PART 1—
THE CULTURAL STRUCTURE OF THE WORKPLACE
2—
Concepts and Practices of Labor
The senses have therefore become directly in their practice theoreticians.
Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844
Classical political economy, that garrulous companion to the development of capitalism in the two centuries that preceded our own, poses a riddle that anyone would have recognized had they held the means of answering it. On the eve of the industrial revolution, the British Isles provided a home for the development of a vigorous economic theory that treated the labor embodied in products as the determinant of their relative prices. The most notable contributors to this body of thought in Britain, from Adam Smith to John Stuart Mill, conceived the purchase of labor from workers as a process equivalent to the acquisition of labor incorporated in a tangible product. Adam Smith revealed this assumption in the Wealth of Nations when he theorized the exchange of labor in an "opulent" society, where the division of labor was far advanced. In this setting, Smith reasoned, "every workman has a great quantity of his own work to dispose of beyond what he himself has occasion for; and every other workman being in exactly the same situation, he is enabled to exchange a great quantity of his own goods for a great quantity, or, what comes to the same thing, for the price of a great quantity of theirs."[1] Even when Smith, as well as the British economists who followed him, took stock of the sale of labor by subordinate wage-earners rather than by independent craftspeople, they continued to imagine the transfer of labor as if it were handed over embodied in a product.
[1] An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976), p. 15. Robert Torrens, who was preoccupied with the consequences of mechanization in the age of the factory, replicated exactly Smith's depiction of the exchange of materialized labor among autonomous producers. An Essay on the Production of Wealth (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orne, and Brown, 1821), p. 15.
According to influential chroniclers of economic theory, the British economists' understanding of the labor transaction was not definitively exposed and overturned until a foreign initiate, Karl Marx, completed his analysis of the capitalist labor process.[2] Marx himself believed that his greatest contribution to economic analysis lay in his elucidation of the sale of that singular asset he called Arbeitskraft , "labor power."[3] The locution indicated that workers transferred not just "labor" to their employer, but the use of their labor capacity. As is well known, Marx claimed that the distinctions attached to his application of the term labor power unlocked the secret of the extraction of surplus value under capitalism. By what process of logic and imagination did Marx arrive at his discovery? This is the unsighted riddle. Neither laudators nor detractors have noticed, let alone pursued, the question.[4]
Stranger still, Marx himself never pondered the sources of his revelation. But, in ways never intended, he deposited many clues. To pursue his trail, we must leave the noisy sphere of intellectual exchange and descend into "the hidden abode of production,"[5] where labor is actually set into motion. Marx's expression Arbeitskraft , it turns out, was adopted from colloquial German speech, although its equivalent in English, labor power , sounds stilted and bookish even to the academician's ear. In Germany the term functioned in the language of the streets as a description of wage labor long before Marx penned it in an economic treatise.[6] In contrast to the British reliance on the indistinct word labor , the term Arbeitskraft lingers today in German popular usage in descriptions of the employment transaction. Could this timeworn difference in vocabulary mark the appearance of a distinctive concept of labor as a commodity in Germany that remained absent in Britain? More important, is it possible that such differences in
[2] Louis Althusser, "Marx et ses découvertes," in Louis Althusser, Etienne Balibar, and Roger Establet, Lire le capital (Paris: François Maspero, 1967), Volume Two, p. 19; Ernest Mandel, The Formation of the Economic Thought of Karl Marx (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1971), pp. 82–84.
[3] Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Marx-Engels Werke (Berlin: Dietz Verlag, 1974), Volume 32, p. 11. Louis Althusser clarifies Marx's own emphasis upon the intellectual revolution inaugurated by the concept of "labor power" in Althusser, Balibar, and Establet, Lire le capital , op. cit., pp. 17–18, 122.
[4] Engels said only that Marx's discovery of the mechanism by which employers extracted surplus value from labor power represented "a thunderbolt that struck out of a clear blue sky." Introduction to Das Kapital (Berlin: Dietz Verlag, 1980), Volume Two, p. 21.
[5] Karl Marx, Capital (New York: International Publishers, 1967), Volume One, p. 176.
[6] See Chapter Six below, p. 273, and Chapter Nine, p. 412.
concepts of labor accompanied an enduring contrast between the countries in the form of practice down in "the hidden abode of production"?
These high-flying queries can be anchored in the secure ground of material practice by examining procedures on the factory shop floor. A comparison of German and late-developing British textile mills during the nineteenth century shows that the specifications of labor as a commodity did not reflect the labor process, but comprised a constitutive part of its execution. Despite compelling similarities in the settings in which matching German and British textile mills developed, economic agents in the two countries applied different concepts of labor as a commodity to carry out the process of production. German employers and workers indeed acted as if the employment relation comprised the purchase of labor effort and of the disposition over workers' labor activity or, as they termed it, over Arbeitskraft. Through quotidian practice British employers and workers defined the factory employment relation as the appropriation of workers' labor concretized in products. By deciphering the hidden language of factory practice we take the first step in a descent to the underground path by which Marx received his remarkable insights into the means by which workers transmitted their labor in the capitalist labor process.
The Logic of the Weavers' Piece-Rate Scales
The occupation of weaving during the second half of the nineteenth century comprised the single largest job category not only in textiles but in the entire manufacturing sector of the British and German economies.[7] The construction of the piece-rate schedules for weavers provides a neglected but
[7] Germany, Die deutsche Volkswirtschaft am Schlusse des 19. Jahrhunderts (Berlin: Puttkammer und Mühlbrecht, 1900), pp. 27–32; United Kingdom, Census of England and Wales 1891 (London: H.M.S.O., 1893), Volume III, pp. ix, xix, xx. Contemporaries were well aware of the numerical weight of the occupation of weaving. "The weaving sector is far and away the most widespread branch of work," August Bebel said, "and this holds not only for Germany but specifically for England as well." Deutsches Weber-Central-Komitee, Ausführlicher Bericht über die Verhandlungen des ersten deutschen Webertages abgehalten zu Glauchau in Sachsen vom 28. bis 30. Mai 1871 , transcription in Stadtarchiv Glauchau. In 1895, for instance, the weaving process engaged the majority of German workers in textiles, whereas spinning employed only 18 percent of workers in that business. See summary statistics in Karin Zachmann, "Der Mechanisierungsprozess in der deutschen Textilindustrie im Zeitraum von 1870 bis 1914," Beiträge zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte , Number One (Dresden: Technische Universität Dresden, 1988), p. 29.
singularly revealing piece of evidence about the inscription of contrasting suppositions in utilitarian practices. As a tool for extracting labor from weavers, the design of the scales would seem to depend only upon questions of force and pragmatism: How much were employers ready to pay workers for various types of cloth? To what extent could the resistance of weavers lead to modifications in the system's provisions? The physical dimensions of the weaving process and of its products did not provide natural or automatic measures of "how much" a worker produced or of "how much" the employer appropriated. Instead, cultural categories intervened to create contrasting forms of measurement in Germany and Britain. To isolate culture's arbitration, we must first construct a picture of the technical essentials of weaving, for the characteristics of weaving made the design of piece rates in this trade a kind of Rorschach test for industrial culture.
The weaver's job consisted of seeing to it that the weft thread in the loom's shuttle or shuttles moved horizontally back and forth across the vertical threads of the warp.[8] As the shuttles laid their threads, a rotating beam underneath or out to the side of the loom unfolded more of the warp. The speed at which this beam let out the warp largely determined how tightly the weft threads would be woven: the slower the warp moved forward, the denser the weave.
From almost the earliest days of power loom weaving, mill owners in both Germany and Britain preferred to pay weavers by the piece.[9] They maintained that this method of reward gave weavers an incentive to work without close supervision and thereby minimized the costs of superintendence.[10] To be sure, employers in both countries granted time wages for
[8] Although there were supplementary tasks, such as refilling the weft supply, weavers themselves quite rightly viewed the insertion of the weft threads as the essence of their occupation, even if the machine itself powered the motion of the shuttles. See Adolf Levenstein, Die Arbeiterfrage (München: Ernst Reinhardt, 1912), p. 45; Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Hauptvorstand/Arbeiterinnensekretariat, Mein Arbeitstag—mein Wochenende (Berlin: Textilpraxis, 1931), p. 24.
[9] An employer at a spinning and weaving mill testified, "We always pay by the piece where we can; where it is absolutely impossible to pay by the day." Parliamentary Papers XXXV 1892, Royal Commission on Labour, Nov. 13, 1891, p. 281. The testimony of textile employers in Germany contradicts the assumption of Schmiede and Schudlich that employers preferred payment by time wages until the end of the 1870s. Germany, Enquete-Kommission, Reichs-Enquete für die Baumwollen- und Leinen-Industrie: Stenographische Protokolle über die mündliche Vernehmung der Sachverständigen (Berlin: Julius Sittenfeld, 1878), pp. 251, 404–405, 664. Cf. Rudi Schmiede and Edwin Schudlich, Die Entwicklung der Leistungsentlohnung in Deutschland (Frankfurt: Aspekte Verlag, 1976), p. 92.
[10] For an example of a mill that switched over to piece rates to reduce costs, see Yorkshire Factory Times , February 5, 1897. For an example of a manager who converted to piece rates assoon as the weavers were competent, consult taped interview with Will Bruce, born 1879, of Bentham Village. (My thanks to E. and J. H. P. Pafford for their willingness to share this recording with me.) See, too, Sydney J. Chapman, The Lancashire Cotton Industry: A Study in Economic Development (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1904), p. 262; Textile Manufacturer , October 15, 1910, p. 325. For parallel cases in Germany, see Johannes Victor Bredt, Die Lohnindustrie dargestellt an der Garn- und Textilindustrie von Barmen (Berlin: von Bruer & Co., 1905), p. 174; Germany, Enquete-Kommission, Reichs-Enquete , op. cit., p. 247; Ludwig Bernhard, Die Akkordarbeit in Deutschland (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1903), p. 125. Benjamin Gott, founder of the first large wool mill in Yorkshire, extended piece payments from overlookers to all operatives and found that "the men consequently feel that they are as much interested as he and cease to look upon him as their master." Cited in Sidney Pollard, "Factory Discipline in the Industrial Revolution," The Economic History Review second series, Volume XVI, Number 2 (1963), p. 264.
weavers if the machinery was untested or if weavers were so unaccustomed to the work that a production norm could not be estimated. But they reverted to remuneration by piece once these conditions passed.[11] "If we did not pay them by piece and by results," a spokesman for Lancashire mill owners claimed in 1891, "the manufacturing concerns would not be able to keep above water twelve months."[12] The economic environment limited the mode of payment, but cultural assumptions precipitated its form.
The mechanics of the weaving activity precluded the application of a unidimensional register of the labor spent on an output. If length of cloth alone were the index of output and criterion of pay, workers on cloth with a dense weave, which required the insertion of many weft threads, would earn no more per yard, and probably less per hour, than workers on looser cloth. Weavers on dense fabric in this hypothetical setting would be underpaid and would have an interest in advancing the warp rapidly to produce a looser weave than ordered. But if the number of weft threads inserted by the weaver were measured, weavers on dense fabric would be likely to be overpaid. The reason is clear enough: weavers producing loose cloth use up the warp more quickly than weavers on dense cloth. The removal of a finished warp and installation of a new one in the loom creates a major, uncompensated delay.
[11] Textile Recorder , June 15, 1883, p. 26. Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , Volume 18 (1886), p. 32; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , Viersen, October 21, 1899; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , Krefeld, December 9, 1899; Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, 120 B V 33, Nr. 4, Vol. 1, February 4, 1817, p. 53.
[12] William Noble, United Cotton Manufacturers' Association, Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, June 15, 1891, p. 162. The weavers themselves preferred payment by piece as the only method feasible in their trade for establishing uniform remuneration. Sidney Webb and Beatrice Webb, Industrial Democracy (New York: Augustus Kelley, 1965), p. 289.
The predicaments in these two simplified ways of gauging output—length of cloth or number of weft threads inserted—disclose the unique characteristics of the weaving activity and of its product. Production required multi-dimensional gauges. In contrast to other manufacturing processes in which subvarieties of the product differ by gross size or shape, varieties of cloth differ by the mathematical functions that govern their density and pattern. The product is uniform and continuous, and it has a naturally inscribed metric along precisely measurable and equipollent dimensions: length, width, and number of weft threads. The labor activity itself consists of the regulated linkage of actions which have natural metrics as well: the number of times the shuttle crosses the warp, the number of times the beam rotates to let out the warp, the size and number of teeth on the gears that let out the warp, and so forth. Weaving offered the participants multiple and easily coded axes which could be picked out to define units of output and apportion pay, and it required them to combine these dimensions somehow to avoid the problems illustrated with the unidimensional measures. This natural indeterminacy makes weaving an ideal context in which historical analysts can discern the application of the schema by which factory owners and workers decided how they would measure output and outline the otherwise shapeless stuff called labor.
The model of labor in Britain was concretized in the Yorkshire piece-rate system, as illustrated in the schedule introduced in 1883 in Huddersfield and the Colne Valley (Figure 1). As the figure's vertical axis indicates, weavers were remunerated by length of fabric woven, with the standard interval equaling 180 feet of the warp. But the more weft threads woven into each inch of this standard length of warp, the higher the payment. The chart's horizontal axis specifies the requisite weft threads inserted per inch, which in the trade were called the "picks" or, more precisely, the "picks per inch." For basic weaving, with one shuttle and one beam, remuneration for a fixed length of cloth rose linearly as picks per inch rose. For more complicated weaves, with bonuses for extra shuttles, remuneration for a fixed length always rose with increases in density, but not at a constant rate (Figure 2). To calculate weavers' pay, the taker-in of the cloth from the weavers sampled the picks per inch or weighed the total piece to ensure that enough picks had been woven into the warp. (In the discussion which follows, bear in mind that "picks per inch" always refers to cloth density, not to its length. Density, a geometric concept, varies independently of the thickness of the weft yarn.) The Huddersfield
Figure 1.
British Data on British Axes, Huddersfield, Simple Weaves, 1883
scale, the best-known in Yorkshire, served as a benchmark for many others in the woolen trade.[13] Until the First World War, weavers judged the fairness of their pay by this scale's standards.[14]
[13] In truth, it represented the maximum renumeration to which owners in the region would consent. Prescriptive its rates were not—only the principles by which it operated. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 211.
[14] Yorkshire Factory Times , September 13, 1889. For examples of strikes to keep the scale's rates in all their particulars, see Yorkshire Factory Times , October 25, 1889, and August 21, 1891. For the percentaging of modifications in the Huddersfield scale up to 1892, see Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, Appendix XII, pp. 501–502. Even in the closing months of the First World War the Huddersfield schedule served as the basis for attempts to negotiate an industrywide price list. Joanna Bornat, "An Examination of the General Union of Textile Workers 1883–1922," Ph.D. diss., University of Essex, 1981, p. 200.
Figure 2.
British Data on British Axes, Huddersfield, Fancy Weaves,
Two Beams, Four Shuttles, 1883
To compare basic principles, a German pay table of 1911 from a wool firm in Euskirchen on the lower Rhine is shown in Figure 3.[15] Rather than taking adjacent correlates of the weaver's activity—length and density of cloth—for the criteria of pay, as in Britain, the German system centered its categories directly on the weaver's primary activity of having the shuttle move back and forth. The weavers earned a sum for every thousand times their shuttle shot across the warp—that is, per thousand weft threads woven. The Germans called this system pay by the number of Schüsse , literally, pay by the number of "shots" of the shuttle. German managers said they preferred pay by shot over pay by length because it offered a more direct measure of the labor input.[16] As Figure 3 shows, the
[15] The scale held only for the regular wool products in which the firm, C. Lückenrath, specialized. Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Jahrbuch des deutschen Textilarbeiterverbandes, 1911 (Berlin: Karl Hübsch, 1912), p. 75. For other comments on pay per shot in this town, see Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , May 18, 1912.
[16] "The calculation of weaving wages by the number of shot threads, for example, ten pfennigs per thousand shots, is the simplest method of labor remuneration," said one Germandirector, "since it permits payment of the weaver according to the quantity of executed labor." Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Volume 14, Number 65 (1910–1911), p. 1126.
Figure 3.
German Data on German Axes, Euskirchen, 1911
remuneration per thousand shots rose linearly with decreases in the shots woven per centimeter. This feature of the scales compensated weavers for more frequent changes of the warp when producing low-density fabrics. On the Huddersfield schedule, one can also identify a linear increase, of course: for basic weaving, remuneration for a fixed length rose linearly as picks per inch rose.
Since the two pay systems manifested their linearity on different axes, they did not "say" the same thing with alternative vocabularies, but concretized fundamentally different statements about the remuneration of labor. On the horizontal axis, Figures 1 and 3 share a common metric, the density of the weave.[17] On the vertical axis, however, the Euskirchen and
[17] Notice that on the horizontal axis I have reversed the direction of the metric between the British Figure 1 and the German Figure 3. I did this because the essential point of interest at this stage is the fact that people in both countries used the simplifying assumption that alinear relation of some kind ought to obtain between pay and changes in cloth density. I did not want to confuse this issue with a contrast in the direction of the lines' slopes. Once I have converted the British data to the German dimensions of thought, I will verify that in both countries, pay per weft thread inserted rises as the density of the cloth declines, although, translated to German axes, the British rise is not linear.
Huddersfield scales operated on different dimensions: pay by shot versus pay by length. In both German and English, the referents of ordinary language marked the immediacy of the association between the weft threads and the labor activity, since the words picks and Schüsse could pertain either to the shuttles' motion or to the product, the woven weft.[18] When practice itself became a concrete form of language in the operation of the piece-rate scales, the choice of referent became unmistakable. Verbal utterances were multivocal, the silent language of production—the piece-rate mechanism—invariable. In comparing types of labor, the German and British systems designated distinct objects. The German piece-rate system centered its comparisons of different ways of weaving on the motion of inserting a pick, without respect to the visible length of the complete product. The British pattern compared the picks in different kinds of finished products rather than in motions.
The dimensions of linearity reveal the core axes of thought inscribed in the techniques of remuneration. It is impossible to translate the data from British weaving price lists onto the German dimensions of thought without altering the intelligibility of the distribution. To demonstrate this, in Figure 4 are shown the values for three types of English cloth on the Huddersfield scale but replotted on the German axes of thought, in pence per one thousand picks or Schüsse. Placing the British information on the German dimensions of thought yields two findings. First, the British data lose the shape of a line, in contrast with the German data in Figure 3; instead, as picks per inch decline, the points arrange themselves in a strange curve.[19] The deformation of the line in Figure 1 to the curve in Figure 4 confirms that the British system of measurement embodied a concept of remuneration that began with the length of the materialized
[18] In English, the original referent of pick , dating back to the time of the handloom, was the throw of the shuttle rather than the inserted weft. F. W. Moody, "Some Textile Terms from Addingham in the West Riding," Transactions, Yorkshire Dialect Society Volume 8 (1950), p. 41.
[19] The algorithm which explains the new form of the British data is derived as follows: in the British system, pay per length = m (density) + b , or, rephrased in inches, pay per inch = m (picks per inch) + b. To convert to the German system, we need to isolate pay per pick: starting from the initial British equation, pay per pick = m + b (inch per pick), or, rephrased in terms of cloth density, pay per pick = m + b /density.
Figure 4
British Data on German Axes, Huddersfield Scale, Woolens
product as an indicator of labor. The linearity on the native British axes would not have obtained if the producers had reflected upon the exchange of labor for a wage with another combination of axes.
The translation of the British data onto the German dimensions of thought also enables us to understand how the unpretentious language of practice—the concepts incarnated in the weavers' daily labor for a wage—guided the weavers' independent reflections upon the appropriation of labor. When British weavers had more than one shuttle or one warp beam in operation—which was very often the case—their payment per shot did not necessarily increase as the number of shots per inch declined on various
weaving jobs. Given a fixed length of cloth, although the net pay rose as the number of shots per inch rose, the pay per shot inserted—the measure of pay per effective motion—followed an erratic course. Figure 4 indicates that the more complex the weave, the more irregular and "irrational" the British method appears from a "German" point of view; that is, the more complex the weave, the more the graph deviates from the ideal pattern of higher earnings per shot as the number of shots per inch decreases.[20] For example, on some types of fabric, the British weaver earned less per shot for weaving 56 weft threads per inch than for 62, although 56 weft threads per inch would take longer, per shot , to weave (because the warp would have to be changed more often). The difference in the cloth produced was slight; the difference in earnings significant and inequitable.[21] What do these anomalies tell us about the producers' apperceptions?
It would seem that such an "obvious" source of inconsistent earnings in payment per weft thread inserted under the Huddersfield system could not have escaped the notice of the workers themselves. But somehow it did. Weavers in the Colne Valley alleged that the 1883 pay table lowered their wages, especially on the loosely woven cloth. They wrote dozens of letters to newspapers explaining their dissatisfaction with it. These workers astutely analyzed its rates and criticized the slope of the straight line on the British axes of thought.[22] They made an effort to analyze the scale mathematically. But since they did not conceive the system in terms of pay per weft thread, they could not identify these inequities or frame them as "irregularities." They looked straight at the problem but did not see it, a remarkable demonstration of how their perception began with the length of the cloth as the basis for pay. Truly, their senses had "become directly in their practice theoreticians."
The weavers were not simpletons who self-effacingly obeyed the dictates of culture:[23] as strategizing actors they knew that their net earnings
[20] The irregularities are far too large to be explained by the need to calculate total pay in terms of units of pence or halfpence. If this were the origin, furthermore, the more complicated weaves, in which net pay per piece was higher, would show a more regular curve than the simpler weaves, whereas the data reveal exactly the opposite. The scales in effect in the Huddersfield district before 1883 show this tendency to an even greater degree.
[21] George S. Wood, "The Theory and Practice of Piecework," Huddersfield Textile Society Session 1910–1911 (Huddersfield: Huddersfield Textile Society, 1911), p. 11.
[22] See, illustratively, Northern Pioneer , April 14, 1883; Huddersfield Daily Examiner , March 13, March 27, and April 13, 1883.
[23] Dennis Wrong, "The Oversocialized Conception of Man in Modern Sociology," American Sociological Review Volume 26, Number 2 (April 1961), pp. 183–193.
were higher if they put more picks into cloth of a fixed length (not taking pay per weft thread into account!). The workers' recognition of inequity and their resistance to exploitation were not given automatically by their resolve to pursue their interests. Rather, the weavers' very understanding of their interests depended on the cultural suppositions they called upon to interpret their predicament. The assumptions about labor through which they defined their situation derived from the signifying process embedded in the very operation of the piece-rate mechanism. Through the form of their everyday practice, the workers identified their human activity only as it appeared to them in the fantastic shape of the fabric's own properties.[24]
The British weavers could not have perceived the anomalies in their payment per weft thread from the experience of work. The earnings of most British and German weavers fluctuated greatly from week to week. The amount of their weekly pay depended on whether they wove their piece on the warp all the way to the end exactly on pay day or, alternatively, had a small swatch left to do on a large piece which could therefore not be finished and credited until the next pay period.[25] The speed at which a worker finished a piece of cloth depended upon numerous shifting factors which combined in unpredictable ways: the dressing of the warp, the quality of the yarn, how well the warp was wound, the weather, and trouble-shooting by the overlooker. Then, too, weavers turned out a rapidly changing mix of product types.[26] These conditions made it difficult for weavers to move from the phenomenal world of work to expected weekly wages for products of a specific number of picks per inch.
[24] Marx, op. cit., Volume One, "The Fetishism of Commodities and the Secret Thereof," p. 86. For an example of the ways in which the types of weaving labor in the putting-out system were distinguished and revalued over the decades by a linear scale corresponding only to the dimensions of the cloth, see testimony of John Kingan, United Kingdom, Report from Select Committee on Hand-Loom Weavers' Petitions , 1834, PP 1834 (556) X, p. 16. The proportionate increase in pay as cloth density increased varied to an extraordinary degree, depending upon the absolute pay for cloth of medium density in a given year.
[25] According to the Royal Commission on Labour, the weekly wages of an able worsted weaver might fluctuate between two shillings and sixteen shillings. PP 1892 XXXV, p. 222. An experienced woman weaver told the Yorkshire Factory Times that her wages lay between five shillings and one pound a week, depending on how many cuts she completed. Yorkshire Factory Times , November 14, 1912. Miss W., born 1901, interviewed by Joanna Bornat, said that when she did not finish a whole cut, she took no pay home that week. See also Yorkshire Factory Times , March 27, 1891, p. 4.
[26] Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 230; Calderdale Archives, Murgatroyd piece books. A large factory could work on sixty to eighty types of cloth in a day. Die Textil-Zeitung , January 19, 1897.
Weavers labored with approximate estimates of what they ought to earn and with only a tacit understanding of how it ought to be reckoned. "Wherever a scale, no matter what its base and no matter how the shuttling was arranged, ran to a good day's wage for a good day's work," said Ben Turner, the union secretary, "the weavers were content with it."[27] Yet when weavers at mills that lacked comprehensive piece-rate charts had an opportunity to devise completely original schedules of their own, their choices revealed their assumptions. They proposed, as a matter of course, that earnings rise linearly for extra picks per inch, and they took pay by length as the unquestioned basis for remuneration. They did so even in regions lacking prior districtwide wage agreements to which they could refer.[28]
The length of cloth operated as the basis for remuneration in nearly all Yorkshire and Lancashire scales, both for the base rates with the simplest weaving and after the addition of more shuttles, beams, and healds to the job.[29] The system of pay by length did not necessarily entail inconsistency in the rates of payment per weft thread inserted; but since British producers did not consciously guard against this defect, their system generated it. On the eve of the First World War, the most capable researcher in Yorkshire, George S. Wood, delivered a lecture to the Huddersfield Textile Society on "The Theory and Practice of Piecework." After finishing an extensive survey of pay systems' consistency, he told the Textile Society that "perhaps the best scale in the woollen trade is the famous Huddersfield Weaving Scale."[30] Wood, in a strange illustration of history's vagaries, worked both as a representative for the employers' association and as an adviser to the textile workers' union. His testimony confirms that the Huddersfield table was no less sound than others in Britain.[31]
[27] Ben Turner, Short History of the General Union of Textile Workers (Heckmondwike: Labour Pioneer, 1920), p. 46.
[28] Yorkshire Factory Times , August 16, 1889.
[29] For other linear pay scales, see the Standard List issued in the Saddleworth woolen industry in March, 1911, Kirklees Archives; the wage lists preserved for the Bairstow firm, Leeds District Archives; the linear rise in the picks per inch in various Yorkshire towns described in the Yorkshire Factory Times , November 22, 1889; the Leeds pay scale reproduced in the Yorkshire Factory Times , October 11, 1889. For a truly encyclopaedic collection of piece-rate scales in the Lancashire cotton trade, see British Association for the Advancement of Science, Manchester Meeting of 1887, On the Regulation of Wages by Means of Lists in the Cotton Industry , Manchester Meeting of 1887 (Manchester: John Heywood, 1887).
[30] Wood, op. cit., p. 11.
[31] In addition to the Huddersfield scale, the Yeadon and Guiseley table for woolens, drawn up in 1893, also featured aberrant rates per weft thread woven. Data calculated from scales in the Archive of the General Union of Dyers, Bleachers, and Textile Workers, Bradford. See PP 1909 LXXX, op. cit., p. xl.
The method of comparing types of labor via the linear properties of the product also prevailed in Britain during a formal inquiry by the Bradford Chamber of Commerce into new methods for comparing weaving scales in Yorkshire. The chamber's conclusions reveal that even when British managers, overlookers, and weavers started afresh and reconsidered the principles behind their piece-rate scales, they took pay by length as an unquestioned given. The chamber, with committee representatives from the overlookers' and weavers' unions, considered in 1895 the feasibility of establishing average weaving scales for the various classes of goods in the city.[32] A local journal in Bradford observed that the chamber had set itself a difficult task, because the city's numerous worsted mills produced an "infinite" number of fabric types which could hardly be grouped on a comprehensive schedule.[33] To cope with this challenge, the chamber "set about the classification of the boundless variety of fabrics, from the point of view of the weaving labour involved. . . . It ascertained, availing itself of all obtainable information, the average price per pick actually paid for weaving this kind of fabric."[34] The dimensions of the printed scale which the Chamber of Commerce developed as a basis for comparison among firms reveal that it actually took "price per pick" to mean "price per pick per inch" for a fixed length of cloth.[35] When the chamber set out to measure cloth in terms of labor, it ended up measuring labor in terms of cloth (or, more exactly, differences in labor in terms of differences in cloth).[36] The Germans, by contrast, gauged cloth by labor motions. They called a group of one thousand Schüsse "the unit of labor," analyzing the product with this unit of activity.[37]
Anomalies in the rates of earnings per weft thread appeared in schedules from Lancashire as well.[38] Shortly after the First World War, a British manufacturers' commission investigated the precision of pay scales in relation to
[32] Bradford Chamber of Commerce, Bradford Chamber of Commerce 45th Annual Report (Bradford, 1895), p. 55.
