already in place, and we just had to follow what was what had already been done.

 

Matt Dovey 

Yeah, so by that point, it was kind of it was kind of recognisably what the team is in the structure is now I suppose really? With Priya as your audio producer then.

 

Graeme Dunlop

That’s right. Yes, we did. 

 

Matt Dovey 

So it’s still the same sort of setup as now because it’s obviously, early on it was just Rachel and Anne at the very beginning. 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah 

 

Matt Dovey 

But it had transitioned because we weren’t pro paying when you took over where we? I think that was under Jen that happened.

 

Graeme Dunlop

I think that’s right. Yeah. Yeah, we were, because Podcastle…In fact, all of the pods probably started out basically as reprint kind of things as it were. But I think by the time I got to it, we were maybe I don’t know 30 40% original and we may be increased that a bit as we went through, which is one of the things I’m really happy about. It’s great now that all the pods are, you know, launching pads for original, new original fiction. It’s awesome stuff. Yeah.

 

Matt Dovey 

Yeah, especially when it’s a debut I really love that. Yeah. It’s someone’s first sale.  It’s a real privilege, a real honour to do that. I always enjoy that one

 

Graeme Dunlop

I agree.

 

Matt Dovey 

There’s probably going to be a lot of answers this question given you said you parachuted in with no prior experience. But what surprised you about editing at podcastle that you didn’t expect going in?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Look, let me let me put it this way. It broadened my horizons a lot. Okay. Because one of the things that Podcastle was about is inclusivity, so it’s a very, very inclusive team. And it’s, it’s a very inclusive, editorial policy as well. For for all genders, for all types of people, all cultures all everything like that. And look, I’m Australian, I’m of a certain age, I had a very white upbringing. Okay, so what Podcastle will did for me personally, was to broaden my horizons and that that kind of surprised me because I wasn’t really expecting that coming in. I had to learn a lot about what would be a good story what would make for not good elements of stories, things that would be considered creepy, because they were just not. 

 

Matt Dovey 

From the perspective that is a white man’s?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah. Yes. Exactly. That Yeah. That kind of took me by surprise and turn me around a bit. Yeah. So it was it was

 

Matt Dovey 

No, but I don’t think there’s anything to be ashamed of, in that because we’re all initially at least only products of our environment and the culture around us, that we’re not in control of. You know, we’re being brought up, you know, we just inherit what’s around us without any awareness.

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah  

 

Matt Dovey 

And it’s having that ability to become aware and grow out of it. That is the real measure of someone I think. So. Yeah, there’s, there’s not any shame in having had regressive attitudes in the past where you’ve picked them up from the environment you were in, you know, you’re in Australia. I’ve growing up white and middle class in Britain. I inherited a lot of stuff from culture around me in the 90s. But it’s once you become made aware of those prejudices that you’ve picked up, and those you know, inequalities in the world. It’s how you respond at that point. I think that is your true measure. And if you choose to take the path to growth, it’s not an easy one. But it’s the only one you can morally take, isn’t it? 

 

Graeme Dunlop

Yeah, that’s true. 

 

Matt Dovey 

Yeah, and you know, it’s something that I’ve always noticed in Podcastle that is a real deliberate, conscious choice to try and be broad as a team and there’s stories we tell and everything and, you know, fantasy can really slip into that. There’s definitely a flavour of fantasy that appeals to certain regressive political types, that sort of whites, mediaeval European, milieu where ‘oh there can’t possibly be black people. There weren’t any’. Well, have you actually looked at any of the sources? because actually, there were plenty and a hell of a lot of international trade. There were black people in Britain in the Roman times and there sure as hell were after. You just don’t want to see any face that isn’t white and just say that please, instead of trying to… but yeah, fantasy I think can have, is always at risk of slipping back into sort of those models. And podcastles always very consciously fought against it. And I mean, last year, we did the indigenous magics specifically for we don’t want anything European we want all the other fantasies that we know are out there, but have never had the opportunity to sort of be told, because it’s, you know, you’re talking magic. There’s so much more to it than just, it’s a bit Lord of the Rings in it. I absolutely adore Lord of the Rings, but there’s a lot more to it than that

 

Graeme Dunlop

That’s right. Yeah, absolutely. 

 

Matt Dovey 

Um, what sort of change that you made or a decision you made during your time here, then are you most proud of something we can still see sort of in the show today?