[33] Bradford , November 9, 1895.
[34] Ibid. Emphasis in original.
[35] Textile Mercury , November 11, 1896, p. 404; Bradford Chamber of Commerce 46th Annual Report (Bradford, 1896), pp. 57–60. Likewise, in Lancashire the piece-rate scales were eventually formulated in terms of the price of one pick, given a standard length of warp. See Uniform List of Prices for Weavers, 1906, LRO, DDHs 83.
[36] The attempt to put into effect the general lists of average prices in Bradford failed. See PP 1909 LXXX, Report of an Enquiry by the Board of Trade into the Earnings and Labor of the Workpeople of the United Kingdom in 1906, p. xl.
[37] E. Jung, Die Berechnung des Selbstkostenpreises der Gewebe (Berlin: Julius Springer, 1917).
[38] British Association for the Advancement of Science, On the Regulation of Wages.
labor effort. A member of the committee on costs declared that "hardly one single weaving scale in existence is drawn up mathematically correctly in its relation to picks"—that is, in the effective payment per weft thread woven.[39] These discrepancies occurred because the British method of classification captured the labor activity at a remove.[40] Does this mean that the British point of view was backward or primitive? Before we rush to a conclusion, we must consider the disadvantages of pay by shot as the Germans practiced it. Any framework for viewing production also entails its own forms of blindness. The German way of defining the transfer of labor to employers carried distinctive inaccuracies of its own, which, from the British framework, would have seemed intolerable indeed.
Although German weavers received a higher reward per thousand shots if they wove less dense fabrics, their pay scales evaluated the looseness of the fabric only in approximate terms. If an analyst converts the German measure of fabric density—shots per centimeter—to English units, it turns out that the German scales graduated the increase in pay at intervals that were always larger than five picks per inch.[41] Some German scales registered changes in fabric density only at intervals of eight picks to the inch, or by a few bifurcations of yarn types. (This feature represented a specific way of treating labor rather than an incidental feature which resulted from the specifications by which products were sold in the market. The commercial orders German manufacturers filled permitted no leeway in the number of picks per inch.)[42]
[39] This retrospective comment appears in D. H. Williams, Costing in the Wool Textile and Other Industries (Manchester: Emmott & Co., 1946), p. 5.
[40] In the days of handweaving, embodied labor was paid according to linear scales that customarily rose by about one penny for each type of cloth. When the base rates for simple cloth rose or declined over the years but the one-penny increments for progressively more complex cloth remained fixed, a curious artifact arose: the payment for one variety of cloth as a portion of another could vary substantially. In 1810 a standard scale for muslin fabric allotted eightpence per standard length of the simplest weave and a supplement of an additional penny per length of the next most simple weave. In 1819 this scale granted threepence for the same, most basic, weave, but the differential for the next grade was still fixed at one penny. Between these dates, then, the original 12.5 percent addition for slightly more complex work increased to 33 percent, whereas no change occurred in the relative labor time embodied in each type of fabric. These unjustified and undiscussed divergences arose from the calculation of labor by the linear comparison of fabrics. See the chart of prices 1805–1834, Report from Select Committee on Handloom Weavers , PP 1834 X, testimony of William Buchanan, p. 156.
[41] Some scales endorsed by the workers considered only the type of yarn inserted: Stadtarchiv Cottbus, AII 3.3 b 33, pp. 39–42, December 12, 1895.
[42] Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1876, Nr. 48, p. 763. See the government specifications for cloth on which it accepted bids, which appeared as a regular feature in textile journals. An example: the cloth needed by a prison that advertised in the Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1876, Nr. 45, p. 808.
In contrast to German methods, British piece-rate scales adjusted the levels of remuneration to the fabric densities by intervals no larger than four picks to the inch, and normally they gauged the rates at intervals of one or two picks to the inch.
Proceedings in the court rolls indicate that English factory inspectors prosecuted mill owners who had their overlookers set the looms to insert two weft threads per inch more than the weavers knew of or were being paid for.[43] A disparity of this magnitude, an issue of legal concern in Britain, made no difference at all in the rate of pay on most German charts. In fact, the odd irregularities in the Huddersfield scale, which turn up after calculating the rates of payment per thousand weft threads woven, fall in between the grosser intervals of German pay tables. The British focus on the product allowed them to make fine distinctions in the product to decide upon an appropriate price for it, but did not provide the categories for capturing the labor activity itself. In this affair the Germans were consistent but imprecise, the British the other way around. This contrast originated in the German focus on decomposing the labor activity versus the British focus on decomposing the cloth.
In some instances, the reason that the Germans gave less attention in their pay scales to alterations in picks per inch is that weavers received a small sum for helping to install a new warp. This meant they had less claim on compensation via measurement of looser densities of cloth, because some of the time devoted to more frequent changes of the warp on these orders was taken into account directly.[44] Leaving aside the changing of the warp, there was no readily identifiable difference, on loose versus dense cloth, in the labor exercised to weave a thousand shots, apart from differences in the frequencies of yarn breakages due to the diameters of the yarn used to weave loose versus dense cloth. Thus, from the German view, there was less motivation to register the difference in cloth densities carefully; it was only necessary to capture the time lost in changing the warp and the gross differences in yarn types.[45]
[43] Wakefield Library Headquarters, Court Records of July 22, 1891. Yorkshire Factory Times , August 3, 1894, p. 8, and April 5, 1901, p. 8.
[44] At a firm in Viersen, on the lower Rhine, weavers paid by shot objected in 1908 when a shift to production of cloth of lower densities meant that more frequent changes of the warp were required and thus their pay was reduced. Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf (henceforth HSTAD), Landratsamt Mönchengladbach 99, pp. 420 ff. Their complaint reveals a drawback of the German system when weavers received no compensation for changing the warps.
[45] Of course, under the pure logic of mathematics, payment for installation of the warp would explain only a slower rise in the rates of pay per thousand shot as the density of the pattern declined, not the size of the intervals at which the pay scale recognized changes in thedensity. But under the practical logic of everyday manufacture, if the slope was lower, payment for changes in picks per inch constituted a smaller proportion of net pay and precision therefore held less significance for the agents.
How are we to account for the emergence of contrasts in the principles used to calculate weavers' earnings in Germany and Britain? The brute, physical fact that workers receive their compensation via piece rates does not reveal what it is about the products that makes them a suitable index for remuneration, or how the products are interpreted to serve as a measure of work. Workers in less commercialized societies, from ancient Greece to prerevolutionary France, received payment by piece rates, but they did not by any means imagine that they sold their labor as a commodity.[46] The mechanism of payment by output does not entail a particular commodity form of labor. To ascertain the definition of labor as a commodity, one must expose the agents' own concepts as embedded in the symbolic form of the piece-rate schedules. A "Statement of Wages" was indeed a statement: the weavers' pay scales in the two countries attempted to combine two elements—the labor activity and the product of labor—in a relation not of mere correlation but of significance. In Germany the relation was conceived metaphorically and the activity of weaving taken as a model or paradigm for identifying and measuring the product. The scale classified the product as a mirror of the activity; cloth comprised the unit of observation, the insertion of the shots the true subject of analysis. As industrial sociologists from Germany have long taken care to emphasize, a piece-rate scale can use the product as a convenient surrogate for measuring the workers' action and need not accept the product as the object of payment itself.[47] Or, as one student of wage forms in the German textile industry expressed it in 1924, the visible output could be
[46] For Greece, see the introduction to Chapter Five below; for France, see Albert Soboul, Les Sans-culottes parisiens en l'an II (Paris: Clauvreuil, 1958), pp. 453–454.
[47] Herbert Maucher, Zeitlohn Akkordlohn Prämienlohn (Darmstadt: Darmstadt Druckund Verlags-Gesellschaft, 1965), p. 62. Theodor Brauer, Produktionsfactor Arbeit (Jena: Gustav Fischer, 1925), pp. 170–179. German sociologists of the time who discussed the piece rate-system still assumed that it was simply an alternate way of valorizing Arbeitskraft , not a way of redefining labor as a commodity. "With the modern labor contract the full commitment of the labor power of an individual for a certain time through the employment relation ensues, even if the measurement of compensation proceeds according to labor output." Otto von Zwiedineck-Südenhorst, Beiträge zur Lehre von den Lohnformen (Tübingen: H. Laupp, 1904), p. 18. August Löhr, in a study of the metal industry, asked how limits on piece rates were set. The answer, he believed, was "the basic attempt on the part of the factory not to pay the worker substantially more in general for the activation of his labor power than was required at any moment for the relevant category of labor power belonging to the worker." August Löhr, Beiträge zur Würdigung der Akkordlohnmethode im rheinisch-westfälischen Maschinenbau (Mönchengladbach: Volksvereins-Verlag, 1912), p. 63.
adopted for the sake of making an "empirical" reading, as distinguished from the actual labor for which the worker was in truth remunerated.[48] If the Germans themselves interpreted the product as a "sign," not as the true object of remuneration, surely we are obligated to take their lead seriously.[49]
In Britain the relation between labor as a concrete activity and its product was conceived metonymically. The British pay scales codified the product as the result of labor but did not identify the value of the product by modeling it on the performance of the weaving. Instead, the product itself became the vessel by which labor was transferred; the materialized labor itself comprised the object of remuneration. The British quantified abstract labor by the substantial dimensions of the complete piece of cloth.[50] As in Germany, workers delivered abstract labor, but in Britain the concrete product functioned as its sign.[51]
[48] Alfred Müller, "Die Lohnbemessungsmethoden in der Chemnitzer Textilindustrie," diss., Marburg, 1924, p. 65. If the empirical reading of the product in Germany merely served as an index for the execution of motions, could the reverse situation arise, in which the motions are used to conceive a reading of the product? This was the case with the British spinning scales in Oldham, which were expressed in terms of "draws" of the mule. When this scale was sanctioned in 1876, the "draws" of the machine were a proxy for the length of the product, since the hypothetical length of a draw (63 inches) was chosen to yield easily one hank of yarn. Textile Mercury , Nov. 12, 1910, p. 401. Despite the emphasis on the tangible length, the real process of labor consisted in giving the yarn "twists."
[49] For references to nineteenth-century German commentators who viewed piece rates as an index of the expenditure of labor power, not as a payment for output, see Schmiede and Schudlich, op. cit., pp. 202–203.
[50] Therefore I break with William Reddy's simple opposition between payment for "labor" versus its "outcome." The Rise of Market Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 124. His distinction is richly suggestive but ultimately insensitive to the new meaning that the conveyance of a product may take on in a capitalist order.
[51] Of course, not all British workers were paid by piece rates. But their product could still serve as the sign for abstract labor. In fact, in many trades customary quotas for the amount of work to turn in per day meant that there was no functional difference between piece rates and a timed wage. John Rule, The Labouring Classes in Early Industrial England, 1750–1850 (London: Longman, 1986), p. 121; James Jaffe, The Struggle for Market Power: Industrial Relations in the British Coal Industry, 1800–1840 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 2 and sources cited there; David F. Schloss, Methods of Industrial Remuneration (London: Williams and Norgate, 1892), pp. 14–16, 20; J. E. Prosser, Piece-Rate, Premium and Bonus (London: Williams & Norgate, 1919), p. 1. Overtime, too, could be equated with the delivery of an extra quota of products: Select Committee on Master and Servant , PP 1865 (370) VIII, testimony of Alexander Campbell, p. 16. Even the dockworkers could view their employers as purchasers of a kind of tangible "product." When dockworkers began a "go-slow" movement in protest against low wages, they justified their poor work by saying, "If the employers of labor or purchasers of goods refuse to pay for the genuine article, they must be content with shoddy and veneer." Report of the National Union of Dock Laborers in Great Britain and Ireland , 1891, cited in Webb and Webb, op. cit., p. 307.
Both ways of conceiving the relation between labor and its product interpret a paradox in the employment relation. The worker's labor may generate the value of the finished product, but this labor, since it consists of an ongoing activity, is not a thing and has itself no exchange value. The weaver's action at the loom, because it does not exist before or after its appearance in the world, cannot as such be either sold or appropriated—although the products of this activity can be. "Labor," Marx wrote, "is the substance and immanent measure of value, but has itself no value."[52] Labor as a visible activity produces but lacks value; labor as a commodity in the moment of exchange has value but does not produce it.[53] To order the disparity between an action without exchange value and its sterling product, the Germans and the British drew upon different fictions. The British, with pay by length, first drew systematic (linear) relations between types of whole cloth and then projected these distinctions onto the weaving activity. The Germans took the use of the labor power, or the execution of the activity, as the basis for defining the relative values of fabrics. They did things the other way around from the British: they drew systematic (linear) differences between types of labor and then projected them onto the cloth.
If this interpretation of the contrasting structures of the German and British scales seems incautious, we need only consult the spontaneous evidence offered by the specimens' labels. As early as the 1830s, the tables posted in Germany for remunerating weavers bore the heading "Wage Tariff" or "Wage Table," even when the employees were hand weavers.[54] In 1849, German textile workers called their proposal for a piece-rate system a "Table of Values for Labor Power."[55] The scales for weavers in Britain were entitled "Statement of Prices" or "Weavers' Prices." The phrases hid nothing: the term price could just as well have designated the requisition of a product.
To explain the divergence in the structures of the weaving scales, let us start with solutions that treat the methods as naturally prompted adaptations to the immediate circumstances of production. We do not thereby privilege utili-
[52] Marx, Kapital , op. cit., pp. 65, 559.
[53] Karl Marx, The Poverty of Philosophy (New York: International Publishers, 1963 [1847]), p. 58. See also Allen Oakley, Marx's Critique of Political Economy (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984), Volume I, p. 118.
[54] Stadtarchiv Chemnitz, Protokoll, Verein der arbeitnehmenden Webermeister, August 11, 1848; Eugen Hecking, 100 Jahre J. Hecking (Neuenkirchen: self-published, 1958); Staatsarchiv Dresden, company records of Nottroth Textilfabrik.
[55] Die Verbrüderung , February 9, 1849, pp. 151–152. The list in question was for the spinning branch.
tarian reasoning and assign the symbolic a residual explanatory burden. Hypotheses that reduce social practice to a "rational" adjustment to the economic environment are neither more fundamental nor more parsimonious than arguments that accept the constitutive role of culture. But their inadequacies throw into relief the advantages of a cultural explanation.
The simplest conjecture, perhaps, is that the differences in the concepts used to construct the scales derived from the implements used to measure cloth. By the turn of the century, it had become a common technique in German firms to install on each loom a so-called Schussuhr , or "pick clock," which registered the number of shuttle "shots" as the weavers carried them out.[56] The weavers then received their pay based upon readings of this device rather than upon an examination of their product.[57] Pick clocks were virtually absent in Britain before the First World War.[58] Could the difference between the countries in principles of remuneration have arisen due to the greater readiness or ability of German mill proprietors to install this newfangled gadget? No, because the adoption of pay by shot in the textile factories preceded the experimental introduction of the pick clock in the 1880s.[59] Despite general reliance on pay by shot in Aachen, for example, the Free Textile Workers' Union reported in 1902 that only one company there had installed pick clocks.[60] Of the ninety weaving mills which paid by shot that were represented at a national conference of German stuff weavers in 1910, only thirty-five had mounted these gadgets.[61] The German system of pay was not, therefore, originally adopted to take advantage of this mechanical innovation.
Pay by shot did not simplify the determination or recording of wages. Before the introduction of the pick clock, calculating the number of shots in
[56] Der Textil-Arbeiter , Number 28, 1898, later quoted in the September 1, 1905, edition of this journal.
[57] Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1894, Nr. 13, p. 157, and Nr. 43, p. 499; Die Textil-Zeitung , September 23, 1907.
[58] See below, Chapter Eleven, pp. 492–93.
[59] Mill owners concerned about demonstrating to workers that the cloth was measured correctly had their gauges for length certified by authorities for their accuracy, although weavers were paid per thousand shots. See Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , June 1, 1877, p. 493; Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , Volume 18, 1886, pp. 31–32; Anton Gruner, Mechanische Webereipraxis sowie Garnnumerierungen und Garnumrechnungen (Leipzig: A. Hartleben, 1898).
[60] Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 13, 1902.
[61] Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , August 6, 1910. For the Rhineland, see HSTAD Landratsamt Mönchengladbach 70, p. 204; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 7, 1910, p. 3; my interview with Herr Noisten, Euskirchen, born 1898.
the manufactured cloth was complicated. The German takers-in or production accountants did not measure individually the tens of thousands of shots woven across the warp. They began with only the length or weight of the cloth and a sample of the density, in shots per centimeter. Then they reckoned backwards to arrive at the true object of analysis, the number of shots the weaver had cranked out.[62] Less often, the shots put in were measured by the weft yarn used up, and weavers' pay tables were based on the length of this weft yarn consumed.[63] In any case, the German system did not reduce the requisite calculations.[64] To the contrary, one factory manager who said that pay by thousand shots was conceptually superior also complained that
[62] Landesarchiv Potsdam, Company Records of F. F. Koswig, notebook "Weberei-Löhne"; Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , June 1, 1877, p. 493; Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1878, Nr. 21, p. 241; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , May 11, 1901, Eupen; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 7, 1910, Aachen, p. 3; Stadtarchiv Chemnitz, Rep. V, Cap. II, Nr. 109, March 28, 1848; Nicolas Reiser, Die Betriebs- und Warenkalkulation für Textilstoffe (Leipzig: A. Felix, 1903), p. 79. It is critical to remember that this practice of reckoning backwards means that some piece-rate scales are described in the sources as pay by meter or pay per piece, whereas the conceptual basis for the allocation of payment was pay per shot. For examples of this, see Verband Deutscher Textilarbeiter, Gau Brandenburg, Die Lohn- und Arbeitsbedingungen in der Niederlausitzer Tuchindustrie 1908–1909 (Berlin: Franz Kotzke, 1909), p. 29; Otto Löbner, Praktische Erfahrungen aus der Tuch- und Buckskin-Fabrikation (Grünberg, Schl.: Das Deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe, 1892), pp. 659–661; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1910/1911, Nr. 65, p. 1126, and 1912, Nr. 43, p. 955; Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 26, 1911, p. 166, Sommerfeld; Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1910, Nr. 2, "Lohntarife für die Buntweberei," Der Textil-Arbeiter , August 9, 1901, p. 1; Der Textil-Arbeiter , December 30, 1904; Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 1, 1905. Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz n, Rep. A, Kapitel IXa, Nr. 165, p. 97, 1905: "Die Ausrechnung des eingewebten Schusses geschieht nach Massgabe der Kettenlänge"; Der Textil-Arbeiter , Plauen, June 21, 1901, Firma Meinhold und Sohn cites pay by meter, then reckons by pay per shot; likewise, Der Textil-Arbeiter , November 15, 1901, Hohenstein-Ernstthal; Der Textil-Arbeiter , Elsterberg, April 25, 1902, citing pay per meter, and May 9 issue, showing pay per shot system in effect; Der Textil-Arbeiter , March 14, 1902, pay per shot getting converted to pay per piece; Stadtarchiv Augsburg, File 1670, firm of Nagler & Sohn. German weavers who were remunerated per Stück sometimes calculated changes in the work executed by thousand shots inserted in the piece: Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , November 19, 1910, Coesfeld.
[63] Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz n, Rep. A, Kap. IXa, Nr. 165, 1903–1905, p. 82; Staatsarchiv Weimar, Reuss älterer Linie, Reuss Landratsamt Greiz Nr. 2524, September, 1882. Der Textil-Arbeiter , February 22, 1907, Zwickau; Der Textil-Arbeiter , November 17, 1905; Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 14, 1911, pp. 219–220, Reichenbach.
[64] Nor did pay by shot make it easier for the Germans than for the British to calculate remuneration for short or "odd cuts" of fabric. Although the British scales were formulated on the basis of a fixed length of cloth, they graduated pay or prorated it for lengths that were shorter or longer than standard. (See Calderdale Archives, JM646, and pay scales listed above.) Therefore an analyst could not seek an explanation for the difference in pay systems by arguing that the German system represented a better method for handling variation in the lengths of the warps assigned to weavers.
it required more intricate computations.[65] Yet the adoption of the method even among small woolen firms in Aachen and elsewhere which had negligible clerical staffs shows that company investments in accounting do not clarify the reasons for the diffusion of pay by shot in Germany.
Might it have been easier for the weavers to verify the calculation of their receipts under one system or the other? Weavers in both countries complained that they could not easily verify the length of the cloth they wove. The Germans' adoption of pay by shot could not have been intended to alleviate this problem, since they reckoned backwards to the shots after measuring the fabric's length. Often employers and workers even cited wages per meter of cloth turned in, when the evaluation of the value of a meter depended on the analysis of the shots. What is more, many German firms continued to invest in apparatuses which their takers-in used for measuring the length of the cloth, just like the gadgets used in Britain, even after these German companies had converted to pay by shot.[66] The new system of pay did not result from technical convenience or forced adaptation to the physical instruments of calibration.
The divergent principles of the piece-rate systems could not have influenced the weavers' incentive to work. In both countries, once a weaver had a warp in the loom, the ratio of earnings to the cloth turned out remained constant whether the weaver completed the warp quickly or slowly. The marginal returns to effort in a given time period could diverge in the two countries between densities of cloth, not on a given piece of cloth mounted in the loom. Nor did the divergent construction of the German and British schedules lead to differences in the distribution of earnings among weavers in the two countries. True, when one converts the British piece rates to the German dimension of thought, one finds that British weavers earned less on the middle ranges of cloth density in comparison with either endpoint of the British scale than did German weavers on the middle ranges of cloth density in comparison with either endpoint of the German scale. That this formal incongruity created real differences between Germany and Britain in the distribution of earnings among weavers seems unlikely, however, for the range of fabric densities encompassed by the tables varied by company and by town. In other words, German weavers on middle densities of cloth did not always earn more than
[65] Löbner, op. cit., pp. 658–662. For Grünberg, Silesia, Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , 1892, pp. 659–661.
[66] Der Textil-Arbeiter , February 3, 1905; September 1, 1905, Euskirchen; November 17, 1905, Sommerfeld.
those on middle densities in Britain, because the range of fabrics covered by each scale, and therefore what counted as the "middle," varied from scale to scale. Within the same town, the endpoint of one piece-rate chart might be the midpoint of the next. In the aggregate, the design of the schedules did not have an appreciable effect upon the distribution of earnings.
In a word, the difference between the principles adopted in Germany and in Britain cannot be explained by the ease or efficiency with which the piece-rate structures served the function of appropriating labor for a wage. The two systems served this purpose equally well; they differed, not in their material function, but in their intelligible form. If there were no concrete obstacles in the immediate environment of the labor process that prevented the British from paying weavers per shot of the shuttle like the Germans, could the difference in pay systems reflect nothing more than the lingering effect of business factors that had operated in the past? The utilitarian arguments considered so far attend only to contemporaneous settings. Suppose institutional inertia had frozen into place pay methods that conformed to the necessities of an earlier period?
Before the rise of the factory system, German weavers who worked at home had their remuneration calculated by a variety of payment systems, including the fabric's weight and, in some instances, its length, just as did their counterparts in Britain.[67] The principle of pay by shot prevailed in Germany contemporaneously with the transition from the putting-out system to factory production.[68] Could this endorsement of pay by shot have reflected the economic conditions under which the German factories initially emerged? By this kind of diachronic reasoning, the British might have transplanted the format of the handweaving scales into the newborn factories, where they took permanent root in collective understandings between employers' and workers' unions; whereas the Germans, who founded their factories later, could have started off with more "modern" thinking, shorn of the legacy of mercantile capitalism. This speculative reasoning merits consideration but collides with the evidentiary record.
[67] See also Rolf Paas, "Die Beeinflussung der sozialen und wirtschaftlichen Lage der Weber durch die Mechanisierung der deutschen Textilindustrie," diss., Universität Köln, 1961, pp. 56–57; Karl Emsbach, Die soziale Betriebsverfassung der rheinischen Baumwollindustrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Bonn: Röhrscheid, 1982), pp. 178–180; Reiser, op. cit., p. 78.
[68] For an early example of a factory scale, entitled "Machine Labor," that illustrates the characteristic German logic of linearity per thousand shots and cloth density, see Chemnitzer Freie Presse , June 1, 1872. For reference to another pay system established during the 1870s based on the total shots, see Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1914, Nr. 11, p. 273.
To begin, comparative logic can rule out conjectures based on the timing of development. The Yorkshire woolen trade, unlike the precocious cotton districts of Lancashire, mechanized production no earlier than did many firms in regions of Germany such as the Wuppertal.[69] When the Germans did mechanize, they passed through the same sequence of development as the British, moving from an extensive network of small manufactories and of home weaving under the putting-out system to a full-fledged factory system.[70] The Germans adopted pay by shot whether they set up factories in regions such as Aachen, where small manufactories with handlooms preceded the factory system, or in regions such as urban Mönchengladbach or rural Silesia, where the path of development usually led directly from home weaving to factories.[71] Therefore an analyst cannot explain the national differences in pay systems either by the timing of development or by the forms of the textile labor process that preceded mechanized production. In some areas the shift to pay by shot preceded the development of factories. In the areas around Aachen and in Berlin, for example, it appeared in artisanal workshops for handweavers during the 1860s, before these shops gave way to large factories with power looms.[72] The change in methods of pay did not simply mirror changes on the shop floor itself. The close resemblance in the products and markets of firms in Aachen and Huddersfield assures us that no technical factor in Germany, which was absent in Yorkshire, spurred the factories in Aachen to move to pay by shot at an early date.
Nor can one attribute the difference in pay systems to the social origins or acquired business knowledge of the pioneering textile entrepreneurs who founded the earliest factories. As in Britain, so in Germany the largest portion of early mill owners had played a role as middlemen in the putting-
[69] See Chapter One, at footnote 8, above.
[70] Maxine Berg et al., Manufacture in Town and Country Before the Factory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); Peter Kriedte, Hans Medick, and Jürgen Schlumbohm, Industrialisierung vor der Industrialisierung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1977).
[71] Herbert Kisch, "The Textile Industries in Silesia and the Rhineland: A Comparative Study in Industrialization," Journal of Economic History Volume 19, No. 4 (December 1959), pp. 541–564.
[72] Reiser, op. cit., p. 78. In 1857 the weavers in Greiz, although they were not wage workers, calculated the thousands of shots of the loom executed daily in order to justify a certain fee. Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz, a Rep. A, Kap. XXI/2c, Nr. 400, Petition of the Guild of Linen and Stuff Weavers of Greiz, May 20, 1857. Workers' remuneration was calculated by thousand shots in the small, cut-rate weaving shops that lived by contracts for quick orders when larger factories were swamped. Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , May 26, 1900, Eupen.
out system or had operated workshops for the dyeing, finishing, or fulling of cloth. They had gained an understanding of the organization of trade as mediators between home workers and merchants.[73] The assiduous research of François Crouzet, among others, shows that few of the heads of leading merchant concerns in Britain became factory employers, compared to the preponderance of small workshop owners and of putters-out who had organized the day-to-day operations of domestic production.[74] Such findings make it implausible to surmise that British factory practices based on the appropriation of materialized labor were handed down from the conceptions of employers who had started out as mere traders in finished goods and remained attached to this outlook.[75] The factory pioneers in Britain had the experience of operating small manufactories or of acting as "manufactur-
[73] Pat Hudson, The Genesis of Industrial Capital (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 75–76; Anthony Howe, The Cotton Masters, 1830–1860 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), p. 8; H. Wutzmer, "Die Herkunft der industriellen Bourgeoisie Preussens in den vierziger Jahren des 19. Jahrhunderts," in Hans Mottek et al., editors, Studien zur Geschichte der industriellen Revolution in Deutschland (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1960), pp. 146 ff.; Emsbach, op. cit., pp. 343 ff.; Horst Blumberg, Die deutsche Textilindustrie in der industriellen Revolution (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1965), pp. 133 ff.; Gerhard Adelmann, "Die wirtschaftlichen Führungsschichten der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Baumwoll- und Leinenindustrie von 1850 bis zum ersten Weltkrieg," in Herbert Helbig, Führungskräfte der Wirtschaft im 19. Jahrhundert , Teil II, 1790–1914 (Limburg: C. A. Starke, 1977); Horst Beau, Das Leistungswissen des frühindustriellen Unternehmertums in Rheinland und Westfalen (Köln: Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv, 1959), pp. 61–62; Friedrich Zunkel, Der Rheinisch-Westfälische Unternehmer 1834–1879 (Köln: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1962), p. 26; Erich Dittrich, "Zur sozialen Herkunft des sächsischen Unternehmertums," in H. Kretzschmar, editor, Neues Archiv für sächsische Geschichte und Altertumskunde , Volume 63 (Dresden: Baensch-Druckerei, 1943), pp. 147 ff.; Wolfgang Uhlmann, "Die Konstituierung der Chemnitzer Bourgeoisie während der Zeit der bürgerlichen Umwälzung von 1800 bis 1871," Ph.D. diss., Pädagogische Hochschule Dresden, 1988, pp. 26, 55.
With the exception of those in upper Silesia, the landowners in Germany who were compensated for the loss of feudal rights invested their receipts in agriculture, not in private factories. Harald Winkel, Die Ablösungskapitalien aus der Bauernbefreiung in West- und Süddeutschland (Stuttgart: Gustav Fischer Verlag, 1968), pp. 151–152, 160–161.
[74] "I was brought up as a merchant," said Benjamin Gott, the founder of the first large woolen factory in Yorkshire, "and became a manufacturer." Cited in Sidney Pollard, The Genesis of Modern Management (London: Edward Arnold, 1965), p. 30. As a man of commerce who had branched out from a very large merchant house, however, Gott was atypical. François Crouzet, The First Industrialists: The Problem of Origins (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 106–107, 109–110; Katrina Honeyman, Origins of Enterprise (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1982), p. 81.
[75] As mechanized production became widespread, Yorkshire manufacturers rarely occupied themselves with merchanting. Gerald Hurst, Closed Chapters (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1942), p. 3. In Bradford, worsted marketing was dominated by foreign, especially German, agents. Eric M. Sigsworth, Black Dyke Mills (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1958), p. 65.
ers," as the directors of the networks of domestic production were called in their day. Conversely, in the German setting both contemporaries and modern historians have emphasized the contributions of small traders and merchants to the founding of textile mills.[76] The industrial commentator Alphons Thun complained in 1879 that German factory managers on the lower Rhine had commercial skills but less knowledge of production technology than their British counterparts.[77] We need not swallow Thun's judgment whole, but the accumulated evidence casts doubt on the hypothesis that the social origins of German businessmen led to a greater focus on production than on relations of exchange.
Still another problem arises with an argument based on the original setting of development. An explanation based on the retention of assumptions about piece-rate schedules from the putting-out system into the late factory age takes it for granted that the principles of the schedules were immutable. What prevented the alteration of the lists? At many Yorkshire mills the weavers were so unorganized that employers could choose their own rules for defining the product and for establishing remuneration.[78] Indeed, some owners chose not to release a pay table at all, but announced the value of a particular piece, as they fancied, after the weaver had completed the job.[79] In these cases, obviously, there were no barriers to change in the reckoning of pay. In most regions of Yorkshire, the piece-rate tables
[76] For the wool industry of the lower Rhine, see Franz Decker, Die betriebliche Sozialordnung der Dürener Industrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Köln: Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv, 1965), pp. 107, 109–110. Elsewhere: Jürgen Kocka, "Entrepreneurs and Managers in German Industrialization," in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe , Volume VII, Part I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), pp. 517–518, 521; Jürgen Kocka, Die Angestellten in der deutschen Geschichte, 1850–1980 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), p. 45.
[77] Alphons Thun, Die Industrie am Niederrhein und ihre Arbeiter (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1879), Erster Theil, p. 39, and Zweiter Theil, pp. 198, 249–250. For a parallel opinion, Erich Thal, Die Entstehung und Entwicklung der Halbwoll- und Wollindustrie im M.-Gladbacher Bezirk bis zum Jahre 1914 (Mönchengladbach: W. Hütter, 1926), p. 116.
[78] In the Huddersfield woolen district, the weavers' union founded to conduct the 1883 strike could count only 700 members by 1888. James Hinton, Labour and Socialism (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1983), p. 56. By 1891 enrollment had risen to 2,000 members, still less than a quarter of the weavers. PP 1892 XXXV, p. 199. In the Bradford district, only one-sixteenth of the weavers were in the union on the eve of the great Manningham Mills strike. PP 1892 XXXV, pp. 222, 225. On the dismal history of unionization in worsted textiles, see J. Reynolds and K. Laybourn, "The Emergence of the Independent Labour Party in Bradford," International Review of Social History Volume 20, Part 3 (1975), p. 316.
[79] Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 230; Yorkshire Factory Times , November 1, 1889, Marsh, p. 4; January 10, 1890, Huddersfield; Sept. 18, 1891, Worth Valley, p. 5; May 20, 1892, Mirfield; April 21, 1905, Dudley Hill; and November 22, 1901, p. 4.
were negotiated separately in each factory. In Lancashire, to be sure, the power of a well-organized union movement which regulated the piece rates for weavers made it cumbersome to introduce modifications. But the Lancashire weavers declared their readiness to accept new means of calculating pay, so long as the "aggregate wage fund should not be lowered."[80] The absence of insuperable institutional obstacles to changes in the derivation of rates suggests the operation of another principle: namely, the effect of the lived enactment of the tenet that labor was conveyed as it was embodied in a visible product.
The assumptions about labor that were implicit in the scales were reproduced endogenously by the scales' quotidian use. Not all workers were educated enough to compute exactly the pence or pfennigs owed them for cloth of a given design. No matter: through the scales' material operation they received the ideal definition of the sale of labor. Facta non verba : the principles were communicated in action by signifying practice, not by fine phrases. But in ordinary conversation, when British weavers from different factories described their pay scales to one another, they cited the pay for a density at a fixed length, called the "basis," and then stated by how much the pay rose or fell for each increase or decrease in picks per inch.[81] When the British weavers suffered a reduction in rates, they said the factory employer was "pulling pence off" the picks, as if the remuneration inhered in the cloth.[82] Whereas British workers thought in terms of exchanging the length of cloth for payment, the German workers could assert that pay by length was "categorically erroneous."[83] Workers in
[80] Cotton Factory Times , January 29, 1904, p. 1. See also Chapter Eleven, footnotes 41–43.
[81] Yorkshire Factory Times , October 11, 1889, and November 22, 1889. In Yeadon the weavers used a "Ready Reckoner" device, 500 copies of which were distributed by the union, to verify their piece rates. Archive of General Union of Dyers, Bleachers, and Textile Workers, Bradford, Minutes, Factory Workers' Union, March 14, 1894. When workers and owners used the phrase, for example, "six pence per pick" to calculate pay, this referred not to each of the picks the weaver wove in but to earnings for so many picks per inch, given a fixed length of cloth. Their language shows that they took the principle of pay by length as a given that regulated their comparisons. See, for example, the wage notes of Bairstow firm, Leeds District Archives, in which listing of picks means picks per inch; Yorkshire Factory Times , November 22, 1889; and testimony of Herbert Foster, partner of Fosters of Queensbury, regarding payment "for the picks," Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 270.
[82] Yorkshire Factory Times , January 31, 1890, Bingley.
[83] Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 14, 1911, pp. 219–220. In the Mönchengladbach region weavers asserted that piece rates for the same fabric at various firms could be compared and standardized only on the basis of pay per thousand shots, overlooking the alternative used in British districtwide lists. Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , May 16, 1903.
Germany sometimes calculated their output in terms of the number of shuttle motions completed per day, without reference to the length of fabric.[84] They complained about the intensification of work quotas not in terms of cloth delivered, but in terms of the additional shots executed.[85] The secret code embedded in practice became the workers' language of debate and deliberation.
The responses of German weavers to the transition to the principle of earnings per shot in the earliest days of the factory have left no traces. But the discussions of commercial experts, preserved in business newspapers, show that employers preferred this mode of piece rates because it captured the process of carrying out the work. Textile periodicals in the 1870s took pay by shot as a commonplace or described the abandonment of pay by length as a routine occurrence.[86] They spun words around that which practice had already conceived.[87] These journal articles did not mention any instrumental advantage from the shift, but they emphasized that the system seemed logical. Spokespersons for pay by shot considered this method more appropriate once producers had adopted the idea that weavers in the factory sold the disposition over the conversion of labor to labor power. As one proponent summed up his case, only remuneration by shots really paid the weaver "for the quantity of executed labor."[88] When the Chamber of Commerce for the area of Aachen officially rejected pay by length in 1884, it reasoned that pay by shot offered the only "rational" system of measuring labor.[89] Only with this new method, the chairman reported, "is the weaver paid for what he has really carried out."[90] After the turn of the century, a factory owner from Gera, Saxony,
[84] Christlicher Arbeiterfreund , March 17, 1899. See also Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Hauptvorstand/Arbeiterinnensekretariat, op. cit., p. 25.
[85] Stadtarchiv Cottbus, AII 3.3 b, 34, meeting of February 8, 1903. For instance, weavers in Coesfeld complained that a new pattern required five thousand shots per piece more than the old. Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , Nov. 19, 1910.
[86] Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1876, Nr. 48, p. 863, Nr. 20, p. 226, and 1878, Nr. 21, p. 241. For an example of an owner mentioning his conversion during the 1870s to pay per thousand shots in plain weaving, see Centralblatt für die Textilindustrie , 1879, p. 226.
[87] In Chemnitz, weavers received payment by the length of weft thread inserted—a measure of the shots—as early as 1848. Stadtarchiv Chemnitz, Tarif of June 1, 1848.
[88] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie Vol. 14, Nr. 65 (1910/11), p. 1126.
[89] Artur Peltzer, "Die Arbeiterbewegung in der Aachener Textilindustrie von der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts bis zum Ausbruch des Weltkrieges," Ph.D. diss., Universität Marburg, 1924, p. 10.
[90] Reiser, op. cit., pp. 78–79. By 1909, pay by length was derided in Aachen as an "antiquated system." Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , July 24, 1909. See the factory ordinance of the firm Joseph Kaltenbach, dating from before 1890, HSTAD, Regierung Aachen 1633, and DerTextil-Arbeiter , January 7, 1910, p. 3. For neighboring Eupen, see Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, Rep. 77, 2525, Nr. 3, Band 1, pp. 6 ff., 1899, and Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , February 4, 1905. For neighboring Würselen, see Christliche Arbeiterin , December 7, 1907.
reiterated the causes for the triumph of pay by shot. He said in 1905 that among the city's factories, only one continued to pay weavers by cloth length. "The [length of] filled-in warp cannot be taken for the performance of labor by the worker," he explained.[91] In sum, earnings by shot seemed to the employers more coherent, not necessarily more profitable.
By no means did pay by shot become a universal custom in Germany before the First World War. A great many instances can be found of German mills continuing to pay weavers by the piece or by weight. In borderlands such as the Münsterland, where many factory owners before the First World War were of Dutch origin, pay by shot emerged less frequently.[92] Elsewhere, employers whose mills manufactured only coarse, undyed varieties of cloth sometimes did not specify picks per inch to the weaver or measure the total picks, but simply weighed the product and paid the weaver for putting a minimum weight of weft into the warp. Yet to varying degrees, pay by shot encompassed the major types of weaves and materials: wool, linen, cotton, and silk.[93] Even if payment by shot was not universal in
[91] Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 1, 1905.
[92] Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden, 1905 (Berlin: R. v. Deckers Verlag, 1906), p. 265. For an instance of an important citywide pay scale that paid weavers by length in Meerane as the British did, see Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Glauchau, Nr. 393, 1902, Meerane, pp. 2 ff. (Yet this district converted to pay for the insertion of weft by 1919: Archiv des Volkseigenen Betriebs Palla, Firma Klemm & Co., Nr. 295, "Kalkulationen und Lohntarife.") Pay per shot was also less likely to prevail in German towns that lacked a guild tradition during the eighteenth century, for reasons that in Chapter Six will become obvious. In the silk capital of Krefeld, for instance, where weavers' guilds were not a fixture of the eighteenth century, piece payments based on length per se predominated. Stadtarchiv Krefeld, Bestand 4, Nr. 1117, Königsberger & Co., circa 1906. On the absence of guilds in Krefeld, Franz Wischer, "Die Organisationsbestrebungen der Arbeiter in der Krefelder Seiden- und Samtindustrie," Ph.D. diss., Universität Köln, 1920, p. 13.
[93] By way of illustration, cotton: Stadtarchiv Gera, "Mindest-Akkordlohn-Tarif," 1905; Deutscher Textilarbeiter-Verband, Fiale Neumünster, Jahresbericht für das Geschäftsjahr 1912 (Hamburg: Verlagsgesellschaft deutscher Konsumvereine, 1913), p. 10; Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband; Jahrbuch des deutschen Textilarbeiterverbandes, 1911 (Berlin: Karl Hübsch, 1912), p. 79; Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 14, 1911, Reichenbach and October 27, 1911, Mönchengladbach; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , March 18, 1905, Schneiders & Irmen; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1910/1911, Nr. 65, p. 1126 and Hermann Hölters, "Die Arbeiterverhältnisse in der niederrheinischen Baumwollindustrie mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der männlichen Arbeiter," diss. Heidelberg, 1911, p. 24. Cotton mixtures: HSTAD Regierung Düsseldorf 24706, 1910, pp. 254–255; Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, 30 Jahre Kampf der Textilarbeiter von Greiz und Umgegend um bessere Arbeits- und Lohnbedingungen (Greiz: Verlag des Deutschen Textilarbeiterverbandes, n.d.), p. 28; Deutscher Textilar-beiterverband, Jahrbuch des deutschen Textilarbeiterverbandes, 1911 (Berlin: Karl Hübsch, 1912), p. 79; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , June 6, 1914. For silk: Der Textil-Arbeiter Nov. 15, 1901, Hohenstein-Ernsthal; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , August 5, 1911, Süchteln. For pay by shot in linen, see Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 6, 1905.
Germany, it was predominant there, while it was unknown in Britain.[94] In national surveys of German stuff and wool firms in 1910, 75 to 85 percent were found to pay weavers per thousand shots or by a correlatethe length of weft used to insert the shots.[95] The prevalence of payment by shot in Germany marked the outstanding difference between the philosophies of
[94] For Aachen, Merseburg Rep 120 BB VII Fach 3 Nr. 32, pp. 119–125, 1895; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , September 25, 1909. For Hämmern, Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , June 16, 1900. For Aggertal, Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , April 8, 1911. For northern Germany, Der Textil-Arbeiter , Neumünster, June 13, 1902. For firms in Euskirchen, HSTAD Landratsamt Euskirchen 139, 1899, pp. 152 ff; HSTAD Landratsamt Euskirchen 270, July 9, 1906; Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 17, 1912; Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , May 4, 1912. For firms in Mönchengladbach, see: HSTAD Landratsamt Mönchengladbach 70, p. 204; Landratsamt Mönchengladbach 99, pp. 420 ff.; Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, 1c 913, July 2, 1912 report and Bestand 5/660 Schippers & Daniels, October 26, 1910 and Gebrüder Brandts, August 29, 1910; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , March 18, 1905, Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , May 11, 1907, April 1, 1905, and May 22, 1909; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter for Reuter und Paas, May 16, 1903; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , January 23, 1909, Busch & Florenz; August 5, 1911, Joest & Pauen; Der Textil-Arbeiter , November 25, 1904. For Eupen, Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , December 9, 1899; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , February 4, 1905; Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, Rep. 77, 2525, No. 3, Band 1, January, 1899, pp. 6 ff. For eastern Germany, see Stadtarchiv Cottbus, All 3. 3 b, 33, December 12, 1895; Stadtarchiv Cottbus, All 3. 3 b, Nr. 34, February 22, 1903, and January 20, 1904; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , March 20, 1909, July 10, 1909, and November 20, 1909, Forst (Lausitz); Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 16, 1902, and June 13, 1902, Muskau (Oberlausitz); Der Textil-Arbeiter , October 20, 1905, Chemnitz; Stadtarchiv Crimmitschau, Rep. III, Kap. IX, Lit. B, Nr. 23, 1901, p. 106; Der Textil-Arbeiter , March 7, 1902, and February 10, 1905, Spremberg; Der Textil-Arbeiter , April 18, 1902, Görlitz; Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 8, 1905, Luckenwalde; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 24, 1902, Nowawes; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 24, 1902, Cottbus; Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 21, 1901, Plauen; Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 7, 1901, Falkenstein (Voigtland); Der Textil-Arbeiter , Grossenhain, May 24, 1901; Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 24, 1901, Elsterberg; Der Textil-Arbeiter , March 19, 1909, Sommerfeld; Verband Deutscher Textilarbeiter, Tariferläuterungen und Statistisches: Bearbeitet nach Aufzeichnungen der Tarifkommission im Sächsisch-Thüringischen Textilbezirk (Gera: Alban Bretschneider, 1909), p. 15; Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz n, Rep. A, Kap. IXa, Nr. 165, 1905, p. 95; Stadtarchiv Crimmitshau, Rep. III, Kap. IX, Lit. B, Nr. 23, Nov. 16, 1901; Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , June 1, 1877, p. 122, Forst; Stadtarchiv Werdau, Rep. II, Kap. 4, Nr. 77, Band 2, 1907, p. 13; Märkische Volksstimme , Dec. 3, 1905, Neumünster. For southern Germany, see Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 16, 1902, Nagold (Württemberg); Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 23, 1905, Lambrecht, dating to at least 1900; Der Textil-Arbeiter , December 30, 1904, Schiltach (Baden).
[95] Of 115 stuff and wool mills polled at a national union conference in 1910, 98 paid by shot. Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , August 6, 1910. Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Die Tuch-Konferenz in Crimmitschau 26. und 27. Februar 1910: Unterhandlungs-Bericht (Berlin: Carl Hübsch, 1910), p. 13. A regional survey of 122 weaving mills in the Niederlausitz during 1908 found that 87 percent paid weavers per thousand shots. Verband Deutscher Textilarbeiter, Gau Brandenburg, op. cit., p. 30.
paying weavers presented in the two countries' business press.[96] "Under any circumstances," concluded a German textile journal in 1910, "the wage calculation for fabric by a certain number of weft threads is more proper than by a piece of fabric or by a certain number of pieces."[97]
If the contrasting principles embedded in the operation of German and British piece-rate scales can be explained neither by the mute exigencies of the labor process nor by the legacy of earlier changes at the point of production, where are we to turn for an understanding of their development and significance? To construct weavers' piece-rate scales, managers in both Germany and Britain could not just measure the effort or time taken to weave a single type of cloth. They had to come up with a way of equating the different kinds of labor that went into different kinds of cloth. They could not accomplish this by empirical tests, because weaving was neither a simple process of tending a machine nor a matter of applying one's skill and energy directly as an artisan would, without the interposition of an unmastered technology. Either of these ideal types of production facilitates the empirical measurement of labor in terms of time or, what may amount to the same thing, in terms of the goods it takes a certain amount of time to produce. Weaving, by contrast, consisted of an interaction between the worker, unreliable tools, quirky raw materials, and weather, to turn out a large and changing array of patterns. In a single day a large mill could have over sixty types of cloth in its looms.[98] The enormous variety of patterns and the interaction of such shifting and unmeas-
[96] See supporting comments in Die Textil-Zeitung , September 23, 1907, and February 27, 1905. For other examples of managers taking pay by shot as the natural method, see Die Textil-Zeitung , 1904, Nr. 28, p. 948; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1910/1911, Nr. 65, p. 1126; Max Weber, Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Soziologie und Sozialpolitik (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1924), p. 185; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1912, Nr. 2, p. 31, and 1912, Nr. 3, p. 52 and 1913, Nr. 13, p. 312; Friedrich Leitner, Die Selbstkosten-berechnung industrieller Betriebe (3d ed. Frankfurt am Main: J. D. Sauerländer, 1908), p. 179. The Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie (1914, Nr. 3, p. 82), Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie (1893, Nr. 10, p. 147), and Christlicher Arbeiterfreund (March 17, 1899) measured the output of a weaver per day in terms of shots instead of length of product. See also Rolf Paas, op. cit., p. 57.
[97] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1910/1911, Nr. 65, p. 1126. The Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie also recommended pay by shot as "best," without reference to pick clocks: 1910, Nr. 2.
[98] Richard Marsden, Cotton Weaving: Its Development, Principles, and Practice (London: George Bell & Sons, 1895), p. 471; N. K. Scott, "The Architectural Development of Cotton Mills in Preston and District," Master's thesis, University of Liverpool, 1952, note volume, p. 16. A mill of medium size might turn out three to four hundred types of cloth in the course of a year, Max Weber found. Max Weber, Gesammelte Aufsätze , p. 156. Also Die Textil-Zeitung , January 19, 1897, "Sprechsaal."
urable factors caused managers in both countries to declare it impossible to gauge from experience or trials the time taken to weave each type of fabric.[99] The weavers themselves scarcely considered such an empirical procedure.[100] British weavers sometimes learned to regret the imprecision: some of them who struck work and succeeded in obtaining a piece-rate schedule of their own design found that the scales they had expected to offer an improvement in rewards led instead to an appreciable decline in compensation.[101] In short, the environment was so chaotic that it could not be mirrored in a coherent scale.
Neither lack of attention to the problem nor a naive wish for simplicity led economic agents to deploy a linear scheme for equating different kinds of weaving whose execution had never been individually timed, but a preference for quantifying labor on a linear scale did. The piece-rate tables incorporated a striking difference between specifications of labor as a commodity: in Germany, workers were remunerated for the conversion of labor power into a product; in Britain, they sold their labor as it was concretized in a product. This explanation not only suits the immediate evidence, but it also explains a whole constellation of differences between the institutions of German and British textile mills. By proceeding to show that other forms of practice, such as fines imposed on workers for defective cloth, the categories for wage records, and the transfer of jobs between workers in a single factory incarnated disparate views of labor as a commodity, we may enhance the plausibility and plenitude of a cultural explanation.
[99] Centralblatt für die Textilindustrie , 1893, Nr. 12, p. 176. In weaving, managers could not build pay scales by reckoning backwards from the comparative selling prices of the goods in the market, for the patterns of cloth were often produced as unique batch jobs. On the impracticality of pegging piece rates to the market prices of cloth, see J. de L. Mann, "Clothiers and Weavers in Wiltshire During the Eighteenth Century," in L. S. Pressnell, editor, Studies in the Industrial Revolution (London: Athlone Press, University of London, 1960), p. 75.
[100] The variation in weaving time due to circumstances of the moment was "enormous." Victor Böhmert, "Die Methode der Lohnstatistik," Der Arbeiterfreund: Zeitschrift des Central-Vereins in Preussen für das Wohl der arbeitenden Klassen (Berlin: Otto Janke, 1877), pp. 424–46. In 1856 a representative from the board that designed the Macclesfield piece-rate schedules testified that the question of how much time it would take an average weaver to complete a piece of each kind of fabric was never considered. "The question was, what should be paid for a particular article." Report from the Select Committee on Masters and Operatives , PP 1856 (343) XIII, p. 167.
[101] Andrew Bullen, "Pragmatism Versus Principle: Cotton Employers and the Origins of an Industrial Relations System," in J. A. Jowitt and A. J. McIvor, editors, Employers and Labour in the English Textile Industries, 1850–1914 (London: Routledge, 1988), p. 32.
Defining Fines
Remuneration by piece rates confronted managers with a challenge: how could they ensure that weavers driven to increase the quantity of their output also took care to manufacture cloth of adequate quality? Owners in textiles, as in many nineteenth-century enterprises, found it expedient to impose fines for defective goods—or to hold this sanction in reserve—as a deterrent against workers who might otherwise maximize their earnings by focusing on product quantity alone. But the technology of production made this issue more salient in textiles.[102] The power loom, one of the earliest and inherently clumsiest of mechanical technologies, remained so primitive up to the First World War that under the best conditions it regularly produced defects in the fabric. Managers believed that even well-run machines produced cloth with defects in one out of every ten pieces.[103] Contemporaries therefore agreed that weavers did not have a responsibility to hand in perfect cloth, only to avoid creating severe irregularities or a greater than usual number of errors. Indeed, German and British employers sometimes introduced tolerance limits for the number of flaws that could appear in a run of cloth before fining began.[104]
In both countries, the norms for what factory owners might sell to merchants as premier quality and what they had to sell at a discount as "damaged" fluctuated with the business cycle. Since nearly all cloth was to some extent imperfect, the strength of consumer demand at a given moment influenced the stringency of merchants' standards. A merchant could find after making a purchase from the factory owner that a particular piece was too damaged to satisfy customers and would return the piece to the factory for a refund.[105] Given the indeterminacy of what constituted "bad cloth" in the market, the standard for acceptable quality on the shop floor was estab-
[102] See the inspectors' results in Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 10, 1914, p. 221.
[103] Textile Mercury , August 8, 1908, p. 106. The proportion of defects varied with the complexity of the pattern, the quality of materials, and the stringency of the firm's standards. At the Epe factory of the firm Gebrüder Laurenz, managers declared fewer than 0.5 percent of pieces defective. Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv Dortmund, F61, Nr. 222.
[104] Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Jahrbuch des deutschen Textilarbeiterverbandes, 1913 (Berlin: Karl Hübsch, 1914), p. 113, Aachen; Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 1, 1911, Aachen; Yorkshire Factory Times , January 17, 1890, Halifax; Textile Manufacturer , April 15, 1911, p. 138.
[105] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Volume 12, Nr. 6, p. 67. In Britain a large number of "job-merchants" specialized in trading slightly defective goods. Textile Mercury , 1909, p. 64.
lished through never-ending conflict and negotiation between employers and workers. Fining for bad output ranked as one of the concerns uppermost in textile workers' minds.[106]
The British managers distinguished themselves by sometimes delaying the imposition of a fine for faulty cloth until the effect of the damage had been assessed on the market. They routinely levied a retroactive charge upon the responsible weaver when it finally turned out that a damaged piece fetched a substandard price on the market (in addition to any fines the managers may have levied for faults detected at the moment the weaver handed in the piece). Where the company's cloth examiner was uncertain whether a piece with marginal damage would clear the market, however, he withheld the weaver's wage pending the merchants' inspections. The final deduction might occur many weeks after the weaver had been paid for the piece.[107] A correspondent from Yorkshire, in an exasperated report on the uncertainty weavers experienced over whether they would receive the full price of a piece of fabric, testified, "I have known weavers wait six months for a piece wage."[108] Workers at a firm in Brierfeld reported that their employer followed the market rationale to its conclusion. He notified weavers that they had to cover whatever deductions the merchant buyers in Manchester imposed:" One employer has commenced to give up fining workers for faulty cloth," the Cotton Factory Times reported in 1897, "but should anything be deducted from the piece at Manchester, the weaver has to bear the cost."[109]
Did the British system of delayed penalties for defective output arise to provide a special cloak for arbitrary and irregular exactions? This seems unlikely, since it obviously complicated record-keeping and since employers could raise fines even without demonstrating corresponding losses in the
[106] See the catalog of major grievances, as reported in textile workers' newspapers, in Table 1, Chapter Four below.
[107] Yorkshire Factory Times , July 31, 1891; April 8, 1892, Huddersfield; July 7, 1893, Batley. For Lancashire, see LRO, DDX 1274/6/1, Burnley, September 1, 1900, and November 1, 1900; LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, Preston, April 6, 1907, p. 154, and April 22, 1907, p. 158; Cotton Factory Times , April 1, 1904, Ramsbottom.
[108] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 13, 1891. If a piece was to be mended before going to market, the weaver might receive nothing for it until the repairer completed the job and the cost of the remedy was known. Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890, Lindley and Marsh. The wage of the mender often came straight out of that of the weaver.
[109] Cotton Factory Times , January 29, 1897, Brierfeld. British fining methods did not sit comfortably with all employers. A manager wrote in the businessmen's forum, the Textile Manufacturer of Manchester, that "the best of workpeople require a certain amount of restraint, but the fining system is a slovenly and careless method of administering it." September 15, 1905, p. 290.
market. If the system arose because the agents believed that the market functioned as the true arbiter of the value of the weaver's labor product in Britain, might weavers have benefited from the system? Did refunds accrue retroactively to weavers for cloth which, contrary to earlier expectations, managed to clear the market? This would indicate that the system followed an impartial logic that was not uniformly disadvantageous to workers. Refunds of punishments were not unheard of, but they seem to have been rare, as one might imagine. The Yorkshire Factory Times reported in 1889 that a weaver in Halifax had received a refund of a cloth fine. The in-house examiner had judged the piece defective, but it later passed muster with the firm's outside distributor.[110]
In contrast to their British counterparts, German owners made their deductions immediately inside the factory, based on their own judgment and, in some cases, on a posted scale of their invention (Stopf-Tarif ) that codified the withholdings for each variety of damage.[111] Whereas the British employers set fines by the market evaluation of the product, the German employers set fines by in-house assessment of activity at the point of production. Even when German owners complained that customers had sent cloth back as defective, they did not make retroactive deductions.[112] The German fining practices may have been influenced by the concepts of German civil law. The civil law book made a distinction between business contracts for the delivery of a product and employment contracts for the offering of a labor service (Dienstvertrag ). Jurists in Germany classified textile workers who received piece rates as persons who offered a "service," even if the remuneration system paid workers by the quantity of output.[113] This status as an "employee" established the principles for imposing fines: a textile worker "could not be made responsible for defects in the delivered products, only for such, which he committed by reason of gross negligence or malicious intent."[114] The immediate issue was not
[110] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 1, 1889, p. 5, Halifax.