 

Graeme Dunlop

Well, I think the move toward original fiction I won’t say that I came up with that at all. But certainly, I think Rachel and I, and then Jen and I, and you know, on from there the focus on original fiction and trying to get that through. That’s, that’s probably what I’m happiest about. I don’t see myself as particularly progressive as an editor. I probably think of myself more as, hey, I help keep this thing running. But, I guess,

 

Matt Dovey 

That’s what you did at that point in time though, I think that’s what sort of happened in the background and after Dave and Anna stepped down, there was a chance this whole thing was going to crash wiht the things that were going on. And you and Rachel came in and steadied that ship and built the actual foundations up again. That’s important stuff.

 

Graeme Dunlop 

That is right. Yeah. That was the situation and we did do that. So that I’m very, very proud of.

 

Matt Dovey 

And here we are now the third Hugo nomination. So look at the heights we’ve reached, built on your solid foundations that you gave us. 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Fantastic. 

 

Matt Dovey 

So if you’ve stepped down from being co editor sort of January 2017, you said you stayed on behind the scenes for years or returning last year you stopped being a tech barbarian keeping everything running. And as you were here long before doing other things in Escape Artists. What is it about escape artists do you think that keeps people participating so much and you know, wnating to be so involved?

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Well, yeah, I think I kind of referred to it before there’s a bit of a family feel. It probably depends on I don’t know how close you are to the to the centre or something. But look, it’s man, when you think about your professional life, Im work in IT. And sometimes it can be a slog ok. The people that you work with can be combative. Some of them are really nice, whatever. But I think we’ve with Podcastle, Even through the tough times, there was definitely a sense of hey, we’re in this together. And let’s pull together and make it work. You know, definitely like the best kind of family that will, you know, you can you can ride through the rough bits and there’ll be a bit of argy bargy but generally you know, that you’re all working towards the same kind of thing. And it’s honestly, it’s for the love of the fiction, the genre itself. Because it ain’t, it ain’t about the money. 

 

Matt Dovey 

No it’s not

 

Graeme Dunlop 

But I tell you something, actually. I’m in Australia. Okay, so I, I When I got involved, I had never met any of the people here, and I still haven’t met some of you. I’ve never met Al or Marguerite in person.

 

Matt Dovey 

He sounds exactly the same. In real life. It’s uncanny because you’ve heard his voice so many times on Pseudopod, or different hostings when you actually meet them in real life. And there’s a voice is exactly the same. It’s a real uncanny moment on hearing it Yeah, prepare yourself.

 

Graeme Dunlop 

But in 20 Oh, God must have been 20… I cant even remember, it was whatever it was, 2018 it might have been. I had the chance to go to America was like work, a work conference thing. And I planned to meet up with some of the people so Alex and Rachel and Dave and you know, they, they invited me to stay with them, some of them. Rachel and Dave. And I’m not I’m not a particularly extroverted person. I’m quite an introvert. So, being invited into somebody’s home it’s a lovely thing, but I’m always like, I’ve only met these people online, you know, are they gonna be like getting real life? You know what turns out they were. They were just as nice and lovely and generous and wonderful as I had expected them to be and it was just a wonderful experience. People I had never met but people who I already called friends and they actually were in real life as well.

 

Matt Dovey 

It is I mean, you meet anybody who’s, you know, you go to a convention, you know, who else is going to be there? and you meet anybody from anywhere else in the EA family. And it’s just that immediate, sort of, it gives you a connection anyway, because you’ve got this thing in common, but they’re always just easy for people to get ahold of and talk about this, just the kind of people who, you know, want to give their time because you are, you know, effectively volunteering, you know, we get a token payment these days, even the sluch readers, the associate editors that are getting a token about these days. Which we’re very proud of, because that’s very rare in genre fiction, It is one of those about broadening horizons, is trying to make it more accessible to people who traditionally have been excluded from publishing. When it’s a volunteer thing that tends to favour the people who are comfortable, which therefore tend to favour white middle class men. Which is why publishing houses, certainly traditional publishing, has a lot of the demographics it has. But the kind of people who are willing to give up their time for it just ends up being the kind of people who can get on with and yeah, man, I met Rachel out in America as well. And we were just, you know, I was in LA sort of a day before the writing workshop, and she had come up with her husband. What we’re going to do then now were here. Let’s go to the La Brea Tar Pits, and within like two hours, we’d like just rolling down the grassy hills on the side of the tar pits. It’s really rare, you know, like 30 plus years old rolling down like we’re still eight years old. These are the people you just get on with aren’t they?