[111] HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, Regierung Aachen 1634, firm Draemann und Peill, Birkesdorf; Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 1, 1911, Aachen, and July 3, 1914, Dresden. The fine was usually levied before the finishing department of the mill received the piece. Stadtarchiv Werdau, Rep. i, Nr. 72, Feb. 21, 1891. German weavers thought the fine should be levied before the piece had even been processed by the mending department, which undertook small corrections on even the best pieces. Reussische Volkszeitung , February 18, 1902.
[112] Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , March 15, 1902; Der Textil-Arbeiter , April 23, 1909, p. 131.
[113] Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , 1911, p. 1457.
[114] Ibid.
whether the finished product was less than perfect or had less than the full market value; the issue was whether the work had been executed negligently or recklessly.
British courts never drew a principled distinction in the nineteenth century between the offering of a service by an employee and the delivery of a product by a trader. Accordingly, some employers required weavers to purchase and dispose of damaged cloth themselves.[115] Textile employers in Britain who imposed fines for defects used the same expression as would be applied to contractors who delivered a product and had to make good the errors in workmanship. The employers announced, "All bad work must be paid for."[116]
Yet another aspect of some fining systems in Germany diverged from the principle of the exchange of a labor product in the market. German management journals in textiles declared that the fines levied on workers for flaws could not accurately measure the loss the owner would suffer in the market.[117] The surviving fine books show how this assumption worked itself out in practice. They show that some mills standardized the amount withheld for damaged cloth at fifty pfennigs for every piece, as if the punishment functioned as a signal to workers rather than as a means for assessing the actual value of the damage.[118] Since German owners treated the fines principally as a deterrent to poor-quality production rather than as compensation for a loss suffered in the market, they often chose an alternative method for giving weavers an incentive to maintain high standards of work: they paid a bonus for each unobjectionable piece.[119] In the way they utilized the fines collected, too, German owners showed that they viewed the fine as a disciplinary measure rather than as a means of market compensation. Many German firms voluntarily altered their factory ordinances to give the money collected in dockages for faulty cloth to workers' welfare committees. In the Mönchengladbach factory district, forty-seven companies donated such fines to committees at the
[115] Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1893–1894 [c.6894-XXIII] XXXVII, Part I, p. 115.
[116] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 15, 1889, Bingley.
[117] Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , Nr. 8, 1910, p. 233.
[118] Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv Dortmund, F11, Conrad Wilhelm Delius & Co., near Gütersloh; Textilmuseum Apolda, Zimmermann, Verzeichnis über verhängte Geldstrafen , 1892 to 1906. For the knitting trade, see Wilfrid Greif, Studien über die Wirkwarenindustrie in Limbach in Sachsen (Karlsruhe: G. Braunsche Hofbuchdruckerei, 1907), p. 87.
[119] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie Volume 11, Nr. 40 (1907–1908), p. 500; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , August 15, 1898, p. 3; Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Protokoll der 10. Generalversammlung, 1910 (Berlin: Karl Hübsch, n.d.), pp. 300 ff.
turn of the century, although they could perfectly well have pocketed this type of fine.[120]
In sum, the fine for damages in Britain compensated the owner for market losses suffered upon disposing of the workers' labor product. In Germany, the fine disciplined the workers for the careless expenditure of their labor power. In Germany, the practice of assessing fines at the point of production reproduced the belief that workers sold the disposition over "labor power" in the production process; in Britain, the practice of delayed, market-based fining maintained the belief that workers transferred a quantity of labor as it was embodied in finished products. The British method of determining the appropriate fine asked what the product was worth, not how the product came to be.[121]
The implementation of adjustments in some piece-rate lists in Britain tallied with this view that workers were paid for bringing materialized labor to market. At most mills in Lancashire, the prices weavers received for each type of cloth were fixed by districtwide rather than firm-specific schedules. When a new list went into effect, it became valid on fabric delivered to the company warehouse after a specified date. The criterion was not when the labor power was expended, but when the product was brought into the sphere of circulation.[122]
The Circulation of Labor
The divergent German and British specifications of the transfer of labor under the wage contract guided the employers' bookkeeping systems for weavers' earnings. Since British factory proprietors thought of themselves as buying labor as it was embodied in the product, their accounting techniques credited funds only to the loom from which the product was delivered, not to the weaver who executed the labor activity. In both Lancashire and Yorkshire, the employers numbered their looms consecutively by row. Usually the wages books indicated only the number of the loom to which the pay went, not the weaver's name.[123] If a weaver left the mill before
[120] HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf 25017, p. 31, for 1895, and HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf 25027, pp. 19 ff., for 1904.
[121] Herbert Maucher distinguishes between "causal remuneration," compensation based on the process of creating products, and "final remuneration," based on the products' market value (op. cit., p. 3).
[122] LRO, DDX 1123/B/438, Amalgamated Weavers' Association, 1937.
[123] For examples, see Robert Clough, Brotherton Collection, University of Leeds; Taylor and Littlewood, Kirklees Archives; West Yorkshire Archive Service, Wakefield, C149/490; W. P. Crankshaw, "The Internal Books of a Weaving Mill," Journal of the British Association of Managers of Textile Works Volume 4 (1912–1913), p. 114; Elizabeth Roberts's interviews,Preston, Mrs. B1P, born 1900. When the weavers' union in Preston recorded individual members' requests for intervention in dealing with personal grievances, it took down the weavers' loom numbers. See, illustratively, LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, 1904, p. 2. For the 1840s, see H. S. G., Autobiography of a Manchester Cotton Manufacturer (Manchester: John Heywood, 1887), p. 32. British pottery works did not register wages paid to each employee name, either. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1893–1894 XXXVII, Part I, p. 63.
finishing a long piece, the company gave the full amount for the piece to the next weaver who came along and had the loom at the moment of completion.[124] Even if the original weaver and the successor did not know each other, the company left it to the weavers to allocate the pay between themselves.[125] When British employers levied fines for defective fabric, they deducted the penalty from the loom, not necessarily from the weaver who had been in charge of the machine when the work was executed.[126] In the Colne Valley, women on the same looms as men worked at disadvantageous piecerate scales, allegedly because the men could do more tuning of the loom on their own and could carry away the finished pieces.[127] But a man who took the loom of an ill woman as a temporary replacement received only the women's rate, because the loom number remained on the company books as a woman's.[128] Each of these procedures treated the weavers as if they were connected to the mill not by a relation of servitorship but by their occupancy of a machine from which the mill received its deliveries.[129]
Like British employers, the Germans identified each loom by cipher and kept track of each loom's output by code in what they called the "weavers' book." In addition, however, they kept records by which they could ascertain the earnings of each weaver as an employee.[130] In German weaving mills, if
[124] Whether the worker was obligated to finish the piece before leaving or needed only to give notice of his leaving formed a point of legal dispute in Britain. Yorkshire Factory Times , May 16, 1890, Marsh and Lindley.
[125] Yorkshire Factory Times , May 23, 1902, p. 5; LRO, DDX 1274/6/1, Burnley, November 1, 1899, and DDX 1089/8/1, pp. 191–192, Oct. 28, 1907; Cotton Factory Times , April 2, 1897, Oldham.
[126] Yorkshire Factory Times , January 7, 1898, p. 4; LRO, DDC 1274/6/1, Burnley, May 1, 1899. Yorkshire Factory Times , September 1, 1893, Batley.
[127] Some female weavers working on certain types of looms said that they lacked the strength needed to lift the adjusting weights. Elizabeth Roberts's interviews, Mrs. P1P, born 1898, p. 87. The reduced piece rates for women probably exceeded the actual difference in productivity between men and women.
[128] Yorkshire Factory Times , July 24, 1891, and September 1, 1893, p. 4. The women's scale had the same structure as the men's scale, but lower rates.
[129] For a reference to manufacturers employing "looms" rather than weavers in the putting-out trade, see Minutes of Evidence, John Niblett, Committee on Woollen Bill, PP 1802–1803 (95) VII, p. 38.
[130] Barmen, Beiträge zur Statistik der Stadt Barmen , Volume 2 (1906), pp. 2–3. Seide , July 25, 1900, p. 467. Emil Bittner, Die Fabriks-Buchführung für Webereien (Leipzig: Hartle-ben, 1902), p. 27. Since German mill owners in practice were not required to scale their payroll deductions to the weekly earnings of each worker, the difference between German and British accounting methods cannot be attributed to the legal environment. Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , June 5, 1909, Emsdetten; accounting procedures described in Der Textil-Arbeiter , March 3, 1911, Friedland.
one weaver took another's place as a temporary replacement, the firm gave the weavers the choice of allocating the wages themselves or of having the firm do it for them.[131] The German mills directed the compensation to the executor of labor, not merely to the immediate supplier of a good.
The British textile mill owners' bookkeeping faced an unanticipated challenge after Parliament passed the Insurance Act of 1911. Under this law, employers had to transfer weekly deductions from workers' pay to the friendly societies and companies administering the insurance plan. In an address to the Batley Chamber of Commerce in 1912, one manufacturer said that "there was a difficulty arising out of the fact that many manufacturers did not pay the weaver but the loom."[132] How could they know how much to deduct from each weaver's pay when they did not keep track of individual weavers' earnings? To meet the requirements of the act without changing their record system, employers improvised. They subtracted a standard amount regardless of how much the weaver actually earned, "leaving a few odd weavers to claim their penny or two" when the deductions overshot the mark.[133] Despite this unintended intrusion from the state, British employers preserved the integrity of their method of appropriating materialized labor all the way up to the First World War.
The same principles governing the arrangement of numbers on the company ledgers regulated the assignment of workers to machinery. British weavers in charge of a set of looms were responsible for delivering products from the machines, but they did not have to offer their personal labor effort to do so. At many mills weavers escaped punishment for absence from the loom without permission so long as they sent a representative, possibly a family member, to take their place that day.[134] Weaving "sick" became an
[131] Stadtarchiv Bielefeld, XII 75, November 13, 1894; Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz n, Rep. A, Kap. IX, Nr. 207, 1893, p. 282.
[132] Textile Mercury , September 7, 1912, p. 182. To fill out the forms for the government's employment censuses, managers sometimes had to ask the individual tuners for information on the current size and composition of the workforce. Yorkshire Factory Times , January 18, 1895, and September 12, 1912, p. 6. For Lancashire, see Yorkshire Factory Times , April 3, 1908, p. 2, Burnley.
[133] Employers could not make insurance deductions from workers who earned under one shilling and sixpence per day.
[134] PP 1890–1891 LXXVIII, p. 220. Yorkshire Factory Times , November 8, 1889, July 14, 1893, and December 1, 1893. The weavers might also go on vacation if they dispatched substi-tutes. Yorkshire Factory Times , October 2, 1891, Bradford; December 27, 1889, Kirkstall. For Lancashire: Paul Thompson and Thea Thompson, family and work history interviews, Respondent 336, Keighley, born 1890; LRO, DDX 1274/6/1, December 1, 1900; Burnley Gazette , April 14, 1894, p. 8. At some mills, if a weaver became ill the firm gave the loom to someone else unless the weaver sent in a substitute. Yorkshire Factory Times , April 7, 1893, Shipley; Cotton Factory Times , January 22, 1897, Manchester. For examples of firms waiting only one hour before permanently reassigning an absent worker's loom, see LRO, DDX 1089/8/2, Preston, December 5, 1912, p. 176, and Royal Commission on Labour, Burnley, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 45.
established occupation in Britain; that is, one might not have a permanent loom of one's own, but filled in for friends and neighbors who became ill.[135] In Germany, the firms themselves sometimes kept spare hands around, called "springers"—to "spring in" for ill weavers.[136] It was not unknown in Germany for weavers to dispatch their own substitutes, although the sources mention this much less frequently than in Britain.[137] The meaningful difference, however, is this: the British weavers, unlike their German counterparts, sometimes did not need permission beforehand from the overlooker or manager to send a particular person in their stead.[138] In fact, at mills in the Colne Valley, Yorkshire, the weavers reached arrangements with the factory owners to fetch substitutes of their choosing after the supper break if the machinery had to run overtime.[139]
The British weavers' retention of the disposition over their work capacity, so long as their machines delivered sufficient output, influenced the ordinary assignment of looms to their operators. A single set of looms could regularly be shared among several persons. For example, at a mill in the Buttershaw area of Yorkshire, two women in 1894 who needed only part-time work made a compact to alternate on a single set of looms in the course of the week.[140] They could balance the demands of work with their domestic schedules. In Lancashire, a family as a whole could take on the management of a large group of looms and divide attendance among
[135] Joanna Bornat's interview with Miss V., born 1901; Bradford Heritage Recording Unit, A0087, respondent, born 1903, describes her mother's job of "weaving sick." Also Yorkshire Factory Times , December 6, 1889, p. 4; March 4, 1892; March 27, 1903, p. 4.
[136] Die Textil-Zeitung , March 9, 1897, "Krebsschaden."
[137] Factory ordinance of Joseph Kaltenbach, HSTAD, Regierung Aachen, 1633.
[138] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 25, 1890, Dewsbury and Ravensthorpe. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, June 26, 1891, p. 45.
[139] Yorkshire Factory Times , October 7, 1892, Marsden. Employers denied responsibility for ensuring that the regular weavers paid the substitutes honestly. Cotton Factory Times , April 2, 1897, Oldham.
[140] Yorkshire Factory Times , October 26, 1894. For Lancashire, see Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Ms. L1P, born 1900.
themselves as they wished.[141] At mills where weavers usually operated two looms each, they typically went down to one loom each when business slackened. They believed that under such conditions they had the right to opt instead for a buddy system with a friend. Each weaver doubled up with a partner and worked alternate days for the duration of the depression, each serving two looms during their turn in the mill.[142] These arrangements ensured the provision of finished products to the factory owner without the commitment of the labor capacity lodged in the person of the weaver.[143]
As in weaving, so in spinning. An incident from the spinning department of a mill in Yeadon, Yorkshire, illuminates the British treatment of workers as the deliverers of the output from a machine. When the employer at a Yeadon factory restored in 1908 to night overtime, he did not require that the daytime mule spinners extend their own hours; instead, he authorized them to "engage the night men" on their own. The daytime spinners received piece rates for the entire output of their machine and themselves decided how to pay the men who tended it during the night shift. When the night-time workers went on strike in 1908, the Conciliation Board defined the day spinners, not the factory owner, as the strikers' "employers."[144] In other situations, when mule spinners hired young assistants known as piecers, the courts recognized the mule spinners, not the mill proprietors, as the piecers' legal employers.[145] The
[141] Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mr. G1P of Preston, born 1903, p. 44. For a similar case in Burnley, see LRO, DDX 1274/6/1, December 1, 1899. For two sisters sharing a set of looms, see Blackburn Library Archives, Minutes, Blackburn Weavers' Association, July 19, 1865. Mrs. E. Brook of Almondbury, Yorkshire, discussed father-daughter sharing in my own interview with her. Weavers on six looms could divide them among assistants as they pleased. See Dermot Healey's interview tape 628, female weaver, Colne, p. 17.
[142] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 18, 1890, and November 6, 1903, p. 5. In an incident at Great Horton in 1898, the owner said workers could use a buddy system if the manager did not object—but the manager did object. Yorkshire Factory Times , February 25, 1898, p. 5.
[143] Employers sometimes accepted for a period of months an alternate sent by an ill weaver. See Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mrs. P1P, born 1898, Preston. For an exception, see Dermot Healey's interview tape 850, male worker from Nelson, born 1907.
[144] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 3, 1908, p. 1.
[145] Textile Manufacturer , August 15, 1881, p. 304; Yorkshire Factory Times , May 15, 1913, p. 5. When questioned about their attitude toward their "boss," piecers described, not the factory owner, but the spinner. Paul Thompson and Thea Thompson, family and work history interviews, Respondent 122, Bolton, born 1895. Employers thought it was not their business to "interfere" in the supervision of employees' assistants. Yorkshire Factory Times , February 28, 1908, p. 6. Mill proprietors had no claim to the piecers' attendance. If piecers rebelliously left the mill "in a body" and shut down production, the owners had no recourse. Report from the Oldham Master Cotton Spinners' Association, Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXVI Part IV, p. xxv.
factory spinners became middlemen who contracted to deliver materialized labor to the factory owner. In Germany, by contrast, mule spinners and other workers who directed the use of machinery or even selected their own underlings were generally viewed as employees who did not have the authority to assume the legal position of an employer.[146] What differed was not the reliance on subcontracting per se but its cultural significance. Workers who selected their assistants in Germany could not assume the status of an employer, because they remained "in a dependent relation to the factory owner."[147]
Is it possible that the contrasts between the countries in the rules for staffing looms can be attributed to differences in the supply of labor? Perhaps British textile firms allowed weavers to send substitutes as a means of attracting workers when labor was scarce. Female workers in particular might have been more willing to undertake mill work if they had some flexibility to attend to family matters on occasion. This explanation does not accord with the economic conditions, however. In Bradford, for instance, companies accepted substitutes of the weavers' choosing even when they enjoyed the benefits of an overwhelming surplus of labor.[148] The availability of labor fluctuated region by region, decade by decade in Britain, whereas the institutions for staffing machinery remained stable. In Germany, companies confronted with labor shortages attempted to recruit female workers by another means. They allowed women to leave the mill a half-hour early (and on the eve of some holidays) to manage the household meals.[149] German employers thereby shortened the expenditure of labor in time but maintained a claim to the labor power lodged in the person of the worker during the worker's hours on duty.
The textile workers' idioms for employment in the two countries betrayed divergent understandings of the process by which they entered into the wage contract. In the narratives of the textile union newspapers in Germany, weavers who sought employment at a mill asked for "a position." In Britain, however, the weavers asked if the employer "had any looms to let."[150] "Looking for a new pair of looms" stood for going on the job market;
[146] See Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha, Fabrikordnung Baumwoll-Spinnerei G. Matthes in Leubsdorf.
[147] Stadtarchiv Plauen, Rep. I, Kap. VI, Sekt. I, Nr. 90B, March 18, 1873, pp. 123–127. Apart from this difference in their legal positions, subcontractors in Germany had less unqualified authority over underlings than did subcontractors in Britain.
[148] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 26, 1892, and June 4, 1897.
[149] Kathleen Canning, "Gender and the Politics of Class Formation," American Historical Review Volume 97, Number 3 (June 1992) p. 749; and below, p. 481.
[150] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 17, 1908, Burnley.
"being given a loom" meant getting hired.[151] British mule spinners who received a job said that they "had taken wheels."[152] To get hired, weavers and spinners in both countries followed the same channels through overlookers and foremen. Yet the expressions of British workers connected them to the company primarily by their use of a machine, as if they were independent operators of equipment for whose output they were paid,[153] whereas the language of the German workers emphasized the occupancy of a social "position" in a relation of servitorship.
The British appreciation of the sale of labor through the delivery of products influenced the language not only of hiring but of joblessness. After British weavers were dismissed from a stint, they said they lacked a loom, not that they were "unemployed." The term unemployment acquired wide currency only after the turn of the century, when political analysts launched the expression.[154] To discharge a worker, gestures sometimes proved more powerful in Britain than speech. When a British overlooker or manager fired a weaver, he did not have to utter a word. In a movement which became a standard symbol, understood immediately by the weaver, upon completion of the piece the boss simply yanked the shuttles from the loom.[155] Disabling the machine indicated the end of the weaver's tenure at the machine; nothing need be spoken to the person.
Traders and Capitalists
Did the differences between the exchange of "labor" in German and British textiles appear in other industries as well? In the mining industry of Britain, which employed more persons than any branch of manufacturing in the country, the understanding of labor delivered as it was materialized in a
[151] Interview tape with H. Jennings, by Bob Turner, at Centre for English Cultural Tradition and Language, University of Sheffield; Yorkshire Factory Times , December 26, 1902; November 1, 1889, pp. 4, 7.
[152] Operative Spinners of England, Ireland, and Scotland, A Report of the Proceedings of a Delegate Meeting of the Operative Spinners of England, Ireland and Scotland, Assembled at Ramsey, Isle of Man (Manchester: M. Wardle, 1829), p. 44; broadsheet from Henry Wood's Mill, Wigan, Oldham City Archives, TUI 23i.
[153] The connection to the firm via title to a machine is illustrated in the reinstatement of workers after strikes. Upon settlement of the extended Huddersfield dispute of 1883, the weavers themselves claimed that if their employers had in the meantime transported some looms out of the shed, those weavers whose machines were missing should seek work elsewhere. Huddersfield Daily Examiner , May 8, 1883.
[154] Samuel G. Hobson, Pilgrim to the Left (London: E. Arnold & Co., 1938), p. 47. For use of the phrase "out-of-work" benefits, see Yorkshire Factory Times , January 24, 1908.
[155] Yorkshire Factory Times , March 4, 1898, and July 4, 1902.
product led to the creation during the nineteenth century of so-called sliding scales. Industrial experts of the time recognized this means of compensating workers as a distinctively British invention.[156] Wage agreements under this system pegged the piece rates that miners received to the price of coal in the raw materials markets. In Cumberland, for example, piece rates in the 1880s rose 1.25 percent for every 1.5 percent rise in the price of coal. In keeping with the logic of transferring materialized labor, the valid selling price was registered at the moment the coal came on board ship or into storage at the colliery, not necessarily when the labor was executed.[157] Calculation of wages as a proportion of the market value of the product had a long tradition in districts where miners and employers could come to agreements.[158] In Germany miners argued that higher coal prices justified an increase in their wage, but no one supposed that a wage should be cast in the form of a standard portion of the selling price realized in the market.[159]
The British iron and steel industry, which employed almost as many persons as the textile trade, used scales that automatically adjusted piece rates to vending prices when circumscribed markets developed for standardized products such as nails and iron bars.[160] Experts have despaired of dating with precision the origin of this institution, but they have concluded that by the 1830s, at the latest, puddlers' remuneration was indexed to the iron's selling price.[161] The endurance of piece-rate scales pegged to the finished article's selling price did not depend on formal collective bargaining or
[156] PP 1892 XXXVI, Part 1, February 12, 1892, pp. 259 ff.; C. Colson, Cours d'économie politique (Paris: Gauthier-Villars, 1901), Volume 2, p. 68; Bernhard, op. cit., p. 167.
[157] J. E. Crawford Munro, Sliding Scales in the Coal Industry (London: John Heywood, 1885), p. 6.
[158] At the beginning of the nineteenth century, piece rates were determined by the market price of the coal in various cities. Jaffe, op. cit., p. 61. Jaffe shows (pp. 48–49) that employers in the coal industry concerned themselves with the terms of trade in the product markets, not with the conversion of labor power. Cornish miners received a percentage of the value of ore delivered aboveground: see Rule, Labouring Classes , pp. 124–125. The challenge of arriving at equitable sliding formulas bedeviled employers and workers. Many scales were canceled and renegotiated. Although coal workers in some regions oscillated on and off the system, they and their employers continued to recommend it as the ideal form of remuneration. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXIV, e.g., pp. 12, 156, 161, 225.
[159] Die Westdeutsche Arbeiter-Zeitung , January 26, 1901. Prior to the First World War, the factory inspectors could not find instances of the implementation of sliding scales in Germany: see, for example, the report of Bernhard, op. cit., p. 170.
[160] J. E. C. Munro, "Sliding Scales in the Iron Industry," Address to the Manchester Statistical Society, December 9, 1885, Manchester Library Archives. PP 1892 XXXVI, Part 1, March 1, 1892, p. 312.
[161] Sidney Webb and Beatrice Webb, The History of Trade Unionism (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1894), p. 484.
craft workers' power, since the system remained in place even in periods when the iron workers' unions were nearly extinguished, as in the late 1860s. For members of the steel smelters' union, these sliding scales, based on the selling prices of steel plates, were eventually "extended to practically every class of labour which could directly affect production."[162] Workers supposed that under an adjustable scale they became suppliers of products rather than mere employees. The Association of Iron and Steel Workers, for example, advocated the indexing of piece rates on this ground. The president of this association testified in 1892 that he supported the use of sliding scales for pay because "it has been our custom in the North of England under our board, where it was possible, for every skilled man to be the contractor for his own work."[163] In this respect, the aristocracy of skill did not remain privileged. By the beginning of the twentieth century, less qualified underhand workers, too, received their compensation as a percentage of the shifting contract rates for iron and steel.[164]
Both workers and employers believed that the indexing of piece rates was founded on the principles by which agents exchanged labor as a commodity. The practice did not represent a form of profit-sharing, for the prosperity of industries did not conform to the selling prices of their products.[165] Workers saw that under the arrangement they sacrificed control over the price at which they disposed of their labor. "In the sliding scale principle," the secretary of the Association of Blast-Furnacemen said in 1891, "when the wages are regulated by the selling price per ton, in a sense a man gives up his right of sale of labor and puts it into his employers' power to sell it at what price he likes."[166] Employers in the iron trade considered the sliding scales a logical means of assessing the value of the labor they purchased.
[162] Arthur Pugh, Men of Steel, by One of Them (London: Iron and Steel Trades Confederation, 1951), p. 136. German iron workers typically were paid by the amount of raw material they processed as a group. Walter Timmermann, Entlöhnungsmethoden in der Hannoverschen Eisenindustrie (Berlin: Leonhard Simion, 1906), p. 25.
[163] Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXVI, Part 1, March 2, 1892, p. 339. On the use of sliding scales in shipbuilding, see Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1893–1894 [c.6894-VII] XXXII, p. 75.
[164] Bernard Elbaum and Frank Wilkinson, "Industrial Relations and Uneven Development: A Comparative Study of the American and British Steel Industries," Cambridge Journal of Economics Volume 3, Number 3 (September 1979), p. 292.
[165] Robert S. Spicer, British Engineering Wages (London: Edward Arnold & Co., 1928), pp. 133–134.
[166] Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXVI, Part 1, Feb 12, 1892, p. 263. Even when sliding scales lapsed due to disagreement over the rates, they remained the model for selling labor. PP1892 XXXVI, Part 1, pp. 259, 309–310.
They claimed that "no better standard existed of the value of labour in the market than the price of the article produced."[167] The system put employers in the role of merchants who resold finished products at a guaranteed margin rather than that of entrepreneurs who sought a profit by combining labor power with other resources.[168] The British system of sliding scales astounded observes in Germany, where workers received wages for the expenditure of their labor power itself. Indeed, to economic agents in Germany, the fluctuating scales in Britain abolished such a thing as a "labor market," given the German understanding of labor as a commodity. "This type of pay agreement," the organ for Christian unions in Germany declared, "is not based on the supply and demand of labor power . . . but on market relations of the product."[169]
Culture does not function as a steel curtain that bends practices into shape. The humble instrumentalities of manufacture result from the intersection of a cultural logic with the tangible materials of production. Accordingly, the assumption in Britain that abstract labor is exchanged as it is objectified in a product appeared under different guises among the country's industries, depending upon the concrete setting of the labor process. Textiles offers a sector of enterprise which, though not representative of industry as a whole, expresses its essential principles. The systems for remunerating workers in mining and iron-making enterprises indicate that the intervention of culture led not to uniformity but to isomorphisms in practice across different sectors of the British economy.
An employer who purchases labor power, rather than materialized labor, will have first claim to the profit that accrues from improvements in the efficient combination and use of the factors of production. But the sliding-scale system in Britain treated labor not as a raw input into a "value-added process" dependent on management and organization but as something purchased as a finished component. Even in British enterprises that did not use sliding scales, the employers could carry this premise into their procedures for keeping the production process in order. Some manuals for cost accounting show that British manufacturers believed their profits came from buying the
[167] Report of arbitrator for Middlesbrough award of 1882, cited by Munro, "Sliding Scales in the Iron Industry," op. cit.
[168] For the application of the sliding-scale tenet in British textiles, see Chapter Nine, below, at footnotes 183 ff. A representative of the jute workers' union endorsed the principle before the Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 472.
[169] Mitteilungen des Gesamtverbandes der christlichen Gewerkschaften Deutschlands , November 11, 1901, p. 146.
separate components of a product cheaply and then selling at least one of them dearly. Edward J. C. Swaysland, in an insider's book of advice for commercial success in the boot and shoe trade, claimed in 1905 that manufacturers could turn a profit on an order even if they accidentally purchased labor at a higher price than they could receive by reselling the same labor. Swaysland's guide showed manufacturers how to keep a card for each worker that debited the material and labor costs for each shoe order and credited the worker for the good's selling price: "His credit would be the result of his work, and may be divided into the results from the use of material and the value of his labour. It might happen that a loss on his labour would be more than counterbalanced by the gain on his use of material."[170] Here the labor enters the equation already embodied in the shoe, so that the buying and selling price of that element can immediately be assessed. "The source of profit is too abstruse to be fully considered here," the author explained. "There may be no profit on the estimate of prime cost, but considerable profit on the purchase of material."[171] In this depiction, the manufacturer survives like a mercantile trader who profiteers in the sphere of exchange.
When British textile employers reflected upon the hiring of auxiliary workers with time wages, they conceived this arrangement, too, as the appropriation of the labor materialized in goods, not as the purchase of labor power. From their standpoint, the time wage was only a different measure of the product to be acquired. As the business counsel George Wood put it, "We may define Time-Work as 'A Contract to sell all the produce of labour in a certain time.' "[172] A leading organ for British managers, the Textile Mercury , emphasized in 1891 that the employment transaction comprised the renting out of a factory in return for products: "The unexpressed terms of this contract are that the employer shall provide a mill, machinery, motive power, materials to work up into fabrics, and orders for such fabrics; the weaver on his or her side, promising to attend the regulation time for working, and to perform the work given to him or her at the stipulated price."[173]
[170] Edward J. C. Swaysland, Boot and Shoe Design and Manufacture (Northhampton: Joseph Tebbutt, 1905), pp. 236–237.
[171] Ibid., p. 233. "The method of employing labour is also analogous to the purchase of material." Ibid.
[172] Wood, op. cit., p. 5. For parallel reasoning in other British industries, see the sources cited above in footnote 51.
[173] Textile Mercury , September 19, 1891, p. 186. William Marcroft proposed in 1878 that operatives should be able to organize as a group to manage the mill and deliver products to the owner. "If adult operatives by their growing experience show an ability to manage workpeople, and have a desire to contract to do the whole of the practical labour in the mill," he said, "thecotton mill operatives, through a committee elected by the adult operatives might undertake to engage those mill operatives whom they thought best calculated to do the work." William Marcroft, Management of a Company's Cotton Mill (Oldham: Tetlow, Stubbs & Co., 1878), pp. 7–8.
The journal's summary cast the employers as investors who get a return by furnishing the means of production, not as innovative organizers and controllers of the use of living labor.
British textile workers acquired a corresponding view of their employers. They expressed this in their response to the problems mill owners encountered at the start of the twentieth century when factories switched production to goods slightly different from those for which the machines had been designed. The owners of these factories in Lancashire requested that weavers accept piece rates lower than the official district wages. Employers in certain neighborhoods said they needed the reduction to cope with their "disadvantages" in the market, since the output on the machines was less than that of competitors. "But why in the world weavers should be expected to pay for local disadvantages is beyond me," a correspondent wrote in 1916 for The Power Loom , the journal of the Nelson Lancashire Weavers' Association. "If I own property with certain disadvantages attached to it, I must make allowances for these disadvantages before I can hope to get a tenant."[174] In rejecting the employers' claims, the weavers treated the factory as property that the owner leased to the workers. They could have blamed the owners for poor command of management. Instead they reasoned as if the employers were landlords who rented out a run-down facility, not entrepreneurs who gathered and integrated resources.
The explications of the labor transaction in Britain contrast with the emphasis in the German commercial press upon the employer's purchase of the disposition over the work capacity.[175] The organ of the association of Saxon businessmen, Sächsische Industrie , analyzed the transfer of labor in the employment relation in an essay from 1907 entitled, literally, "Labor-'Giver' and Labor-'Taker,' " a play on the German root words for the terms employer and employee (Arbeitgeber and Arbeitnehmer ). The article took care to define "the modern concept of labor" as " 'labor power' or 'labor execution.' " Nowadays, the article explained, "the concept of 'labor' in the modern economy has received another meaning in some contexts than pre-
[174] The Power Loom (January 1916), p. 4.
[175] German employers referred to the workers' labor as a potential that could be valorized. "We do not hold it against any worker if he gives up his service to us," the owners of the Mechanized Weaving Mill of Linden said in 1906, "in order better to valorize his labor power elsewhere." Volkswille , Hannover, April 3, 1906.
viously. Labor is the expenditure of power which is supposed to lead to useful results."[176] Given this more exact usage, it said, the German words for employer and employee were not to be taken literally. This journal's sophisticated emphasis on the "modern" definition of labor echoed that of German business economists. Hans Mangoldt, a pioneer in the development of the "theory of the firm," gave a succinct definition of the wage that highlighted the disposition over a potential. "The wage," he explained in his survey of economics, published in 1871, "is the compensation for the use of one's own labor power which has been entrusted to another person."[177] Karl Marx exercised his wit upon the British employers' supposedly crude appreciation of the acquisition of labor. Had Marx turned back to his land of origin and investigated the understanding of labor as a commodity among employers in Germany, he might have experienced the shock of recognition.
The Strategy for Specifying Culture's Effect
This inquiry did not presuppose that textile factory practices ought to be analyzed as facts of culture. Instead, it used strategic comparisons to rule out alternative explanations that would attribute the shape of factory practices to the survival of customs from earlier stages of development or to forced adaptation to the business environment. The commodity of labor, a fiction of comparatively recent invention, did not assume a natural or generic form in economic exchange with the development of wage labor. It was fabricated out of historically specific concepts that shaped different practices in similar settings. The principle of pay by shot, for example, was rooted in utilitarian practice, but it did not derive from the functional requirements of practice. As a condition for carrying out the "material" exchange of labor for a wage, employers and workers construed the meaning of the transaction with a priori assumptions about what comprised the "labor" transfer.
Social theorists in general and anthropologists in particular have long recognized that agents call upon a symbolic order to organize the material processes of production and exchange. Yet to reaffirm the importance of a
[176] Sächsische Industrie , October 8, 1907, p. 337.
[177] Hans Mangoldt, Grundriss der volkswirtschaftlichen Lehre (2d ed. Stuttgart: Julius Maier, 1871), p. 149. Carl Friedrich Roesler wrote in 1861, "The wage is the compensation for the use of the productive capacity lodged in the worker, which is directed into the product through the labor process." Carl Friedrich Hermann Roesler, Zur Kritik der Lehre vom Arbeitslohn: Ein volkswirtschaftlicher Versuch (Erlangen: Ferdinand Enke, 1861), p. 57.
cultural pattern, some analysts are content to argue that it is a necessary component for the realization of social institutions and for their investigation.[178] The premise that culture provides the indispensable coordinates of conduct, if accepted, by itself reveals nothing about the causal significance of culture. It could well be the case that culture represents a necessary ingredient for the construction of institutions but that it is closely shaped by the demands of economic forces. In this instance, culture need not arise as a "reflection" of economic institutions—for, as a pool of symbolic resources, of ever reconstruable signs, it is not produced by those institutions—yet it is neither directive nor formative in its own right. By comparing factories that developed in similar environments, this study shows not only that culture was necessary for building the regimes of the factory but also that it was independent of the immediate economic environment and was constitutive of the form of practice. Only a controlled comparison can advance this more decisive point.
Let us be clear about the way in which this study attributes a causal significance to culture. It does not claim that culture set limits to organizational innovation—the business manager's view of culture as an irrational drag upon change.[179] This approach to culture's effect lends it the force of dumb inertia and resistance, not that of a selective social logic. At illuminating junctures, such as the late creation de novo of piece-rate scales in Yorkshire or during the breakdown of labor-management institutions in diverse industries, we saw that "institutional inertia" alone cannot be invoked for the reproduction of forms of practice. Nor did this chapter unfold by showing that separate cultural beliefs attached to different domains of conduct fit together to form a consistent world view.[180] This approach, like the structuralist understanding of culture, makes culture in the first instance a way of interpreting the capitalist production process rather than a principle composing it. Finally, we have not treated culture as a means of legitimating
[178] Without the concept of culture, Clifford Geertz informs us, we cannot render the agents' conduct intelligible. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973).
[179] For an example of the commercial world's understanding of culture as an ingrained "corporate mentality," see Michael Dertouzos, Richard Lester, and Robert Solow, Made in America:Regaining the Productive Edge (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The M.I.T.Press,1989), p. 274.
[180] For examples of recent works that critically review the tradition of searching for consistencies across beliefs within a culture, see David Laitin, Hegemony and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), pp. 17, 19; Robert Wuthnow, Meaning and Moral Order (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), pp. 45–46.
institutions. Unlike Reinhard Bendix's landmark Work and Authority in Industry , this comparative inquiry does not show that ideas justified practices that originated this way or that. It does not show that culture upheld the survival of industrial systems from without; rather, the commodity form of labor constituted from within the form of industrial procedure. In the textile industry the operation of the weavers' piece-rate scales, the assignment of looms, the replacement of absent workers, the recording of earnings—all these instrumentalities assumed their shape and were reproduced by virtue of the definition of labor as a commodity they sustained. In a capitalist order which fragments culture and undermines the coherence of collective belief, we may not be able to show that numerous concepts fit together in the "minds" of the "subjects" to form a consistent world view. But we can examine one concept to see how it composes a consistent province of practice.
The discovery that factory techniques were arranged by cultural definitions of labor as a commodity places several questions on the agenda. How did the specifications of labor influence workers' relations with supervisors in the factory? How did these principles configure the techniques of time discipline and the employers' surveillance of the shop floor? The remainder of Part One resolves these issues. If German producers defined the employment transaction as the sale of the disposition over the expenditure of labor, and British producers defined it as the transfer of materialized labor, what were the historical origins of these opposing assumptions? Part Two, the middle portion of this work, presents the genesis of the cultural differences and advances a model of the creation of labor as a commodity of labor that applies to other European settings as well. Did the contrasting ways of commodifying labor influence the pattern of struggle between textile workers and their employers? Part Three, the study's last segment, shows how the workers' concepts of the sale of labor shaped the formulation of demands, the execution of strikes, and the ideological horizons of the trade unions. We will see that the divergent stipulations of labor organized the most fundamental dimensions of life at the site of production: time and space themselves.
3—
The Control of Time and Space
There is always a mediator between praxis and practices, namely the conceptual scheme by the operation of which matter and form, neither with any independent existence, are realized as structures, that is[,] as entities which are both empirical and intelligible.
Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Savage Mind
It has become commonplace to assert that the concepts on which we as social agents rely virtually constitute objects by bringing them into view. The categories of a culture thereby become instruments of power, for in defining the setting they demarcate the imaginable courses of action. This view of culture as a schema for representing the world offers a starting point for conceiving culture's effectivity. But it is incomplete. If accepted as a terminus, it obstructs our understanding of how culture is situated at the point of production and of how it is reproduced. By casting culture as a system of representations, practice appears in the first instance as a referent for signs.
Comparative study of procedures on the factory shop floor reveals that the micro-practices of production were constituted as signs, whether or not they served as the objects of a system of verbal representations. As the analysis of the piece-rate scales demonstrated, the bare instrumentalities of the mill had a representational function incorporated into their material operation. The commonsensical notion that culture is a schema that agents own and apply to interpret the environment imitates heroic visions of the taming of external nature: the environment presents itself as a brute fact which is mediated and thereby civilized by each individual's use of the possession of culture. But the factory is culturally constituted through and through: the producers need only follow its palpable logic. The template of labor as a commodity came to life not in the subjective outlooks of individuals but in the orchestration of practice to fulfill a signifying function.
Accordingly, the regulation of workers' conduct in time and space at German and British textile factories did not follow a logic that blindly multiplied the means of control and surveillance to create a common
"disciplinary regime."[1] Rather, the instrumentalities of the production site were perspicaciously assembled in each country by unique specifications of the valorization of employees' labor time. As with the analysis of the piece-rate scales, so with the measurement of time we need to consider the relevant physical properties of the production process in order to discern the constitutive effect of cultural categories upon industrial institutions. Not only the monetized time of the workers but the very passage of time in the manufacturing process incorporated contrasting guidelines in the two countries.
Time Measurements
The production of the mechanical loom may have been sensible to the naked eye, but it could be intelligibly organized only through its cultural inscriptions. Power looms in England and Germany by the end of the nineteenth century ran at speeds of 70 to over 200 picks per minute.[2] (This means that 70 to over 200 times per minute the looms' shuttles traveled across the warp.) Foremen and overlookers determined the exact rate by adjusting and locking the loom's speed mechanisms.[3] If managers isolated two figures from the flux of production—how long it had taken to weave a length of cloth and the total number of picks that had been woven into it—they could compare the actual total of picks with the hypothetical total the shuttles would have woven if the loom had run perfectly during the time interval,
[1] In the hands of Michel Foucault, a pioneering investigator of the matter, the division between the content of representations and the techniques of practice became a genuine opposition in the development of contemporary societies in the West. For example, Foucault's well-known Discipline and Punish portrays the betrayal of Enlightenment judicial ideals in the eighteenth century by minute disciplinary procedures that were refined and extended without recourse to discursive expressions or representation and without regard for their symbolic form. In his view, the concepts informing social representations may lead to the creation of procedures, to be sure, but these two elements may also remain unconnected. The unobtrusive means of training bodies and shaping their motions in schools, the military, and work proliferated in darkness and silence. Their operations, not their representation, subverted from within the dominant Enlightenment discourse of governance by sanctions that were public and were applied for the edification of autonomous subjects. The absence of a comparative perspective in Discipline and Punish is essential. For contrasts in the construction of the micro-apparatuses of discipline based on different systems of representation would undermine the narrative. Or does Foucault mean to say that the micro-apparatuses of discipline have a representational function, but the "topic"—"power"—is universal and the message invariable? Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish (New York: Vintage Books, 1979).
[2] Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Textil-Industrie (July 1881), p.2; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1912, Nr. 29, p. 678.
[3] Die Textil-Zeitung , 1911, Nr. 13 p. 313.
without interruption. Comparing the theoretically possible with the actual output revealed the proportion of time that had been "lost" due to stoppages, a ratio of relative "efficiency" (Nutzeffekt ). In the decades before the First World War, textile journals on both sides of the channel devoted increasing attention to managerial strategies for quickening the tempo of production. Yet only in Germany did the concept of the efficiency ratio gain currency.
The efficiency ratio formed part of both material practice and discourse in Germany. In the "question and answer" columns of the country's textile periodicals, mill directors exchanged their calculations of this percentage for various makes of looms and asked whether customary ratios existed for various classes of goods—even for a product so specialized as "colored, light jute," for instance.[4] The number of published questions points to grass-roots interest in the topic, and the level of responses sent in by mill owners who drew their estimates from practical experience indicates that the efficiency ratio held a place in the conduct of their everyday business. Max Weber, in his neglected study of a Westphalian weaving mill, referred to the efficiency ratio as a statistic in habitual use among textile firms.[5] Samples of German production ledgers contained columns for listing the total number of weft threads actually woven, for recording the maximum that could in theory have been cranked out, and for reckoning the proportion between the two.[6] The underlying content of the question, "How much ought particular looms to turn out in practice?" could have been reasoned out and formulated only in terms of the average or expected length of cloth, rather than in terms of this percentage. But in Germany the expression of production in terms of
[4] E. Pfuhl, Die Jute und ihre Verarbeitung (Berlin: J. Springer, 1888–1891), Band II, pp.253 ff.; Centralblatt für die Textilindustrie , 1893, Nr.10, p. 147, Nr. 12, p. 176, and Nr. 13, p. 191; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1898, Nr. 24, p. 377; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1899, Nr. 25, p. 487, and 1900, Nr. 41, p. 802; Leipziger Monatschrift für die Textil-Industrie , 1903, p. 163; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1903, Nr. 50, p. 1236, Nr. 51, p. 1263, 1904, Nr. 34, p. 849, and 1904, Nr. 38, p. 948; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Volume 14, 1910–1911, Nr. 65, p. 1126; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1912, Nr. 1, p. 7; Zeitshrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , September 3, 1913, p.827. The Leipziger Monatschrift für die Textil-Industrie , 1914, Nr. 3, p. 54, set standards for classes of all materials and types of looms.
[5] Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Soziologie und Sozialpolitik (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1924), pp. 131, 187.
[6] Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1902, Nr. 10, p. 683; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1907–1908, Nr. 34, p. 428; Bernhard Bergmeyer, "Das Baumwollgewerbe im Münsterlande," diss., Bonn, 1921 For an example of a firm calculating production equivalent to so many thousands of shots, see Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B39-28, Süddeutsche Baumwoll-Industrie A.G., Kuchen, 1882–1929.
length frequently appeared in conjunction with calculations of the efficiency ratio.
In Britain, by contrast, the concept of an efficiency ratio was not endorsed in prewar publications about mill administration.[7] An article about "Weavingshed Management" in the Textile Manufacturer of 1907 furnishes eloquent testimony about its absence. This essay offered technical and managerial advice on productivity and recommended that managers tally the length of cloth woven on each loom, so that variations in work among looms and among weavers could be investigated. Despite its concern with quantities of output, with record-keeping, and with precise calculation, the article ventured no definition of efficiency and no comparison of the theoretical limit of production with the real level.[8]
Equally instructive is an address which a Lancashire director, H. Dilks, delivered in 1916 to his peers in the British Association of Managers of Textile Works. He asked how the manager could abstract from the details of "daily routine" and represent to himself "the progress of the factory in a broader fashion"—in other words, how he could map factory productivity. Mr.Dilks argued that the graph he labeled Chart 3 (see Figure 5) offers a good way to picture day-to-day changes in efficiency. He explained: "It deals with individual loom stoppages, and indicates the cause of the stoppage and also its duration. It further shows graphically and clearly, by means of one curve, the total amount of loom stoppage in the shed from day to day." This diagram deals only with absolute quantities. It fails to convert these numbers into a ratio or percentage to tell us how much time has been lost, or what portion of possible production time has been lost. The author's description of his Chart 4 has the same feature: "The 'weavers average earnings' form an important measure of the efficiency of the individual loom or weaver, yet it may be high even when a proportion of the looms are stopped. It is therefore desirable to show also the total weavers' earnings for the whole shed—this is a figure that will probably be quite as useful as the other
[7] In one instance, a British journal quoted a speech in which a German manufacturer used the efficiency ratio to compare the output of his country's looms with that of Britain. But the journal did not explain the derivation of the term or the exact statistic. Textile Manufacturer , September 15, 1881, p. 323.
[8] Textile Manufacturer , October 15, 1907, pp. 352–353. Other examples of the ratio's absence in appropriate contexts: "Loom Performance and Profits," Textile Manufacturer , July 25, 1914, pp.245 ff., and "The Bonus System in Textile Mills," May 15, 1914, pp. 174–175. Robert Cornthwaite, Cotton Spinning: Hints to Mill Managers, Overlookers and Technical Students (Manchester: John Heywood, ca. 1905), Chapter V, "Aids to Efficiency." In the spinning branch, the Gaunt Mill recorded average lost machine time in minutes. General Factory Committee Papers, Leeds District Archives, 1909–1910, Box 12, Twisting Department.
Figure 5.
The Value of Graphical Charts in Weaving Mill Management
in forecasting the colour of the half-yearly balance sheet."[9] Mr. Dilks, in keeping with the treatment of labor as an output rather than a conversion process, saw time not as a continuous function but as a sum of separate days, for he figured how many days each loom runs without breaking, not how much time is lost due to breakdowns. This British manager put into words what the output records of other firms display in their arrangement of numbers.[10] In everyday accounting as well as in prescriptive theory, British managers measured production as a substance, in terms of gross quantities of output.[11]
The negotiations in Lancashire between managers and the powerful textile unions over the establishment of production norms for new varieties of cloth offer another context in which to search for mention of an efficiency quotient. The company managers and leaders of the textile unions met to conduct actual trial runs on the looms. To analyze the results of their tests, however, they measured only the number of threads that broke per hour and the total cloth length.[12] When handbooks for weavers measured productivity, they calculated this in terms of pence per week per loom.[13]
It was impossible for the efficiency ratio used in Germany to remain completely unknown in Britain. The designers and manufacturers of looms,
[9] "The Value of Graphical Charts in Weaving Mill Management," Journal of British Association of Managers of Textile Works Volume VII (1915–1916), pp. 169, 171.
[10] For examples of company books measuring productivity by weavers' earnings, see West Yorkshire Archive Service, Wakefield, C149/545, 1888–1891; Burnley Library, Archives, M31, Benjamin Thornber & Sons Ltd, Production and Mill Record Book, February 25, 1909, to July 9, 1938, e.g., week ending February 25, 1909. Likewise, Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890, Dudley Hill. One firm, Christy and Sons of Lancashire, measured output in terms of the weight of the fabric produced by each loom. This seems reasonable enough, but it meant managers could not compare the efficiency of the assorted looms. For at this establishment the width of looms varied, and thus did the weight of the cloth produced at a given efficiency. John Rylands University Library of Manchester Archives, NRA 25970, Box B, production figures 1888–1889. For a spinning mill, see Leeds District Archives, Springfield & Broom Mills, General Factory Committee Papers, 1909–1910, August 12, 1909.
[11] The Leicester factory owner John Baines testified that he never measured the number of absent workers or idle looms. "I go by the amount they have earned at the end of the week, and by that I know whether they have worked regularly or not." United Kingdom, Report on the Select Committee on Stoppage of Wages (Hosiery) , PP 1854–1855 (421) XIV, May 15, 1855, p. 149.
[12] LRO, DDX 1089/14/1, 1917, p. 36; Ashton and District Cotton Employers' Association papers at John Rylands University Library of Manchester Archives, February 3, 1892; D. H. Williams, "Some Suggestions for Factory Organization and Efficiency," Huddersfield Textile Society Journal (1918–1919), p. 32.
[13] Henry Brougham Heylin, The Cotton Weaver's Handbook:A Practical Guide to the Construction and Costing of Cotton Fabrics (London: Charles Griffen & Co., 1908), pp. 204–205. See also the calculation of lost production in terms of yards and pence in ibid.
who sold their machines in the international market, boasted that their inventions could sustain high levels of efficiency under test conditions.[14] But British mill managers rarely adopted such a statistic in their everyday practice or professional conferences. In the exceptional cases where they did, they reformulated it to suit their cultural framework. At the Quarry Bank Mill in Styal, Cheshire, the accountants for the American-designed Northrop looms, installed after 1909, calculated "total efficiency" by comparing the sum of wages the weavers received as a group with their hypothetical earnings at 100 percent efficiency. This weaving department may have been unique in Britain for routine calculation of a version of an efficiency ratio before the First World War. The company records show that managers calculated this figure without considering the number of looms operated, however. Total looms in use at the mill fluctuated, so low earnings by weavers could result either from having fewer machines employed or from low productivity of each loom. The statistic measured success in obtaining a final output, not the process of using the equipment.[15]
If German administrators, in the course of computing wages, also had to ascertain every week the number of shots executed on each loom, they had on hand the key figures needed for determining the efficiency ratio. Did the Germans decide to calculate this percentage as an incidental consequence of their adoption of the system of pay by shot? After all, their clerks already had a tally of shots carried out that was lacking among the British accountants. Or did use of the ratio carry a meaning of its own, based on the German designation of labor as a commodity? To answer these questions, we need to consider the functions that might have been served by its calculation.
The actual conditions of weaving on the shop floor contradicted the mathematical premises of the ratio in several respects. Given two looms of identical make, supplied with the same yarn and patterns, the loom with a low efficiency ratio could actually produce more than the loom with a high one. This contradiction arose because in the early twentieth century looms remained unreliable contrivances. They presented managers with a trade-
[14] For American claims, see Textile Manufacturer , October 15, 1897, p. 380; W. Bleakly, "Desirable Textile Inventions," Journal of the British Association of Managers of Textile Works Volume 4 (1912–1913), p. 94.
[15] Manchester Library Archives, C5/1/7/3, "Northrop Loom Account," 1912. What is more, the greatest conceivable and the actual output of the looms were expressed in terms of weavers' wages, not of the actual process of inserting picks. For the background on the introduction of the automatic looms at Quarry Bank, see Mary Rose, The Greggs of Quarry Bank Mill:The Rise and Decline of a Family Firm, 1750–1914 (Cambridge:Cambridge University Press, 1986), p. 96.
off between speed and stoppages: the higher the picks per minute, the more frequently weft or warp threads broke and became entangled.[16] The efficiency quotient rested on an image of a self-contained machine whose operating speed was regular and given in advance. Looms of the era, in contrast to this ideal, had to be coaxed and felt out.[17] Raising the speed of the shuttles might cause more stoppages and lower the efficiency ratio, yet result in more cloth at the end of the day.[18] Taken too far, however, preoccupation with the shuttles' speed alone might lower output. "I have been in many factories where they pointed to their high speeds," one German manager remarked about his country, "but usually I could reply that I would let the looms run slower and bet that in each loom I would weave more cloth per day."[19]
The efficiency quotient furnished an inaccurate index for a second reason: it supposed that weaving consisted solely of attending to the shuttles. In truth, weaving was not a uniform activity. Up to a quarter of the loom's possible running time could be "lost" while weavers took care of other essential jobs such as twisting in new warps or having the gears that regulated the warp beam changed.[20] The shorter the warp, the greater the proportion of time consumed by these tasks, independent of any efforts of the weaver or the overlooker. The efficiency ratio could not measure different
[16] Die Textil-Zeitung , 1900, Nr. 40, p. 782. For a detailed examination of the fragilities of the loom, see Richard Biernacki, "The Cultural Construction of Labor: A Comparative Study of Late Nineteenth-Century German and British Textile Mills," Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1988, pp. 223 ff.
[17] The skill of the weavers made a contribution of its own to the determination of the optimal number of picks per minute. Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Textil-Industrie (July 1881), p. 1, and Die Textil-Zeitung , 1912, Nr.1, p.7. For the workers' own comments, see Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , April 9, 1910.
[18] Rudolf Weiss, "Entlöhnungsmethoden und ihre Anwendung in der Textilindustrie," Ph.D.diss., München, 1925, p. 94. Conscientious overlookers used trial and error to reestablish the optimal tempo after changes in yarn or pattern. For debates about how to choose the best number of picks per minute, see Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1881, Nr. 1, p. 1; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , March 24, 1898, pp. 377 ff.; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1912, Nr. 1, p. 7, and 1912, Nr. 29, p. 678; Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1914, Nr. 3, p. 82.
[19] Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1903, Nr. 3, p. 163. For a similar comment from England, see Bradford Technical College, Report of the Department of Textile Industries, City of Bradford Technical College , July, 1917, report on meeting held November 13, 1916, Mr. Sowden's remark. At the turn of the century, depending upon patterns and materials, a loom's rate of "efficiency" could lie as high as 85 percent or as low as 45 percent and still turn a profit. Die Textil-Zeitung , 1899, Nr. 25, p. 487; Germany, Jahresberichte der königlich Preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden für 1892 (Berlin: W. T. Bruer, 1893), p. 204.
[20] Williams, op. cit., p. 6.
weaving processes with a common yardstick, because the ratios for warps of differing lengths were incommensurable.[21] Even within the same mill, Max Weber concluded, the efficiency ratio was unusable for comparisons of work on different types and lengths of warps.[22]
We cannot leap to the conclusion that British methods remained intellectually backward in contrast with those of the Germans. Since the efficiency ratio mirrored the realities of production so poorly, its use cannot be explained as a rational adaptation to the circumstances of production. When Quarry Bank Mill installed American-designed Northrop looms with pick clocks on the eve of the First World War, and even paid their weavers by the shot, they still did not adopt the German form of the statistic. This indicates that the categories used for measuring production did not derive from convenience of calculation once the mode of payment was in place. Instead, the appreciation of production, too, depended upon the intervention of different concepts of labor as a commodity. But with all the imprecision and misrepresentations it introduced, how could the Germans have maintained an interest in their efficiency quotient at all?
Despite the inaccuracies of the ratio, German accountants used it to distribute production costs. Where the measure of the theoretically possible output embraced net factory time, the ratio served as an approximation in distributing overhead and general expenses to determine the manufacturing costs of various classes of goods. If accountants knew the firm's ratios of efficiency for diverse kinds of cloth, they could estimate how long it would take to weave a particular fabric on a loom and would know what level of general expenses or conversion expenses the cloth should bear. But here one notes that the same facts expressed in terms of how long it took to weave
[21] D. H. Williams, Costing in the Wool Textile and Other Industries (Manchester: Emmott & Co., 1946), pp. 65 ff.
[22] Weber, op. cit., p. 188. For Weber's reasoning, see pp. 186–188. The ratio represented an artificial statistic for yet another reason: there was no well-founded way of determining what time boundaries ought to be taken as the basis for reckoning the maximum or theoretically possible number of shots that could be turned out. A large fraction of time could disappear if weavers had to fetch their own weft, which was the norm, or if they had to wait for new weft bobbins. Some commentators supposed that since this time was extrinsic to weaving itself, it ought to be excluded from the determination of the ratio; others included it, since managers wanted to know the source of all delays. Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1902, Nr. 8, p. 548. Mill directors sometimes subtracted the time taken to change the shuttles as well, since this did not constitute a stoppage per se but belonged to the regular weaving procedure. Pfuhl, op. cit., "Vorwort." Apparently the German managers were moved by the conviction that they ought to calculate some kind of ratio to express the notion of efficiency in time, even if they were not at all sure what its content ought to be.
cloth of a certain length could have served just as well to distribute the costs. As we have seen, the Germans had information about the length of the cloth on hand anyway, since they reckoned the number of shots on this basis. At least in this context, the efficiency ratio was not uniquely suited for the function.[23] Its utility was more apparent than real and rested on the assumption that total output ought to be gauged by the actual versus the maximum possible output in a time period rather than, as the British preferred, by gross quantity of output during that period.