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Yeah, absolutely.

 

Matt Dovey 

And I mean, You know, I’ve met every editor, maybe prior editor so far, and I was talking to Dave and we’re in Priya for a couple of episodes recently. Spoken to Rachel Swirsky. And, Anne Leckie and everybody I’ve talked to just so easy to get on with and nice to talk to. You know so insightful and clever as well, You talk about Al and his erudition and yeah, there’s got a lot of great insights. But you know, Rachel Swirsky, as well as got a lot of great insights, Anne Leckie’s got so much understanding. Yeah, everybody’s got just this level of active conscious thinking about what they’re doing. It’s really refreshing in the modern world, because you don’t often find it. 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Yeah, absolutely. 

 

Matt Dovey 

There’s a lot of people here. Yeah. Like you say, I mean, so when did you first start at EA then? Was Pseudopod sort of first thing you were active with beyond narration. So when did you kick off? With that then?

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Yeah, the Pseudopod that was March 2011.

 

Matt Dovey 

So it’s a good 11 years you did in EA then?

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Yeah, absolutely. 

 

Matt Dovey 

I mean that’s a long time to do anything. 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Yeah, that was March 2011. And then it was not too long after that July 2011. That I co-founded Castor wonders with Barry, Barry J Northern. And man that was… I was host, I was audio, I was frequently narrator there was a lot of stuff. It was a busy time.

 

Matt Dovey 

That’s really kicked off as well. And I mean, that’s a full equal partner in EA and everything and yeah, you know, it’s part of the achievements is to try and get more four now five podcasts of course now we’ve got cats cast as well. So yeah, I need to get story I’ve got narration in Cat’s Cast, so I still managed to narrate for all the podcasts but I haven’t had a story in Cats Cast yet. So my achievement’s card is now incomplete. Again, I need to get the catscast to knock it all off. We’ve got a couple of minutes left. So do you wanna, just tell the world about what you’re up to now and where people can find out more about you and your shenanigans.

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Yeah, absolutely. But I’m not real active on social media anymore. But when I when I left EA, I became involved with Toastmasters again, that’s something I was involved with before. Now if you don’t know what Toastmasters is, it’s a public speaking organisation. So it aims to give people skills to speak in public, but also leadership skills. And I’m very passionate about that. The speaking aspect to me is, like I was saying before it’s spoken word. My God the things that people come up with for speeches, about whatever subject. The ones that are personal or just great. Just hearing people’s stories is an amazing thing. So, when I say I’m involved, I’m in district 73, which represents Victoria, South Australia and Tasmania in Australia. I was extremely honoured to be Toastmaster Of The Year this year. 

 

Matt Dovey 

Congratulations. 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Thank you. But it’s because I love the way that people gain confidence in themselves through Toastmasters, just seeing people you see them from their first speech there. Sometimes they are physically trembling, but you see them a few speeches later and they are starting to speak with confidence and speak with erudition. And speak with humour and it is an amazing thing to give people that gift of self confidence. It is a wonderful thing. So as you can maybe tell from my voice. I’m pretty happy with Toastmasters.

 

Matt Dovey 

So if anybody’s around that area and wants to get involved they know how to work with them, who they can look up to but 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Definitely

 

Matt Dovey 

I did a bit of public speaking sort of back in the day and you saw the nerves and the adrenaline before you go on stage the first few times, just like your stomach is dropping through the stage. When you get on the stage and just get going you hit this sort of Zen plateau. Wonderful, isn’t?

 

Graeme Dunlop 

There’s Nothing like it. Fabulous.

 

Matt Dovey 

You feel like you’re flying don’t you. It’s incredible. 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

You do, right? 

 

Matt Dovey 

Our time is about to run short, though I’m afraid so all of our mainstream is to just say thank you very much. It’s been a real pleasure talking to you and a real delight just to hear your voice on the airwaves again, it never changes your voice and it is a wonderful social, smooth and warming good whiskey, possibly like the one you’re drinking.

 

Graeme Dunlop 

Thanks, man. Thanks for Thanks for thinking of me. I really appreciate it was great to talk to you.

 

Matt Dovey 

We wouldn’t have done this without trying to get you involved. So no thank you for taking the time to come back and regale us with tales of the olden days. 

 

Graeme Dunlop 

A pleasure 

 

Matt Dovey 

You are very much appreciated. Thank you for this and yeah, thank you for everything you’ve done for the podcast.

 

Graeme Dunlop 

No problem. See you later.