The German agents' use of the efficiency ratio to help construct piece-rate scales furnishes another context in which the ratio's utility was culturally defined. To find a base point for graduating the piece-rate scales for weavers, German business experts believed, the employer ought to proceed by first measuring the normal efficiency ratio of a loom at a certain speed to see on average how many shots weavers performed per day. Then to reach a target wage the managers would choose the pay per thousand shots.[24] An observer outside the system notices, again, that the efficiency ratio remains arithmetically superfluous in this operation: one only needs to compute the average length of cloth produced per day to choose the pay per thousand shots. Yet German articles about the construction of weaving scales begin with the need to calculate the efficiency ratio, even those articles written by experienced mill directors who otherwise eschewed elaborate formulas. Here the efficiency ratio does not by itself convey any information or criteria of success that could not have been coded just as accurately in a statement about how much cloth of a certain type could be produced during a certain time interval.[25]
[23] The periodical literature and accounting handbooks for weaving establishments advised that owners distribute overhead costs, among other ways, as a proportion of the wages paid in producing the cloth or proportionate to all the costs, including weaving. The method recommended depended partly on the extent to which firms specialized in small runs of diverse fabrics. For discussions of overhead relative to selling costs, see Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1887, Nr. 49, p. 1173, Nr. 52, p. 1241, and 1889, p. 30; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1904, Nr. 23, pp. 573 ff. For costs relative to wages, see Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1910, Nr. 9, p. 261; Die Textil-Zeitung , 1905, Nr. 38, p. 909, and Nr. 39, p. 933; Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1914, Nr. 3, p. 65.
[24] Examples: Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1893, Nr. 12, p. 176; Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1902, Nr. 8, p. 548, and 1903, Nr. 3, p. 163; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie Volume 14 (1910/11), Nr. 65, p. 1126; Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1910, Nr. 2, and 1913, Nr. 5, p. 151.
[25] To compare efficiency, an academic observer from outside the industry was content to refer only to absolute levels of production. See Marie Bernays, "Zur Psychophysik der Textilarbeit," Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik , Volume 32 (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1911), p. 111.
In some instances the Germans employed the efficiency ratio, not to convey information about the known, but as a way of coping with the unknown. When factory owners accepted an order for a pattern of fabric they had not produced before on a large scale, they needed some way of moving from the amount of time taken to weave a similar pattern in the past to estimate how long it would take to weave the novel pattern. They carried out this operation by gathering together their hunches based on prior experience and by estimating then how much down time the new pattern would probably cause in comparison with the similar pattern. Once they had ascertained the picks per minute of the loom, they could calculate how long it would take, in comparison with the similar good, to make the requisite number of shots to fill the order.[26] The fundamental yardstick they used to order their experience about relative weaving difficulty and comparative success was differential down time, not, like the British, simply differential output.[27]
Let us not confound form and content: the Germans' greater concern for a particular concept of efficiency did not denote greater concern for the thing itself. On the eve of the First World War, the "Gospel of Efficiency" had become a standard turn of phrase in Britain.[28] British managers manifested their interest in efficiency in their concern with the small details of production and with the causes of machine stoppages.[29] Germany and Britain competed in the same export markets, especially in those for wool manufactures, where the British more than held their own in the decade before the First World War.[30]
Managers in Britain calibrated output at each loom only between the start of a new piece of cloth and its completion. At some mills, their weavers complained that the warps were not marked with chalk or other signs at
[26] Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , March 21, 1893, p. 176; Otto Both, Die Bandweberei (Hannover: Max Jänecke, 1907), p. 227; Pfuhl, op. cit., p. 262; Josef Ittenson, Das Kalkulations-Buch des Baumwollwebers: Für die Praxis bearbeitet (Leipzig: Gustav Weigel, 1908), p. 39.
[27] John Mackie, How to Make a Woollen Mill Pay (London: Scott Greenwood & Co., 1904), "The Importance of Turn-Out," p. 57.
[28] Textile Mercury , April 11, 1914, p. 294.
[29] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 22, 1901, Bradford, "Young Men and New Methods." At one British mill, managers kept a log of the causes of loom stoppages. Cotton Factory Times , March 11, 1904, Hyde.
[30] D. T. Jenkins and J. C. Malin, "European Competition in Woollen and Cloth, 1870–1914: The Role of Shoddy," Business History Volume 32, Number 4 (October 1990). D. T. Jenkins and K. G. Ponting, The British Wool Textile Industry 1770–1914 (London: Heinemann Educational Books, 1982), p. 294.
standard intervals so that the weavers could judge how close they had come to the end of their piece.[31] Managers tied measurement to the discrete events of assigning a fabric order to the loom and receiving delivery. In the German case, by contrast, managers conceived of production as a continuous function. One reason they gave for using the pay-by-shot system was that it permitted them to divide the worker's activity and output into minutely small segments. In later years, the introduction of the Schussuhr ("pick clock") permitted the output of the loom to be calculated or read daily.[32] German managers urged workers to work at a regular pace and hoped that workers would even monitor themselves hourly or daily in order to learn how to do so.[33] The workers obliged, but with unforeseen consequences. They became attuned to the manipulation of their labor power and used the efficiency ratio as an index of exploitation. At a meeting to induct weavers into the German Textile Workers' Union in Haan in 1899, a weaver warned that the wages workers received should be compared to the efficiency with which their labor power was used. An increase in take-home pay, he cautioned, might not equal capitalists' added profit "if manufacturers achieve a gain of 12 to 16 percent in efficiency."[34]
It would be simple, but also simplistic, to conclude that the method of pay per shot, the reliance on the efficiency ratio, or, in later years, the use of the pick clock allowed German managers to impose tighter production quotas on workers than could their British counterparts. The timing of the introduction of pay by shot in German factories indicates that the practice did not originate as a strategy to control workers on the shop floor. For the new scales went into effect in Germany well before experts began to advocate "scientific management" or Taylorist methods to monitor the execution of labor. Moreover, the British elaborated their own methods for keeping track of the efficiency of individual workers. Especially in Lancashire, but in Yorkshire as well, British overlookers posted the weekly output of the weavers in their charge.[35] The contrast between the countries arose not from the degree of surveillance but from its form.
[31] Yorkshire Factory Times , October 25, 1889, and November 22, 1889, p. 5.
[32] Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1893, Nr. 10, p. 147; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 22, 1904.
[33] Die Textil-Zeitung , September 23, 1907; Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1876, Nr. 48; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , December 10, 1909; Weber, op. cit., pp. 194, 241.
[34] Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, Regierung Düsseldorf 24691, Haan.
[35] Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890. For the northwest, see autobiography of Elizabeth K. Blackburn, born 1902, "In and Out the Windows," Burnley Library, Archives, p. 30; LRO, DDX 1115/1/2, September 17, 1901; Cotton Factory Times , December 3, 1886,Glossop; Paul Thompson and Thea Thompson, family and work history interviews, Respondent 72.
For all the inaccuracies the efficiency ratio introduced, the Germans still favored a statistic that they could relate directly to the execution of labor during a time period and to the use of a timed potential. When British managers measured output by weavers' wages, they effectively took the price of the labor as a marker for the quantity of labor delivered.[36] Had British analysts focused on the process of transforming a labor capacity into an output, however, they might have realized that such an index can be misleading: weavers on fancy patterns can earn high wages with only one loom in operation while they wait for repair of others in their allotment. On these grounds, Max Weber, in his study of a weaving shed, rejected wages as a measure of labor effort.[37] Weber, like German manufacturers, recommended instead computing the total picks inserted. But principles for denoting output through time did not remain sequestered on paper; what bookkeepers wrote in the internal ledgers was externalized on the gates of the factory.
Time Jurisdiction
British managers marked the beginning and close of the daily cycle of production by subjecting their workers to exceedingly rigid controls on entry into and exit from the factory. The most common, though not universal, practice at mills in Yorkshire and Lancashire was to latch the doors at the start of the workday, compelling latecomers to return home.[38] Only at the
[36] The Lancashire director Dilks suggested,"Perhaps the figure which the weaving mill manager is most interested in is that representing the average weekly earnings per loom." Dilks, op. cit., p. 171.
[37] Weber, op. cit., pp. 188 ff.
[38] Calderdale Oral History Collection, from the heavy woolen district: Maria Shaw, born 1893, mill in Batley; Mrs. Dransfield, born 1896, on Taylor's Cheapside mill; Mr. Robinson, report from year 1916 on a mill in Birkenshaw; Mrs. Hanley, reporting on mother's experience at Mark Oldroyd's mill. Joanna Bornat's interview transcripts from Colne Valley: Mrs. T., born 1896, about first job; Mr. B., born 1901, on John Edward's mill, Marsden; Miss A., born 1897, on "Bruce's mill," Marsden; Mrs. W., born 1900, on Crowther's mill, Marsden; Mrs. B., born 1900, on Robinson's mill, Marsden; Mrs. O., born 1888, on Dewhirst's mill, Elland. My interview with Mrs. E. Brook, weaver at Newsome Mills, Almondbury. My interview with Arthur Murgatroyd, born 1902, halftimer at Crossley's Mill, Halifax. My interview with Mrs. May Broadbent, born 1896, Midgley. Dr. A. H. Clegg, a former half-time worker in Halifax, wrote down his memories of getting locked out: manuscript, Calderdale Archives, MISC 482. For an account by a dialect poet, see James Burnley, Phases of Bradford Life (London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co., 1889), p. 45. Newspaper reports include Yorkshire Factory Times , December 16, Apperley Bridge; January 28, 1898, Bradford; February 18, 1898, April 25, 1890, Slaith-waite; July 28, 1893, Batley; January 18, 1901, Greetland; December 13, 1901, Elland; August 28, 1903, Dewsbury; January 13, 1905, Batley; July 21, 1905, Shipley and Saltaire; April 25, 1890, Slaithwaite. The Minutes of the Halifax Overlookers' Society, Calderdale Archives, TU 102/2/1, Mssrs. Martin and Son, February 13, 1897. For the Northwest, Cotton Factory Times , February 5, 1897, Darwen; February 12, Stalybridge; March 19, 1897, p. 1. Dermot Healey's interview 628, female weaver, started mill work 1916; Paul Thompson and Thea Thompson, family and work history interviews, Respondent 122, male spinner, born 1895, Bolton, Lancashire; Respondent 140, male worker, Salford, born 1901; Cotton Factory Times , February 5, 1897, Darwen; February 12, 1897, Stalybridge; March 19, 1897, p. 1. LRO, DDX 1089, November 4, 1904, p. 194. Sometimes the company books tell the story; Bolton Oral History Collection, Tape 121, mule piecer, born 1899. At Strutt's Belper mill, the grounds for fines logged from 1805 to 1813 do not include tardiness. R. S. Fitton and A. P. Wadsworth, The Strutts and the Arkwrights 1758–1830 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958), pp. 234–236. For examples of employers bolting latecomers outside hosiery establishments in Nottingham, see Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1893–1894 XXXVII, Part I, pp. 163–170.
breakfast or lunch break several hours after, when the factory as a whole made a ritual of stopping and resuming activity, could latecomers pass through the factory portal and commence work.[39] Interviews with former workers and the complaints published in the union newspapers provide dramatic accounts of workers having the mill door literally shut in their face as they dashed to enter exactly at starting time. Many employers in Britain instructed their porters to secure the gate forcefully even if workers running to it were within sight. "At six o'clock, bang, that's it, shut the gate," remembered a spinner from Halifax. "The man there, his job was to pull it through a yard at once."[40] A female winder in Preston, Lancashire, reported to her union in 1915 that the manager apprehended her entering the mill just as the door began to close. He "mangled and bruised" her arms:
On Monday morning when I went to work I had just got my foot on the threshold of the door when the door was slammed to and my foot was caught between the door and the door jamb. I pushed the door open with my hand and as I entered the manager was standing there who said to me "Outside—you are not coming through."[41]
To be sure, some textile mills, especially in Lancashire, imposed fines for tardiness, generally standard amounts that served as a disciplinary tool
[39] One female weaver claimed that latecomers were excluded for the entire day. Her report, probably exaggerated in remembrance, indicates all the better her internal experience of the custom. Bornat's interview with Mrs. W., op. cit.
[40] My interview with Murgatroyd, op. cit. For an example in which workers were stopped from working for being less than a minute late, see LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, July 1906, p. 106. A female weaver from a village near Halifax recalled as one of the highlights of her working life the day she climbed a wall and clambered through a mill window to get into the mill after starting time. My interview with Mrs. May Broadbent, op. cit.
[41] LRO, DDX 1089/8/3, Preston, June 19, 1915.
rather than as a carefully graduated form of recompense for the employer.[42] Yet oral testimony and workers' newspapers show that locking out represented the expected and predominant routine.[43] Mills also combined fines with locking out; workers less than, say, fifteen minutes overdue could pay a penny for admittance, before other latecomers were excluded for good.[44]
[42] John Rule, The Labouring Classes in Early Industrial England, 1750–1850 (London: Longman, 1986), p. 136. For examples of fining in Yorkshire, see Calderdale Archives, Stansfield Mill, "Rules for Piecers and Scavengers," 1833; Leeds District Archives, Springfield & Broom Mills, Factory Committee Minutes, November 11, 1909. For Lancashire, see Manchester Library Archives, F1851/31, Haslingden, 1851. At Marshall's of Leeds, the monetary sanction departed from a time metric because managers retaliated by reducing the overdue workers' official rates of pay for the next weeks. W. G. Rimmer, Marshalls of Leeds: Flax-Spinners 1788–1889 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960), p. 120. Sometimes the latecomers were automatically fined "a quarter"—that is, the fine was not calculated according to minutes lost but was defined as the portion of the daily wage normally earned up to the breakfast break, when the bolted doors opened. Yorkshire Factory Times , May 1, 1908, Radcliffe. Analogously, in the carpentry trade workers who arrived five minutes or more overdue lost one hour's pay, as if they had been excluded. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXVI, Part 4, p. viii.
[43] In Kapital , Marx delights in citing British factory rules setting out excessive fines for late arrival. His selection of anecdotes suited his rhetorical purpose by illustrating the monetarization of human relations. By relying only on the most readily available printed documents, however, he drew a skewed picture of realized practice. Das Kapital (Berlin: Dietz Verlag, 1980), Volume 1, pp. 447–448. Few of the mills that administered fines by a time metric kept time-books of hours worked by employees, as one would have expected if they had treated tardiness as a loss from the purchase of time itself. Sidney Pollard, The Genesis of Modern Management (London: Edward Arnold, 1965), p. 228. Curiously, the Oldknow papers show that outdoor workers had their labor time recorded to the hour, whereas workers locked inside the mill had their attendance recorded only in approximate quarters of the day—as if their impoundment made superfluous the reckoning of labor time with an accurate metric. Manchester Library Archives, Eng MS 817, 1796–1797.
[44] For Yorkshire, Yorkshire Factory Times , July 21, 1905, Shipley and Saltaire, and Manningham Mills, July 28, 1905; Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 309. In the early industrial revolution, too, fining appears to have been combined with locking out: Frederick Engels, The Condition of the Working-Class in England (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1892 [1845]), p. 179; United Kingdom, Factories Inquiry Commission, Supp. Rep. Part II, Volume 20 (1834), p. 93; and Jean Lindsay, "An Early Factory Community: The Evans' Cotton Mill at Darley Abbey Derbyshire, 1783–1810," Business History Review Volume 34, Number 3 (1960), p. 299. The Royal Commission on Labour's log of fines shows that 10 percent of its sample of Yorkshire mills imposed some kind of fine for lateness, but of these, half appear to have combined fines with locking out. PP 1893–1894 XXXVII, Part I, pp. 103 ff. A union representative testified before the commission that fining for lateness was an exception in Lancashire (PP 1892 XXXV, p. 5). The commission's listing shows that many Lancashire mills claimed the right to fine unpunctual workers, but the maximum equaled only a disciplinary sum for arriving anywhere in the interval from five to fifteen minutes or from fifteen minutes to one-half hour late (PP 1892 XXXV, p. 6). As in Yorkshire (Yorkshire Factory Times , Sept. 23, 1892, Apperley Bridge), the penalty could be combined with exclusion after fifteen minutes, a separate matter which the commission did not investigate as a worrisome "fine." For oral testimony to this effect, see Bolton Oral History Collection, interview 121, born 1899; Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mr. B8P, male spinner from Preston, born 1896, p. 4.
In some instances textile firms carried the practice of locking out to such an extreme that latecomers were prohibited from entering the mill for the day. "This morning I was about five minutes late," a Lancashire weaver complained to the union in 1912. "The watchman would not let me through."[45] Some mills prohibited latecomers from waiting near the mill entrance for access and instead sent them all the way home.[46] In Lancashire the union received several complaints from weavers who were denied entrance to the mill for several days or even a week because of inconsequential tardiness.[47] For example, in Preston a female weaver complained to the union in 1908 that when she arrived late one day the manager spied her as she was "going through the watch-house" and told her to stay home for the week.[48] These severe penalties applied to the Lancashire mule spinners as well, the masculine "barefoot aristocrats" of the mills.[49]
It would be tempting to explain the practice of bolting the gate as an historical residual, a carryover of primitive management technique from the early industrial age. Stories about locked gates abound in the folklore about the days of violent industrial change at the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth.[50] When a Marsden woolen spinner, born in 1901, complained that the mill gateway resembled "a gaol—with spikes on top," his words echoed the exact comparison that cotton workers in Lancashire had voiced about the gates more than a century earlier.[51] Could the legacy of this earlier transition in England at large have left its traces even in regions such as Yorkshire, which mechanized much later? The historical record does not support such a hypothesis.
So far as the textile unions could tell, during the two decades before the war the practice of locking the gate became more widespread. The Yorkshire Factory Times at the beginning of the twentieth century followed the exten-
[45] LRO, DDX 1089/9/2, Preston, February 23, 1912, p. 104.
[46] LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, Preston, November 4, 1904, p. 194.
[47] LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, March 24, 1906, p. 149.
[48] LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, June 22, 1908, p. 246. For a similar story in the same source, see Sept. 11, 1905, p. 66.
[49] One tardy worker denied entry for a week joined the army out of desperation. Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mr. B8P. See also Dermot Healey's interview tape 850, born 1907; Calderdale Archives, TU 102/2/1, Mssrs. Martin and Son, February 13, 1897.
[50] John Doherty, editor, The Poor Man's Advocate; Or, a Full and Fearless Exposure of the Horrors and Abominations of the Factory System in England, in the Year 1832 (Manchester: J. Doherty, 1833), p. vii; Pollard, op. cit., p. 183.
[51] Joanna Bornat's interview with Mr. B., spinner, born 1901, describing John Edward's mill in Marsden, Colne Valley.
sion of the practice to several mills previously free from its rigidities.[52] One of Yorkshire's most popular dialect poets, James Burnley, in his tour of Bradford textile plants in the late 1880s found one instance in which a firm then shut tardy workers out but in earlier years had fined them.[53] What is more, in these years the new generation of managers who had formal business education sometimes initiated the practice as they took over the reins of directorship.[54] They did so even in neighborhoods where firms suffered from competition for scarce supplies of labor.[55] Locking workers out in Britain thus by no means represented a survival from a previous era.
Could the heads of the British mills have imposed the practice to inculcate time discipline that would pay off in the long run by inducing prompt attendance? In contrast to their predecessors at the dawn of the factory age, mill directors in the late nineteenth century no longer thought it necessary to break an unruly work force to the novel stringency of indoor factory work. The businessmen's forum, the Textile Mercury , concluded that over the long term, the "diligence and punctuality of textile workers may be said certainly to have improved, and it is to their credit that their current lapses from perfection still shew favorably against those recorded in some trades."[56] Even so, mill directors might have reasoned that bolting latecomers out would deter workers from arriving even the slightest bit late.[57] It was not unusual for a mill to have a tardy worker every day.[58] Many workers lacked the time-keeping devices necessary for precise adjustment of conduct to the employers' sanctions.
Had mill proprietors in Britain sought only a display of authority or a demonstration of their power to deny wages, they could have used more apt means. They could, for example, have imposed exceptionally severe fines for tardiness, but also have let latecomers onto the premises. This technique
[52] Yorkshire Factory Times , March 29, 1901, Ravensthorpe; September 28, 1905, p. 5; January 13, 1905, Batley; September 29, 1910, p. 5.
[53] Op. cit., p. 45.
[54] Oral report from Edward Mercer, weaver, Rawdon. See also the example cited in D. C. Coleman, Coutraulds: An Economic and Social History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), Volume One, p. 251.
[55] Huddersfield Daily Examiner , September 21, 1910; Textile Mercury , March 29, 1913, p. 257, and June 28, 1913, p. 526.
[56] Textile Mercury , March 21, 1914, p. 230.
[57] "The 'pennying process'—that is, the levying of a fine upon all who are five minutes behind time—has been abandoned, punishment now inflicted being to send the delinquents back 'for a quarter,' and thus deprive them of a quarter day's wages, a system which is, I am informed, far more efficient than that formerly in use." Burnley, op. cit., p. 45.
[58] For exact records, see, illustratively, Robert Clough company records, Brotherton Collection, University of Leeds.
might have encouraged punctuality without loss of labor power. British mill owners sacrificed some of the labor time available to them, even as they complained of labor shortages.[59] Sometimes the services they cast away remained invisible. If workers were not sure they could get to the mill on time, they might not bother going at all until after the morning break.[60] Shutting workers out also made it more difficult for managers to tell in the morning whether an absent worker had no intention of showing up or had simply met a latched door and might return at lunch time. But the "waste" of labor would have been palpable when, as was sometimes permitted, latecomers waited near the mill for the gates to open rather than make the journey home and back again before breakfast.[61] The excluded labor could reach substantial levels. In Burnley, Lancashire, when the porter at one mill in 1897 allegedly shut the gate two minutes early, sixty-seven weavers who found themselves outside could not work until after the breakfast break.[62] Since employers excluded tardy supervisory workers as well, they denied themselves the vital services of loom tuners who were not instantly replaceable.[63] For example, the minutes of the Halifax Overlookers' Society indicate that in 1897 an overlooker was locked out for arriving a single minute late.[64]
It is conceivable, but undemonstrable, that locking out conferred economic advantages upon British mill employers. If the humiliating experience of total exclusion at the gate stimulated punctuality much better than payment of any fine, locking out may have more than made up for the incidental loss of labor. Whatever the case, the influence of culture cannot be identified automatically in any departure from utilitarian ploys, only in the consistent symbolic forms through which agents strategize.
Could the practice of sending workers home have indicated nothing more than that the British employers did not want the bother of keeping records of fines for lateness or that they did not want to bear the expense of employing a porter to staff the front gate all day long? Oral testimony as well as the tips published in the Textile Manufacturer indicate that the porter at-
[59] Especially in the last decade before the First World War, employers in Yorkshire and Lancashire complained of a general shortage of labor and did all in their means to attract new recruits. "Work and Wages in the Cotton Trade," Blackburn Times , March 2, 1907; Textile Manufacturer , May 15, 1906, p. 161; Yorkshire Factory Times , November 28, 1912, p. 8; Textile Mercury , January 11, 1914, p. 24.
[60] LRO, DDX 1274/6/1, Burnley, July 1, 1899.
[61] Thompson and Thompson, Respondent 122, op. cit.
[62] Cotton Factory Times , March 19, 1897, Burnley.
[63] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 25, 1890, Slaithwaite; August 28, 1903, Dewsbury; July 28, 1893, Batley.
[64] Calderdale Archives, TU 102/2/1, Mssrs. Martin and Son, February 13, 1897.
tended the entrance at all hours anyway, to receive salesmen and other visitors. During his free moments he did basic paperwork or small craft jobs such as covering rollers. In sum, a system that monitored workers' exact moment of arrival would have added no significant enforcement costs. Most telling of all, when tramways became a means of commuting to the mill for some workers at the beginning of the twentieth century, factory owners exempted workers from the lock-out rule if they arrived late through no fault of their own but because of transit breakdowns.[65] In view of the administrative complications this exception introduced, it becomes clear that the practice of bolting workers out rested on an ideal standard rather than on a strategy of convenience.
British directors, as well as the workers themselves, viewed the technique of bolting latecomers out as part of the logic of running a factory.[66] One manager from Marsden, who had worked his way up from the position of a simple weaver, formulated an explanation for shutting workers out. "If they're not here on time," he was fond of repeating, "they don't deserve to work."[67] This Marsden manager became known for sending latecomers home even if they were his friends and neighbors. The British technique supposed that the worker had a responsibility to deliver products to the firm in prompt fashion. By locking workers out the British employers did not treat the workers' time itself as a form of property for whose loss they claimed restitution.[68] Shutting workers out did not lay claim to the labor power lodged in the person of the offenders but treated them as though they were contractors who had not taken due care to meet delivery deadlines and therefore deserved suspension of the contract. The struggle was over the acquisition of the product. "Discipline," an early employer declared, "was to produce the goods on time."[69] The ritual of locking workers out diverged
[65] Bolton Oral History Collection, Tape 122, female spinner, born 1905; LRO, DDX 1089/8/1, March 24, 1906, p. 149; Yorkshire Factory Times , September 29, 1910; Bornat's interview with Mrs. W., op. cit., p. 23.
[66] In Rochdale, a union secretary himself intercepted workers arriving more than three minutes overdue and sent them home. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1893–1894 XXXVII, Part I, p. 115.
[67] Interview tape with Joe France, born 1882, courtesy of the France family, Marsden.
[68] The Leicester factory owner John Baines testified in 1855, "I have never been able to enforce regular attendance." Rather than impose fines upon workers for their periodic absences, he instituted a mandatory weekly fee for use of the machinery. Thus the workers wasted their machinery "rent" if they did not show up to earn piece rates. United Kingdom, Report on the Select Committee on Stoppage of Wages (Hosiery) , op. cit., p. 149.
[69] Cited by Sidney Pollard, "Factory Discipline in the Industrial Revolution," The Economic History Review second series, Volume XVI, No. 2 (1963), p. 258.
from the artisanal ideal of freedom to choose one's hours of work. Industrial practice did not develop from the habitual carryover of routines from the era of domestic and independent artisanal production but was shaped by the form labor assumed as a commodity in the industrial present.
The British workers themselves may have preferred being locked out to being fined, because the lock-out at least maintained the fiction that workers sold the product of their labor. In the earliest days of the factory system, workers reasoned that since they sold merely their output, the employer had no grounds to impose a penalty for lateness. For example, a writer for The Poor Man's Advocate complained in 1832 about the fines for tardiness at a cotton spinning mill: "The machines may not work while the workman is absent; but how can the employer lose, when he only pays for the work that is done?"[70] This reasoning viewed the employment transaction as the delivery of output, not the guarantee of a capacity. At the end of the century, the editorial columns and correspondents' reports of the textile workers' newspaper still maintained that employers had no right to fine workers for lost labor time. The newspapers of the textile unions depicted the hardships imposed by the alternative technique of locking out but did not articulate any objection in principle to the custom. If workers failed to arrive promptly, they lost merely the right to continue the delivery transaction. Fining, by contrast, implied to the workers that the employer controlled the disposition over their labor power and could demand compensation for the loss of the owned time.[71]
On occasion, workers' own actions expressed their acceptance of locking out more clearly than the exclamations of their newspapers did. Workers at a mill in the Colne Valley went on strike in 1910 to demand that latecomers who had been delayed by breakdowns in the public transport system on which they relied be exempted from the shut-out rule. Although the majority of workers there commuted to the mill by foot, they turned out on strike in solidarity with the tram riders until the factory owner granted the riders' demand. The workers never pressed for elimination of lock-outs altogether or for their liberalization by, say, having the employer introduce a grace period for all workers.[72]
[70] The Poor Man's Advocate , March 3, 1832, p. 51. The reasoning did not depend upon the immaturity of the factory system, for it continued to be voiced through the end of the century. Yorkshire Factory Times , July 28, 1893, p. 1, Batley.
[71] Yorkshire Factory Times , May 8, 1891, Huddersfield; January 13, 1893; July 28, 1893; March 4, 1898. As late as 1901, weavers on piece rates in Saddleworth objected to employers' calculations of their hours of attendance. Yorkshire Factory Times , March 1, 1901.
[72] Yorkshire Factory Times , September 29, 1910.
Whether locking out represented a spontaneous reflex by managers or a calculated policy, its principle did reach formal exposition. A popular Yorkshire handbook of the era, How to Make a Woollen Mill Pay , argued that the "enforcement of punctuality at work" represented the first and essential prerequisite for the enactment of a "mill routine."[73] Discipline seemed not to rest on workers' mere presence at work, but on their ceremonial entering and exiting of the premises. In Germany, where the workday was conceived as the elapse of continuous time, not just a temporal succession, time discipline placed more emphasis upon the duration of production than on its beginning and end points.
The German approach could lead to anomalous time accounting. When the introduction of a stricter commercial code in Germany required that manufacturers issue factory rules in 1891 listing exact hours of work, German factory inspectors found that almost all mills already had definite starting and stopping hours. Yet many textile factories did not.[74] They had been content until then with specifying that production would begin "in the morning" or "after sunrise" and last for a certain period. These cases revealed that the organization of a meaningful production process had not required a rigid starting point as an anchor for the passage of time.[75]
German employers treated unpunctual attendance as a denial of labor power whose loss could be calibrated and precisely counterbalanced. Many textile factories applied a sliding scale of fines which either adjusted the penalty to the worker's average earnings or specified percentages of aver-
[73] Mackie, op. cit. Mackie's book was reprinted, and it appeared as a serialization in the journal Textile Manufacturer.
[74] Stadtarchiv Borken, A 539, 1894; Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, 25c, Nr. 1754, Greeven & Co. Weberei, 1892. For smaller-scale weaving workshops, see F. Hermann Voigt, Die Weberei in ihrer sozialen und technischen Entwicklung und Fortbildung (Weimar: Bernhard Friedrich Voigt, 1882), p. 385. On the maintenance of flexible hours, see Peter Burscheid, Textilarbeiterschaft in der Industrialisierung: Soziale Lage und Mobilität in Württemberg (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1978), pp. 368–369, and Christoph Deutschmann, Der Weg zum Normalarbeitstag (Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 1985), p. 150. In Aachen, workers in needlemaking and spinning could go to the factory when they wished, with no fixed hours: Aachen, Feb. 4, 1817, Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, 120 B V 33, Nr. 4, Vol. 1, p. 54.
[75] Even at the beginning of the twentieth century, after the official posting of factory hours, some German weaving mills in advanced textile towns such as Mönchengladbach did not enforce a particular starting hour. See Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 8, 1905, Mönchengladbach, Weberei Pelzer & Droste; November 17, 1905, Eckirch; Mitteilungen des Arbeitgeberverbandes der Textilindustrie zu Aachen , April 1903, Stadtarchiv Aachen, 125-451, p. 6. Some firms offered alternative start times for commuters. Stadtarchiv Krefeld, F1446, C. G. Maurenbrecher, 1909.
age earnings to be levied as fines for various periods of tardiness.[76] This not only graduated the fine to the worker's ability to pay, but it also gauged the value of the lost time.[77] Other mills in Germany applied a standard fine for each fraction of an hour lost.[78] Rather than fixing the penalty at nominal amounts for gross intervals of tardiness—that is, rather than using the fine as a simple tool of discipline—the Germans thereby monetized the lost time itself and froze it with a metric. Due perhaps to their greater interest in minute-by-minute accounting, rather than in marking only gross intervals, textile mills in Germany introduced punch-in clocks on a wide scale at the turn of the century.[79] German managers did not see punctual arrival as an unconditional preliminary for
[76] Textilmuseum Apolda, 1857 Factory Rules of Zimmermann firm; Staatsarchiv Detmold, M2 Bielefeld Nr. 760, p. 68, Weberei Elmendorff, 1893; Staatsarchiv Osnabrück, Rep. 610 Lingen, Nr. 124, G. v. Delden & Co., 1901.
[77] The model comes from a spinning mill in the Wuppertal in 1838: "Each worker who comes late to work or stays home without permission will receive a fine in the amount of double the value of the time of absence." Reproduced in Karl Emsbach, Die soziale Betriebsverfassung der rheinischen Baumwollindustrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Bonn: Röhrscheid, 1982), p. 674. For the lower Rhine woolen industry, see Franz Decker, Die betriebliche Sozialordnung der Dürener Industrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Köln: Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv, 1965), p. 216. Stadtarchiv Bielefeld, Ravensberger Spinnerei 54, Fabrikreglement 1856; Stadtarchiv Bocholt, Arbeitsordnung for Franz Beckmann & Co. Spinnerei, 1898; Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, Arbeitsordnung for Joh. Friedrich Klauser, 1892. Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B46–391, Allgemeine Fabrik-Ordnung für die Baumwollspinnerei L. Hartmann Söhne, 1846. The fine at G. Matthes in Leubsdorf was severe: workers paid four times the earnings they would have earned during their minutes of absence. See Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha 2825, Baumwollspinnerei G. Matthes in Leubsdorf, ca. 1846. The ordinance at one firm in Plauen threatened to deduct an hour's pay for each minute of absence. Stadtarchiv Plauen, Rep. I, Kap. VI, Sect. I, Nr. 64, 1863, Weisswaaren-Fabrik.
[78] The Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie considered one pfennig per minute appropriate (1909, Nr. 3, p. 80), although employers charged three pfennigs per minute or more (Stadtarchiv Plauen, Rep. I, Kap. VI, Sect. I, Nr. 64, July 20, 1863, Stickerei, March 17, 1866, Weberei). Textile firms in Greiz applied an invariate fine per quarter-hour: Stadtarchiv Greiz, B 5973, Rep. C, Kap. IV, Nr. 45, companies of Schilbach & Heine, W. Heller, F. Timmel; Stadtarchiv Greiz, B 5975, Kap. IV, Nr. 65, L. Fischer, ca. 1880, and F. Müller, ca. 1867. Likewise, for Aachen, Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, Rep. 120 BB VII, Fach. 3, Nr. 32, Lequis, Aachen, 1892. Progressively increasing fines per minute were recommended for mills in Sächsische Industrie-Zeitung , November 29, 1861. To the workers' chagrin, fining per minute overdue could begin instantly on the hour: HSTAD, Regierung Aachen 1634, February 16, 1899. For women, factories sometimes halved all fines with the exception of those levied for tardiness, suggesting that employers treated fines for lateness as a separate kind of indemnity for stolen time. HSTAD, Landratsamt Grevenbroich 271, 1897 edition of rules for Herrath firm, p. 184.
[79] Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , December 19, 1908, Rheydt; August 26, 1911, Bornefeld & Jansen; November 25, 1911, Mönchengladbach. For the installation of minute-by-minute check-in clocks as early as 1812 in the wool industry of the lower Rhine, see Decker, op. cit., p. 96.
undertaking work in the factory.[80] The time of living labor became a form of property for whose loss employers exacted a refined compensation.
Whereas British textile workers who worked in the textile mills before the First World War drew spontaneously in interviews upon many emotional memories about the lock-outs, former German textile workers described the controls of the threshold in the same period as relatively incidental.[81] One woman's response from the Wuppertal was echoed by others: "Fines? Of course you got fined if you came late. That was not so terrible."[82] Like the first generation of factory workers in Britain, the German home weavers who rebelled against the newly emergent factories labeled the mills "prisons."[83] The derisory term for undertaking factory labor was "going to Spandau." In cultural comparisons, the form in which a grievance is articulated may prove more revealing than the simple occurrence of a complaint. In their indictment of the unprecedented indignities of centralized manufacture, the German workers focused on the state of internment rather than, as the British did, on appurtenances such as the locked doors
[80] In the area of the lower Rhine, in the far north, and in Saxony, companies offered small prizes to workers who consistently arrived on time. Contribution by Dr. Moeller, in Otto Dammer, editor, Handbuch der Arbeiterwohlfahrt , Volume II (Stuttgart: Enke Verlag, 1903), pp. 351–352; Victor Brants, Tisserand d'usine de Gladbach , in Société d'Economique Sociale, ed., Les Ouvriers de deux mondes , 3. Série, 6. fascicule (Paris: Au Siège de la Société Internationale, 1902), p. 355; Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Protokoll der Verhandlungen der 6. ordentlichen General-Versammlung des Verbandes aller in der Textilindustrie beschäftigten Arbeiter und Arbeiterinnen Deutschlands (Chemnitz: Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, 1902), pp. 41–42; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf 25022, p. 21. For a parallel example from an industry outside textiles, see the article about a metal plant in Barmer Zeitung , October 28, 1887.
[81] My interviews with Frau Schäfer, weaver, born 1899, Elberfeld; Franz Reidegeld, spinner, born 1900, Rheine; Frau Putz, weaver, born 1900, Elberfeld; Maria Pollman, born 1897, Barmen; Ewald Sirrenberg, born 1897, Barmen; Hans Penz, born 1895, Barmen. Herr Reidegeld reported that the gate was locked beginning a half-hour after starting time but was opened for latecomers, who were fined. This custom also appears in one of the earliest factory codes in Germany, that for the August Jung firm in Hammerstein, 1838, reproduced in Emsbach, op. cit., p. 674.
[82] My interview with Maria Pollman, op. cit. Fining may have reduced undelivered labor minutes to a simple exchange of currencies, but in the district of Löbau a strike broke out, not just over wages, but over the size of fines for lateness. Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Löbau, Nr. 3055, p. 9.
[83] Willy Brendgens, Die wirtschaftliche, soziale und communale Entwicklung von Viersen (Viersen: Gesellschaft für Druck und Verlag, 1929), p. 107. Many of the early manufactories were, of course, actually located in prison houses. Curt Bökelmann, Das Aufkommen der Grossindustrie im sächsischen Wollgewerbe (Heidelberg: J. Hörning, 1905), pp. 34, 59; Joachim Kermann, Die Manufakturen im Rheinland 1750–1833 (Bonn: Ludwig Röhrscheid, 1972), pp. 86–102; Germany, Enquete-Kommission, Reichs-Enquete für die Baumwollen- und Leinen-Industrie: Stenographische Protokolle über die mündliche Vernehmung der Sachverständigen (Berlin: Julius Sittenfeld, 1878), p. 663.
and spiked gates encountered in passing across the border.[84] For the German workers, unlike the British, the procedure of entering the mill did not comprise a charged ritual that exemplified the industrial wage-labor transaction.[85]
Can we discern statutory interdictions which prevented German directors from adopting the same practice of locking out as their British counterparts? Employers' work rules offer an answer from the domain of practice. The archives of many German cities safeguard a complete set of the factory rules submitted to the police for obligatory inspection. Of the several hundred work codes available from textile companies before World War One, only a handful exclude latecomers.[86] In one of these rare instances, from a
[84] Adolf Levenstein, Die Arbeiterfrage (München: Ernst Reinhardt, 1912), pp. 133, 143. Hans Michel, Die hausindustrielle Weberei (Jena, 1921), p. 58, and Heinrich Brauns, Katholische Sozialpolitik im 20. Jahrhundert: Ausgewählte Aufsätze und Reden von Heinrich Brauns , ed. Hubert Mockenhaupt (Mainz: Matthias-Grünewald-Verlag, 1976), p. 123.
[85] It seems doubtful that the contrasting methods of time control can be attributed to national differences in workers' punctuality and self-discipline. German workers were every bit as resistant to the time regime of the factory as were their British counterparts, especially in view of the long survival of "blue Monday" and of unofficial communal festivals in Germany. For the wool industry of the lower Rhine, see Decker. op. cit., pp. 96, 97. Elsewhere, Friedrich Lenger, Zwischen Kleinbürgertum und Proletariat (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986), p. 174; HSTAD, Düsseldorf, Regierung Düsseldorf 24677, May 1887, pp. 99 ff.; HSTAD, Düsseldorf, Regierung Düsseldorf 25016, 1894, p. 34; HSTAD, Düsseldorf, Regierung Düsseldorf 24684, January 12, 1894; Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe, 1904 (Berlin: R. v. Decker, 1905), p. 308; Emsbach, op. cit., p. 170. For German textile managers' testimony about workers' early resistance to time discipline, see Germany, Enquete-Kommission Reichs-Enquete , op. cit., p. 67; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf 24677, October 26, 1885, pp. 3–5.
[86] Seven exceptional cases among them are: Staatsarchiv Weimar, Reuss älterer Linie, Reuss Landratsamt Greiz, Nr. 4596, mechanische Weberei, Zeulenroda, 1868, shuts latecomers out for a quarter-day; Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, Regierung Aachen 13886, N. Scheins & Reiss, May 25, 1892, and Arnold & Schüll, Tuchfabrik, Aachen, 1892, where latecomers had no claims to work for the rest of the day (although in practice they were admitted—Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, Rep. 120 BB VII 3, Nr. 32, March 18, 1895, p. 8); Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , June 23, 1900, Aachen: "Wer ohne Entschuldigung zu spät zur Arbeit kommt, hat erst eine Stunde später Anspruch auf Einlass"; Staatsarchiv Detmold, Regierung Minden I.U., Nr. 425, C. A. Delius & Söhne, 1892, p. 94; Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, BR 1015, Nr. 169 II, weaving mill Wilhelm Schroeder & Co, Moers, locks latecomers out until following shift, p. 214. I also found a morning lockout in Augsburg with fines during the first ten minutes, Bernd Flohr, Arbeiter nach Mass (Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 1981), p. 106, and in the Aachen area, which the factory inspector viewed as an extraordinary occurrence, HSTAD, Regierung Aachen 1633, 1895 memo, p. 308. Another possible exception comes from Greiz, where the Eduard Brösel factory rules say that latecomers must wait until the doors open again but does not say how frequently the doors are in fact opened. Stadtarchiv Greiz, B 5975, Kap. IV, Nr. 65, Eduard Brösel, November 1, 1882.
For a sample of factory codes that include fines for lateness, see Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, 25c, Nr. 1754, which lists fifty-four companies that issued fines for lateness; the collection in HSTAD, Reg. Düsseldorf, BR 1015 169, for examples of factory ordinances issuedbefore they became obligatory and somewhat standardized; HSTAD, Landratsamt Geilenkirchen 88, pp. 1898 ff.; HSTAD, Landratsamt Grevenbroich, Nr. 271, for the following fourteen firms: Emil Quack & Co., 1909; Isaac Falkenstein & Söhne, April, 1909; Adam Breiden, August, 1909; Spinnerei F. Lühl, Wickrath, 1907; Mechanische Weberei Carl Rente, Wickrath, 1892; Peter Sieben, Weberei, 1909; J. A. Lindgens Erben, 1892; Bandfabrik H. G. Schniewind, 1910; Goertz, Kempken & Pongs, 1905; F. W. Barten Weaving, 1892; Weberei Bovenschen, Heerath, 1897; Erckens & Co., 1910; Schwartz & Klein, Jüchen, 1906; Anton Walraf Söhne, 1910; Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, Die Fabrikordnung der Firma F. Brandts zu Mönchengladbach. Ausgabe von 1885 (Mönchengladbach: Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, 1974); Klaus Tidow, Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, Regierung Aachen 13886, C. Lequis Weberei. Oct., 1892; Staatsarchiv Detmold, M2 Bielefeld, Nr. 760, Bertelsmann & Niemann, 1892, p. 60. The city archives in Forst, Zwickau, and Plauen also have extensive collections of ordinances: Stadtarchiv Forst, Nr. 2382/1 through Nr. 2382/18; Stadtarchiv Zwickau, e.g., Rep. V, Lit. A, Nr. 32; Rep. V, Lit. F, Nr. 22; Rep. V, Lit. G, Nr. 61; EL 4884b 1865; Stadtarchiv Plauen, Rep. I, Kap. VI, Sect. I, Nr. 64, e.g., June 30, 1862, Spinnerei, August 15, 1867, Spindler & Erbert, March, 1867, C. A. Jahn. See also Günter Loose, "Betriebs-Chronik VEB Baumwollspinnerei Zschopautal," in Landesarchiv Potsdam, May, 1956, p. 106 with rules of the cotton spinning mill George Bodemer, 1862; Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, 120 B V 33, Nr. 4, Volume 2, J. A. Meyer, Brandenburg, 1838; Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, 120 B II 1 78, Kempten, 1853, Mechanische Baumwoll-spinn- und Weberei Kempten; Klaus Tidow, Neumünsters Textil- und Lederindustrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Neumünster: Karl Wachholtz, 1984), ordinance from 1888, pp. 70–71; Staatsarchiv Weimar, Reuss älterer Linie, Reuss Landratsamt Greiz, Nr. 3861, Mohlsdorf, April 19, 1892; Staatsarchiv Weimar, Reuss älterer Linie, Reuss Landratsamt Greiz, Nr. 4596, mechanische Strumpfwirkerei, Zeulenroda, March 15, 1869; Staatsarchiv Weimar, Reuss älterer Linie, Reuss Landratsamt Greiz, Nr. 4596, mechanische Weberei, Zeulenroda, March 1, 1869, and H. Schopper, May 15, 1869; Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, Aachen, August 1892, Schwamborn & Classen, 120 BB VII 3 32; Archiv des Volkseigenen Betriebs Palla, 575 Strafbuch, Gebrüder Bachmann, Meerane, fines for lateness, 1901–1918; Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B46–391, Allgemeine Fabrik-Ordnung für die Baumwollspinnerei L. Hartmann Söhne, 1846; Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B25–316, Arbeitsordnung der Tuchfabrik Lörrach, 1902; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha, Nr. 2825, Spinnerei G. Matthes in Leubsdorf; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha, Nr. 2881, Auerswalde Spinnerei, 1862; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha, Nr. 2925, March 31, 1892, Fuchss Zwirnerei; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Chemnitz, Nr. 16, "Fabrikordnung," ca. 1858, p. 20; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Kreishauptmannschaft Zwickau, Nr. 1999, Limbach, pp. 156 ff.; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Löbau, Nr. 3375, C. F. Neumann in Eibau; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Chemnitz, Nr. 18, K. A. Löhse, 1862; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Chemnitz, Nr. 10, Thalheim, June, 1889 and August, 1889, p. 20; Stadtarchiv Crimmitschau, Rep. II, Kap. VI, Nr. 61, E. Müller & Renzsch, 1862; Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 30, 1902, Kettwig; Sächsische Industrie-Zeitung , Sept. 14, 1860, pp. 155–156, Werdau; Seidenzwirnereien der Firma C. U. Springer, 1852, reprinted in Walter Steitz, editor, Quellen zur deutschen Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte im 19. Jahrhundert bis zur Reichsgründung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1980), p. 287. See also sources cited in footnote 77, above.
silk mill near Bielefeld, the employer revised the ordinance from locking out in 1892 to fining latecomers in 1894.[87] An exception such as this one, studied and approved by inspectors, demonstrates the absence of state constraints upon employers wishing to shut workers out. Legal experts and industrial
[87] Staatsarchiv Detmold, Regierung Minden I.U., Nr. 425, pp. 94 ff.
courts agreed that German employers, so long as they included this provision in their work code, had the right to block entry.[88] In contrast with their British counterparts, however, they generally chose not to do so.[89]
An investigator determined to find a utilitarian explanation for the difference in entrance customs between Germany and Britain might try to explain them by the balance of power between workers and employers. If, say, German textile employers suffered from a relative shortage of labor, this might have discouraged them from locking workers out or from stringently marking the start of the day for fear of provoking workers to transfer to other firms. We can reject this hypothesis by relying on comparisons within Germany itself. A comparison of regions that had surpluses of highly skilled workers, such as Krefeld, with areas such as the Münsterland, where directors complained of shortages, reveals no difference in the entrance customs.[90] Conversely, as was noted above, British mill directors locked workers out even during periods when workers were scarce.
The German directors' rejection of shutting workers out becomes all the more significant when placed in its legal context. After 1891, German law forbade employers from holding in their general till the monies collected through fines. Factory directors in Germany had to put such withholdings into special funds devoted to the welfare of workers, such as factory health insurance funds or welfare committees.[91] The German reliance on fining and the British reliance on locking out are the very reverse of the outcomes that would be expected if the employers had obeyed only the crude monetary incentives of the environment. In truth, the legislation in Germany merely affirmed from above what had already been settled from below: since the era of small shop production under subcontracting systems, German textile employers had deposited workers' fines into insurance and support funds,[92]
[88] Philipp Lotmar, Der Arbeitsvertrag nach dem Privatrecht des Deutschen Reiches , Volume II (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1908), pp. 79, 243. Germany, Die Gewerbe-Ordnung (Berlin: J. Guttentag, 1878), pp. 108 ff.
[89] German textile journals assumed that the only methods possible for influencing punctuality were fining or offering bonuses. Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , No. 3, 1909, p. 80.
[90] For Krefeld, see Stadtarchiv Krefeld, F1446, C. G. Maurenbrecher, 1909; HSTAD Regierung Düsseldorf, Nr. 24660. Krefelder Seidenfärberei, 1900; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , August 3, 1899, Krefeld. For the Münsterland, see, illustratively, Stadtarchiv Bocholt, Arbeitsordnung Franz Beckmann & Co., 1898, and testimony of Herr Reidegeld, cited in footnote 81, above.
[91] Carl Koehne, Arbeitsordnungen im deutschen Gewerberecht (Berlin: Siemenroth und Troschel, 1901), pp. 219–220.
[92] For an example of an agreement from the era of handweaving that allocated fines for bad cloth to a special welfare fund, see Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, Rep. 120 B I 1 59,April 11, 1848, Chemnitz, p. 44. For the wool industry of the lower Rhine, see Artur Peltzer, "Die Arbeiterbewegung in der Aachener Textilindustrie von der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts bis zum Ausbruch des Weltkrieges," Ph.D. diss., Universität Marburg, 1924, p. 6; Decker, op. cit., p. 99. Elsewhere, Germany, Enquete-Kommission, Reichs-Enquete , op. cit., p. 444; Alphons Thun, Die Industrie am Niederrhein und ihre Arbeiter (Leipzig: Duncker und Humblot, 1879), Erster Theil, "Die linksrheinische Textilindustrie," p. 21. For illustrations of early ordinances from textile factories that allocated all fines to a welfare fund, see Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, 120 B II 1 78, Köcklin & Söhne, Lörrach, 1837, and Mechanische Spinnerei und Weberei Kempten, 1853; Zentrales Staatsarchiv Merseburg, 120 B V 33, Nr. 4, Volume 2, J. A. Meyer, Brandenburg, 1838; "Fabrik-Reglement," 1839, reproduced in Rainer Wirtz, "Die Ordnung der Fabrik ist nicht die Fabrikordnung," in Heiko Haumann, editor, Arbeiteralltag in Stadt und Land (Berlin: Argument-Verlag, 1982), p. 63; Stadtarchiv Crimmitschau, Rep. II, Kap. VI, Nr. 61, E. Müller & Renzsch, 1862.
although they knew perfectly well they were not required to do so.[93] German practice ostensibly hearkened back to the guild ideal of depositing fines for infractions of artisanal rules into the association's treasury.[94] British mill owners, under the same circumstances, could pocket disciplinary and restitutive fines as they pleased.[95]
Since employers and workers in Germany conceived of work time as a continuous process of converting labor power into an output, they treated it as something that could be abstracted from its context and transferred. In the earliest days of the factory system, German workers themselves had proposed that tardy arrivals be allowed to make up lost minutes by working late.[96] Many factory directors gave their work force the option of taking off early from work during unofficial religious or communal holidays under the condition that the lost hours be made up by working an hour of over-
[93] Before the revised law was introduced in 1891, business journals informed employers that they were not required to hand over to welfare committees fines for lateness. Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , February 22, 1878, p. 171. No wonder Günther Schulz found that in the industry of the Rhineland before the First World War, "the Prussian state was never the motor for the formation of company work relations." Günther Schulz, "Die betriebliche Lage der Arbeiter im Rheinland vom 19. bis zum beginnenden 20. Jahrhundert," Rheinische Vierteljahrsblätter Jahrgang 50 (1986), p. 175.
[94] Der Arbeiterfreund , Sept. 2, 1848; Clemens Wischermann, "An der Schwelle der Industrialisierung 1800–1850," in Wilhelm Kohl, editor, Westfälische Geschichte , Volume 3 (Düsseldorf: Schwann, 1984), p. 158. Yet the British employers had institutional precedents similar to those of the Germans for allocating fines to welfare committees. For instance, the Worsted Committee responsible for enforcing cloth specifications at the close of the eighteenth century donated its fines to hospitals and local Sunday schools. Herbert Heaton, The Yorkshire Woollen and Worsted Industries (second edition Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965), p. 434.
[95] The practice of depositing the receipts from punishments into welfare committees was not unheard of in Britain but was rare indeed. Large paternalist firms were most likely to adopt the idea. Patrick Joyce, Work, Society and Politics (London: Methuen, 1982), p. 138. Whatever they ultimately arranged, the British mill employers had an incentive to impose fines which German employers lacked after 1891.
[96] Zeitung des Arbeiter-Vereins zu Köln , April 30, 1848.
time during the following days.[97] There was nothing surreptitious about this practice, no attempt by managers in this fashion, at least, to gain hours for the week in excess of those allowed by law. Textile directors had specified in early factory ordinances that they could shift hours among the days of the week, so long as the total remained unchanged.[98] In Britain, production time was anchored in discrete beginning and ending points and remained bound to this concrete setting.[99]
The German managers' floating starting points for the measurement of the workday and their reliance on efficiency ratios both rested on their premise that time was transferable and unfastened. The efficiency ratios attempted an "objective" comparison between the use of time on different days, in different years, or in industrial eras that lay decades apart. Rather than comparing technological progress in terms of the length of the cloth manufactured per loom in the course of a day or of a year, as the English did, the Germans looked at progress in terms of the utilization of time. "If the old weaving mills used to get along with 50 percent efficiency," one journal contributor commented in 1914, "that does not come close to yielding a profit at the end nowadays."[100] A German mill director judged the success of his tenure by looking for improvements in efficiency ratios rather than seeking only an increase in the value of output per loom, as
[97] HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 25021, 1899, p. 25; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 24677, May 12, 1887, letter from the Handelskammer in Mönchengladbach; HSTAD, Landratsamt Grevenbroich 271, 1909, J. A. Lindgens Erben; Der Arbeiterfreund , Vol. 22 (1884), p. 331; Peltzer, op. cit., p. 29; and the manager's diary from the Schoeller firm in Düren, for example, July 2, 1878. Courtesy Firmenarchiv Schoeller, Düren.
[98] Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, "Fabrik-Ordnung für die mechanische Weberei, Färberei, Schlichterei und Appretur von Böhmer, Ercklentz und Prinzen in Mönchengladbach," November 1, 1862. Not until the 1890s did German factory inspectors, concerned that the shifting of hours between one day and the next made the true total of hours for the week unverifiable by outsiders, consistently intervene to suppress the practice. Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe, 1897 (Berlin: R. v. Decker, 1898), p. 473; Landesarchiv Potsdam, Rep. 75, Nr. 849, 1893, p. 116. But some years state officials without ado issued permission to extend hours for busy seasons. Landesarchiv Potsdam, company records of Tannenbaum, Pariser & Co., "Zuschriften von Behoerden," 1888–1893, pp. 115–116; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 24684, April 15, 1893, Klauser firm; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 25015, 1893, p. 18; Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden für 1898 (Berlin: R. v. Decker, 1899), p. 352; Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden für 1900 (Berlin: R. v. Decker, 1901), pp. 154, 169, Magdeburg, Merseburg.
[99] Hours of labor lost due to stoppages in production were recoverable in Britain under the Factory Acts only in the event of drought, flooding, or other extraordinary disasters at the mill. United Kingdom, Reports of the Inspectors of Factories , PP 1836 (78) XLV, half-year ending December 31, 1836, p. 35.
[100] Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1914, Nr. 3, p. 65.
his British counterpart did.[101] In truth, the physical characteristics of the weaving process did not permit any valid comparison of efficiency ratios for looms running at different speeds. The decision to contrast past and present in terms of this ratio therefore derived from an a priori assumption that change ought to be conceived as the differential utilization of abstract time.
The systems for controlling workers' entrances and exits in the textile industry can be generalized to other trades with large work premises. In Germany tardy metal workers and engineers were simply fined,[102] whereas the custom of shutting late workers outside the factory gate emerged in many enterprises in Britain. In the metal-working industry a British manager judged in 1899 that "the usual practice" across the land was to shut latecomers out until breakfast.[103] "The best timekeepers," he added, "are usually retired soldiers, who are accustomed to strict discipline."[104] Likewise, a guide to the "commercial management of engineering works" recommended in 1899 that employers pare their disciplinary rules to keep them simple and memorable. But its author insisted upon the draconian exclusion of latecomers from the premises until the start of the next shift.[105] The adoption of the custom in diverse circumstances—whether the work force consisted predominantly of men or women, whether labor was centralized under one roof early or late in the industrial revolution—implies that the practice embodied a fundamental premise.[106]
[101] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1913, Nr. 36, pp. 827–828; Textile Manufacturer , October 15, 1908, p. 336.
[102] Bernd Flohr, op. cit., pp. 105, 110.
[103] Arthur Barker, The Management of Small Engineering Workshops (Manchester: John Heywood, 1899), p. 79. Stories about workers shut out in the metal trade can be gleaned from the Dermot Healey interviews of the Regional Studies Department, Oral History Project, Manchester Polytechnic.
[104] Barker, op. cit., p. 78.
[105] Francis G. Burton, The Commercial Management of Engineering Works (Manchester: Scientific Publishing Co., 1899), p. 182. Dyke Wilkinson, a metal worker in Birmingham, reported that when he found he was excluded for arriving one minute late, he took the whole day off. Rough Roads: Reminiscences of a Wasted Life (London: Sampson Low, Marston, & Co., 1912), p. 18.
[106] In the shoemaking industry, employers locked the doors to deal with workers on piece rates who imagined they could come and go as they pleased. Keith Brooker, "The Northhampton Shoemakers' Reaction to Industrialization: Some Thoughts," Northhamptonshire Past and Present Volume VI, No. 3 (1980), p. 154. For locking out unpunctual workers in tailoring and mantle-making, see PP 1893–1894 XXXVII, Part 1, pp. 71, 76; for rope-making, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 331. Tardy workers at slate quarries were regularly excluded from the labor site for one week. PP 1892 XXXIV, p. 369. At a candy factory, an unpunctual female worker was excluded for two weeks. PP 1892 XXXV, p. 344.
Frontiers of Discipline
The entrance to the textile mill served not just as a regulator of the passage of time but as a marker of territory, the boundary of the employer's domain. In each country the walls of the factory furnished an empty slate on which contrasting messages were inscribed. British mill owners manipulated the doorways of the mill to emphasize their jurisdiction over the borderline of the domain. If workers threatened to strike, the employers impounded them by locking the gate.[107] When an amendment to the Factory Acts in 1902 shortened the legal working hours on Saturdays, an employer in Leeds ordered that the workroom doors, previously locked only from the inside, henceforth be locked from the outside as well.[108] Since only top supervisors had keys to unlock the doors from the inside anyway,[109] his action may have been intended more as a signal than as a real safeguard: if this mill director could not choose the duration of labor as he pleased, he could in this fashion display his claim to prohibit movement across the frontier of the labor space during the workday. Other proprietors responded to the forced reduction in hours with the same tactic of heightened border controls.[110] "Some say it is like being locked in York Castle," the textile union newspaper reported from Ravensthorpe.[111] Command over the entry points represented the critical point of confrontation.
Since the factory proprietors rarely had contact with workers in the course of the daily cycle of production, the entryway itself remained as their primary zone of contact, at once symbolic and material. Both employers and workers viewed the threshold this way.[112] Sir Titus Salt positioned his guests by the mill gate so that they could watch the ceremony
[107] Dermot Healey's interview tape 628, op. cit., p. 17.
[108] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 21, 1902.
[109] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 6, 1903, p. 4.
[110] See Yorkshire Factory Times , January 17, 1902, for a similar incident in Elland.
[111] April 3, 1903, Ravensthorpe. See also April 7, 1893, Shipley, and April 19, 1901, Elland. For Marsden, Bradford, and Eccleshill see the January 10, 1902, issue. Joanna Bornat's interview with Mr. B., op. cit.: "Oh, it were like a gaol." For examples of shutting employees within workrooms in Lancashire, see Mary Brigg, editor, "Journals of a Lancashire Weaver," The Record Society of Lancashire and Cheshire , Volume CXXII (1982), p. 3; The Power Loom (September 1916), p. 4; LRO, DDX 1628, Nelson and District Power-Loom Weavers' Association, June 10, 1896; Bolton Oral History Collection, Interview 121, mule piecer, born 1899; and Dermot Healey's interview tape 703, male weaver from Burnley, born 1895, line 880.
[112] See H. S. G., Autobiography of a Manchester Cotton Manufacturer (Manchester: John Heywood, 1887), p. 32; Yorkshire Factory Times , February 18, 1898, Dudley Hill, "Scored One"; Dermot Healey's interview tape 664, p. 2.
of the workers leaving.[113] Salt's factory must be counted among the largest in Britain, offering less chance for exchanges between the employer and ordinary workers. For this reason, the ritual of entering Salt's mill took on added importance: if workers arrived late to his mill in the morning, they "knew they dealt not with delegated authority, but with the master himself."[114] Isaac Holden, an owner in Bradford, listed as one of his key management principles for a mill he owned that "the hands going in and coming out must go tranquilly."[115] Among workers at Crossley's Dean Clough Mill in Halifax, the legend persisted that the elderly mother of the owner had had a mirror installed in her room so that she could inspect the crowds of workers daily as they entered and exited the mill. From their countenances, the story maintained, she could deduce their current attitudes.[116] This tale indicates, all the more so if untrue, the way workers at this mill saw entering as a ritual moment of contact with employers and point of exposure to scrutiny.
The everyday experience of the entry controls made the doorway a potent vehicle in popular thought for condensing relations between employers and workers.[117] A tale circulated in the heavy woolen district of Yorkshire illustrates the displacement in folk culture of the mill owner's exercise of authority onto the entranceway:
A Queensbury mill-owner always stood at the mill gate each morning, watch in hand. One morning the carter, who had been at school with the mill-owner forty years before, and had worked at the mill since then, was late. The very next morning the carter was late again, and the mill-owner duly sacked him.
[113] Robert Balgarnie, Sir Titus Salt (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1878), p. 251.
[114] Op. cit., p. 81. Capital and Labour , December 5, 1877, p. 666. "If any of them were late, it was the master's rebuke they feared." Cited by Andrew Yarmie, "Captains of Industry in Mid-Victorian Britain," diss., King's College, 1975, p. 100. Consult also Bolton Oral History Collection, tape 122, female spinner, born 1905, for a description of the inquiries that management made regarding the reasons for lateness.
[115] Elizabeth Jennings, "Sir Isaac Holden," diss., University of Bradford, 1982, pp. 53–54. See also Textile Manufacturer , March 15, 1883, p. 90. Sometimes overlookers' houses were situated opposite the entrance gate, perhaps to create an effect of unremitting surveillance.
[116] Halifax Antiquary Society (1950), p. 7.
[117] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 28, 1908, p. 2. See pp. 338 ff. in D. McKelvie, "Some Aspects of Oral and Material Tradition in an Industrial Urban Area," Ph.D. diss., University of Leeds, 1963. See also the "Socialist Song Sheet," in the Colne Valley Labour Party Archives, Huddersfield Polytechnic, for a comment about entering beneath the eye of the porter: "In his box he sits in state / like a monarch ruling fate."
—"What? Sacking me for being five minutes late—after forty years?"
—"Ah'm not sacking thi for being late, Ah'm sacking thi for defying me!"
—"In that case Ah suppose Ah can go wheer Ah like for a job?"
—"Tha can go just wheer tha likes!"
—"Right," said the Carter, "Ah'm starting here again!"[118]
Former textile workers recalled in their interview that one boss or another always stood at the office window peering out over the mill gate.[119] When workers quit their job in anger or rejected an employer's authority, they cried out, "I'll not be passing through your gateway again!"[120] "The gate" did not just become a familiar turn of phrase but came to signify an opening into the life of the textile worker. A periodical about life in the north of England, which began publication in Manchester in 1905, chose the image of the entryway for its title: The Millgate. The editors' column of observations in each issue of this journal bore the heading "From the Mill Window." A magazine edited by a Huddersfield socialist contrasting the factory of the present with the society of the future called itself The Gateway.
By comparison with Britain, the form in which labor was commodified in Germany depreciated the importance of the doorway as a zone of contact with employers. At many German mills the managers relinquished central responsibility for recording entry and shifted the onus of keeping track of workers' attendance and punctuality to the individual overlookers.[121] Was
[118] Cited in D. McKelvie, op. cit., pp. 338 ff. For another example, see Dermot Healey's interview tape 664, p. 2: "The manager . . . always had his watch in hand standing at the mill door."
[119] Joanna Bornat's interview with Mrs. H., born 1895; Yorkshire Dialect Society, Transactions , Volume 8 (1950), p. 42; Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mr. B8P, born 1896, Preston.
[120] From my interview with Edward Mercer, weaver, Rawdon. See also Dermot Healey's interview tape 850, male worker from Nelson, born 1907.
[121] Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B46-391, "Fabrik-Ordnung für L. Hartmann," 1846, and B25-316, 1902; Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 19, 1901, Eupen; Stadtarchiv Rheine, 183, "Arbeitsordnung" for Dyckhoff & Stoeveken, 1915; Voigt, op. cit., p. 387; Arbeiterwohl , 1881, Nr.1, p. 48; my interview with Franz Reidegeld, born 1900, Rheine; Stadtarchiv Chemnitz, "Fabrik-Ordnung der Weberei von Ferdinand Waldau," Chemnitz, 1865; Stadtarchiv Chemnitz, Rep. II, Kap. IIIa, Nr. 13 Vol. II, excerpt from Sächsisches Volksblatt with dateline March 12, 1910; Textilmuseum Apolda, Fabrikordnung der Firma Zimmermann 1857; Der Textil-Arbeiter , August 27, 1909, Burgstädt; Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, Landratsamt Grevenbroich, Nr. 271, Emil Quack & Co., 1909; Tidow, op. cit., p. 70; Alf Lüdtke, "Arbeitsbeginn, Arbeitspausen, Arbeitsende," in Gerhard Huck, editor, Sozial -geschichte der Freizeit (Wuppertal: Peter Hammer Verlag, 1980), pp. 100–101. For the wool industry of the lower Rhine, see Decker, op. cit., p. 96; Sächsisches Volksblatt , March 12, 1910. For a contrast with Britain, where managers came round to inquire why workers were late, consult Bolton Oral History Collection, tape 122, female spinner, born 1905. The overlookers in Germany were relieved of responsibility for calculating tardiness if punch-in time clocks were installed.
not the heart of the matter control of the workers' labor power, not of their crossing a line?[122] In some instances the company rules for conduct in Germany defined late arrival as failure to set one's machinery in motion by the specified minute.[123] The overlookers' prospects for keeping their jobs depended on their ability to make sure that the workers in their charge appeared at their machines on time.[124]
The Factory Acts restricting the length of workdays in Britain defined the workers' period of labor by their presence in the factory, defined as including any area within the confines of the mill gates. Space marked the boundaries of employment. In Germany, by contrast, the laws regulating the length of employment in the factory referred to attendance at machines or in manual production. Accordingly, the courts determined that the period of work was determined by use of the employees' labor in the manufacturing process.[125] They reasoned that workers could remain on the premises of the mill for any period if they were not engaged in material production.[126] The courts naturally feared that employers might coerce workers to undertake miscellaneous tasks at all hours, so they were reluctant to exempt all categories of workers from time limits if they were not engaged in manufacture. In contrast to the unambiguous classification in Britain based on the
[122] Der Textil-Arbeiter , February 10, 1911, p. 44, Nordhorn; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , November 30, 1901, Hückeswagen; Elisabeth Plössl, Weibliche Arbeit in Familie und Betrieb: Bayerische Arbeiterfrauen 1870–1914 (München: Schriftenreihe des Stadtarchivs, 1983), p. 243. In the Wupper Valley, for example, a ribbon weaver at a medium-sized firm before the First World War remembered that the lowest overlooker kept track of attendance (my interview with Hans Penz, born 1895; cf. Ewald Sirrenberg, op. cit.). At a large corporation for spinning and weaving in Viersen on the lower Rhine, workers complained in 1905 that whether a worker received a fine for lateness, and the amount of the penalty, varied "according to which overlooker you stood under." Der Textil-Arbeiter , March 10, 1905.
[123] Staatsarchiv Detmold, Regierung Minden, I.U.Nr. 425, C. A. Delius, Bielefeld, p. 106; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha 2825, Baumwollspinnerei Matthes in Leubsdorf.
[124] HSTAD, Landratsamt Mönchengladbach 710, 1874, pp. 102–103.
[125] Meeraner Tageblatt , July 21, 1897.
[126] Sächsische Industrie , October 3, 1905, p. 297. For an example of factory inspectors reporting on the extension of the hours of female workers who were not in buildings with mechanical machinery, see Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz, n Rep. A, Kap. IXa, Nr. 303, 1896–1900, p. 16; for a justification of this policy, see Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz, n Rep. A, Kap. IXa, Nr. 303, p. 46.
position of the worker in space, however, the German limits on time focused on the use of the labor capacity.
In regulating border crossings, British employers made more of a claim to the workers' presence in the confines of the factory than to their time at the loom. The most popular treatise on "scientific" management published before the war, Edward Elbourne's Factory Administration and Accounts , took care to define the worker's arrival as his standing on company property, not as being positioned at the machine.[127] The Textile Manufacturer reported in 1901 in a matter-of-fact tone that directors did not force workers to begin work promptly after they were inside the gate. "Most men weavers consider it a disgrace to be in their places waiting for the engines to start," the journal claimed. "They knock the ashes out of their pipes just as the gates are being closed, and then saunter leisurely to their work."[128] In this instance, crossing the border zone between the inside and outside of the mill carried more significance than beginning to produce.
In each country the workers' clothing on factory premises complemented the border controls. In Germany textile workers typically arrived at the mill in their street clothes and changed into work clothes before they reported to their machines.[129] Sometimes the firm designed, procured, and washed the work clothing.[130] The alteration in German workers' exterior signaled
[127] Factory Administration and Accounts (London: Green & Co., 1914), pp. 31, 92. In emphasizing the importance of the gatekeeper's duties, Elbourne advised that the gatekeeper report directly to the owner, not to any intermediary foreman. Elbourne did not say whether tardy workers should be locked out, however. Using arrival at the perimeter of the factory as the criterion for deciding when an employee was "late," rather than expenditure of labor power, was consistent with the Factory Acts but not determined by them. The acts defined the workers' attendance by presence within the space of the factory, including the grounds if enclosed by a gate. But the Factory Acts allowed several minutes before the start of machinery for workers to arrive at the mill yard and make their way to the work station. Robert Baker, The Factory Acts Made Easy: Or, How to Work the Law Without the Risk of Penalties (Leeds: H. W. Walker, 1854), pp. 23, 36.
[128] Textile Manufacturer , February 15, 1901, p. 38.
[129] Minna Wettstein-Adelt, 3 1/2 Monate Fabrik-Arbeiterin (Berlin: J. Leiser, 1893), p. 16; Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , August 15, 1903, Rheydt; Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden für 1900 (Berlin: R. v. Decker, 1901), p. 34, Potsdam. Workers in some departments, such as cloth mending, which was usually conducted in an office apart from the main production process, kept street garments on.
[130] For an example from the woolen industry of the lower Rhine, see Decker, op. cit., p. 87. Elsewhere: Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, Regierung Düsseldorf, BR1015, Nr. 170, March 10, 1878, M. Lamberts & May, Mönchengladbach; Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden für 1891 (Berlin: W. T. Bruer, 1892), p. 187, Minden. At a firm in Plauen, the time required for changing out of work clothes was considered part of the workday. Stadtarchiv Plauen, Rep. I, Kap. VI, Sect, I, Nr. 64, July 20, 1863, Schnorr & Steinhäuser.
the consignment of their labor power to the factory owner's dominion. British workers, who transferred labor time in products but not the labor power in their person, rarely changed their pants, skirts, or blouses when they entered and exited the mill.[131] Even if work inside the mill coated them with waste, they wore the same clothes home.[132] No wonder the lack of changing rooms was never debated in Britain as it was in Germany, where having to remove clothing in the mill became an important grievance among female workers where facilities for changing in private were lacking.[133] Female textile workers in Britain, like their male co-workers, of course removed their outerwear, such as shawls or vests, but as a rule did not change to a company outfit. In Britain employers emphasized the momentary regulation of workers' bodies as workers stepped over the factory threshold. In Germany the dressing ritual used workers' bodies as a marker of the continuous alienation of the labor power lodged in the person of the worker.
The emphasis on the control of border points that characterized British textile factories prevailed in other trades. The general manager of the Salford Rolling Mills, in an 1896 guide to the administration of iron mills, devoted an
[131] Textile Recorder , August 15, 1906; E. Blackburn, op. cit., p. 32; Macclesfield Oral History Project, Interview 110a; Yorkshire Factory Times , July 26, 1889, p. 4, Elland. Some mule spinners who wanted to put on airs wore bowler hats and top coats on the street, then switched to overalls inside, but this was exceptional. Thompson and Thompson, family and work history interviews, No. 122, Bolton, born 1895; Dermot Healey's interview tape 652, male spinner from Astley Bridge, born 1895, line 400.
[132] Dermot Healey's interview tape 702, workers from Oldham, born 1897, p. 12; J. Worthington, "One Day in My Early Working Life," 1918, Bolton Library; Textile Recorder , August 15, 1906, reported that the Lancashire operative never has "the chance of cleaning himself before leaving work." For northern Ireland, Betty Messenger, Picking Up the Linen Threads: A Study in Industrial Folklore (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1978), p. 62. British managers found the German emphasis on cleaning facilities remarkable: Textile Manufacturer , August 15, 1882, p. 280. Ben Turner commented upon the workers' change of clothing in Switzerland, compared with Britain, in About Myself 1863–1930 (London: Cayme Press, 1930), p. 189. Lancashire weavers might change their clothes when mills artificially raised the humidity of the workrooms by injecting steam into the air. PP 1892 XXXV, p. 76.
[133] Like other questions involving the treatment of women, that of dressing rooms depended on more than the intersection of gender and class identities. It took shape through a culturally specific definition of labor as a commodity that is discernible only in a cross-national perspective. German textile-union officials who visited Britain were surprised at the absence of rooms for workers to change clothing. Stadtarchiv Cottbus, A II 4.7i, Nr. 11, July 11, 1906, p. 264. Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , February 24, 1900, Dülken; for examples of German workers expecting dressing rooms, see HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 25022, report for 1900, pp. 13–14; Der Textil-Arbeiter , April 25, 1902, Auerbach; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , March 13, 1909. On rare occasions male workers, too, presented strike demands for dressing rooms. Gladbacher Merkur , May 18, 1899.
entire chapter to the layout and use of "The Entrance Gates." His depiction of the factory perimeter employed the military analogy of a citadel:
the gates of a factory should be as rigidly watched as those of a fortress, and for this purposes an official, viz. The Gatekeeper, should be appointed. . . . The gates must be absolutely closed at the prescribed time, such, for instance, as when the whistle has ceased blowing. No relaxation whatever must be tolerated.[134]
The ideal of a walled fortress to which this writer referred influenced not only the use of factory buildings but the ponderable design of the structures themselves.
The Partitioning of Space
The differing physical layouts of British and German textile mills in the late nineteenth century furnished contrasting stage settings—true "foundations"—for labor's transmission. Technical manuals of the nineteenth century treated the selection of mill architecture as part of the "science" of manufacturing.[135] Modern British woolen and worsted mills stereotypically were arranged like closed, defensive fortresses: the various rooms for spinning, for assembling the warps, and for weaving formed a ring enclosing a central courtyard or "mill yard." The entrance gate, often set under an archway, offered the only opening from the outside that led into this yard and into the workrooms (see Figure 6). Otherwise, the factory presented a solid barrier to the surrounding world, sometimes with no windows on the ground floor.[136] The layout could also call upon a row of workers' dwellings
[134] J. Slater Lewis, The Commercial Organization of Factories (London: E. & F. N. Spon, 1896), Chapter XVI, "The Entrance Gates and the Gatekeeper," pp. 141–143.
[135] Evan Leigh, The Science of Modern Cotton Spinning (London: Simpkin, Marshall and Co., 1873), Vol. II; Elbourne, op. cit., p. 19. For an earlier period, see Andrew Ure, Philosophy of Manufactures (London: Charles Knight, 1835), p. 33.
[136] See the chapter on "Modern Mill Layout" in D. H. Williams, Textile Factory Organization and Management (London: Emmott & Co., 1934). Williams shows that the fortress design could be employed in "rationalized" mills, where each processing room was located around the perimeter for the most efficient throughput and movement of raw materials, as well as in haphazardly organized older mills, where the stages of processing the materials were not necessarily assigned sequentially to adjacent workrooms. Utility for production neither necessitated nor excluded the design. Williams's book deals with smaller mills, but the same design held for such giant enterprises as Titus Salt's Saltaire. For other examples, see Leafield mills, in E. Philip Dobson and John B. Ives, A Century of Achievement: The History of James Ives & Company Limited (London: William Sessions, 1948), p. 47; Plan of Bleach Works, Barnsley, 1895, Royal Commission on Historical Monuments, York; Benyon's mill, Holbeck, Leeds, RCHME; Mssrs Blackburn mill, Batley, plan at Kirklees Archives.
Figure 6.
Model British Weaving Mill
Source: D. R. H. Williams, Textile Factory
Organization and Management (Manchester:
Emmott & Co., 1934)
on one or more sides of its perimeter to form part of the barricaded zone. Naturally, these houses on the boundary had no openings into the mill yard.[137]
The fortress-like enclosure of a mill yard by the workrooms appeared in the design of mills in Lancashire and elsewhere in the northwest, once factory design had come into its own.[138] The arrangement became an emblem not only in the actual conduct of manufacturing but in the fancies of literature. The frontispiece to Andrew Ure's famous tract The Philosophy of Manufactures , published in 1835, portrayed a factory whose wings were shaped to enclose a courtyard. The assumptions of this graphic depiction achieved verbal expression. Ure, an advocate of the mill system's satanic regimen during the youthful phases of industrial growth, emphasized the textile workers' encapsulation by referring to the hapless operatives as "factory inmates."[139]
To be sure, the enveloping design occurred more frequently in built-up urban areas, where the need to mark off one's own territory and to guard against intrusions was greater than in the countryside, where isolated mills, which expanded incrementally, sometimes consisted of small, scattered buildings, without a comprehensive model. Therefore the castle design was far from universal and, indeed, was realized in pure form in only a minority of cases.[140] Yet it represented something of an architectural stereotype, a
[137] Deepdale mill, Preston, Preston Mill Book, Preston Library Archives.
[138] See Manchester Library Archives, William Higgins & Sons, Salford, Manchester, "Plan and Elevation of a Flax Mill," July, 1851. Sylvia Clark, "Chorlton Mills and Their Neighbors," Industrial Archaeology Review Volume II, Number 3 (Summer 1978), p. 209; Jennifer Tann, The Development of the Factory (London: Cornmarket Press, 1970), pp. 17, 34; Brunswick mill, Manchester, 1838, Houldsworth cotton mill, Stockport, 1867, and Murray's mills, Manchester Archaeology Unit, and annotation to file, p. 21; Brookfield mill, Moor Hall mill, Springfield mill, and Deepdale mill in Preston, Preston Mill Book, Preston Library Archives; for an example of a mill that put warehousing on its ground floor, without windows, see Manchester Archaeology Unit, Brunswick mill.
[139] Ure, op. cit., pp. 353, 374, 404. For a similar usage, see Doherty, editor, op. cit., p. vii. The word inmate in this era referred to a permanent occupant or indweller of a place. O.E.D. , 2d ed, Vol. 5,p. 307. In The Great Law of Subordination Consider'd , published in 1724, Daniel Defoe used the workshop portal to classify England's workers into two kinds: "Labourers Without-Doors" and "Labourer Within-Doors." Reprinted in Stephen Copley, editor, Literature and the Social Order in Eighteenth-Century England (London: Croom Helm, 1984), p. 144. Among the home weavers, an expression for being in a factory was standing "within the walls." Testimony of Joseph Coope, Committee on Woollen Manufacture, April 23, 1806, PP 1806 III, 1806. The emphasis put on the division between the interior and the exterior of the mill could influence factory bookkeeping. At Strut's mill in Derbyshire, the wages books surviving from the 1870s for those assigned to factory upkeep are divided into two sets, for workers who labored on the exterior of the mill and for those who were inside, although in some instances their tasks were otherwise the same. Manchester Library Archives.
layout which appeared when unprompted by the environment.[141] For instance, Sir Titus Salt in the 1870s built his mill in the middle of an undeveloped parcel of land large enough to accommodate an entire town, yet he, too, adopted the fortress structure.[142] This arrangement struck German observers of British developments as representative of British thinking.[143] Once it was crystallized in factory layouts in the north of England, the British carried it to contexts where land values, the landscape, and the infrastructure were far different. For example, in his treatise on mill construction William Fairbairn presented a blueprint for building a woolen factory in the open countryside of a foreign country, Turkey. He incorporated the classic sealed yard into the design of the U-shaped building itself.[144] The Platt Brothers' plans for integrated cotton mills in Brazil at the beginning of the twentieth century came in various sizes, but they arranged the workrooms in an unbroken circle around a secured yard.[145] The transference of this pattern into such diverse habitats offers a hint that it conformed, not to the physical requirements of the surroundings, but to a cultural model.
Apart from their structural emphasis on control of access points, British mills were distinguished from German ones by the attention they gave to the design of the main portal. The entrance exterior was some-
[140] It was not feasible to accentuate control over access points when the building was used for the so-called "room and power system," under which several small businessmen rented out portions of a single mill. See Burnley Library, Archives, Elm Street mill, D74.
[141] For examples of enclosed buildings in the shoe trade, see the Shoe and Leather Record , January 1, 1892, p. 10, and March 4, 1892, p. 550.
[142] See plan of Royal Commission on Historical Monuments, York. On Salt's choice of unoccupied territory, see L. Cooper, Great Men of Yorkshire West Riding (London: The Bodley Head, 1955), p. 111. For another example where the design was not intended to conserve land, see LRO, DDX 1129, Kirkham Flax Mill, 1865.
[143] Ludwig Utz, Moderne Fabrikanlagen (Leipzig: Uhlands Technischer Verlag, 1907), p. 282. Another German manual on industrial architecture, published in 1901, judged that British designers had a distinctive way of breaking up the monotonous lines of factory buildings with adjoining wings: British mills, they concluded, "unite practical considerations with those of taste." Wilhelm Rebber, Fabrikanlagen: Ein Handbuch für Techniker und Fabrikbesitzer (2d ed. Leipzig: B. F. Voigt, 1901), p. 94.
[144] William Fairbairn, Treatise on Mills and Millwork (London: Longmans, Green, 1861). What interests us here is not only the "natural fact" that the castle design occurred with a certain statistical frequency in Britain. We are also interested in the "cultural fact" that the design served as an ideal the builders and owners held before themselves, although they hardly carried out this ideal under all circumstances.
[145] Platt Brothers and Company, Particulars and Calculations Relating to Cotton Ginning, Opening, Carding, Combing, Preparing, Spinning, and Weaving Machinery (Manchester: Platt Brothers, ca. 1918), pp. 324–325. See also "Plan of Cotton Mill for Abroad," Textile Manufacturer , Jan. 15, 1891, pp. 4 ff.
times flanked by imposing towers or crowned by intricate ornamentation.[146] On the inside, the entrance hallway might feature extra doors which managers used as backup devices to seal off access to the main workrooms or, from the other direction, access to the main gate. This design appeared in the very earliest mills. The Poor Man's Advocate investigated a spinning mill in 1832 where the gates were "numerous, being placed one within the other, in order, we suppose, that if any of the wretched inmates should escape through the first they may be secured by the next."[147] Similar arrangements appeared in later facilities. At the West Vale textile works near Halifax, constructed during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, owners even installed a special lever for the gatekeeper which ran from his office perch to a second door on the inside of the entry corridor, permitting him to inspect the arrivals a second time in the corridor and decide whether to let them proceed.[148]
What information did the factory's design encode? Let us extract the elementary structure behind the visible architecture by mapping the passages between rooms on the premises. Figure 7 delineates the apertures between the compartments of the illustrative floorplan.[149] The diagrams reveal, first, that the fortress design could turn the mill yard into a nodal point. The yard served not just as an unloading or storage area but as a connector for human traffic. In fact, movement even between work rooms that were contiguous frequently had to flow through the central yard. Each of the major rooms is organized as a self-sufficient space, which opens to the others via an interchange that serves every room in the
[146] See sketches and descriptions of entrances to Park mill, Hartford mill, and Alliance mill in the second, documentary volume of N. K. Scott, "The Architectural Development of Cotton Mills in Preston and District," Master's thesis, University of Liverpool, 1952. Charts of Ellar Carr Mills.
[147] Doherty, editor, op. cit., p. vii.
[148] Royal Commission on Historical Monuments, York, courtesy of Colum Giles. For a description of a similar arrangement in Preston, Lancashire, see Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mr. G1P, born 1903, p. 96. A machine oil salesman who traveled from mill to mill in the Colne Valley shortly before the First World War described in his memoirs their shuttered atmosphere. On approaching them, he remembered, "You didn't go into an office to be received decently—you had to rattle a little trap door. A head would come out and say 'What's it about?" W. Farrar Vickers, Spin a Good Yarn (Leeds: MT Co., 1978), p. 19. The style of reception suited a bolted tower more than a modern business concern. Even during this late era, if workers had to stay late on payday to collect their cash, they called this "detention." Yorkshire Factory Times , April 25, 1902, p. 4.
[149] I owe this technique to Bill Hillier and Julienne Hanson, who present it in The Social Logic of Space (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), Chapter 4, "Buildings and Their Genotypes."
Figure 7.
Traffic Structure of Model British Mill
complex. In sum, once workers negotiated the entry passage into the facility, the design gave them easy access to every corner of the interior. This basic principle underlay the design of some mills, such as that of the Blackburns in Batley, Yorkshire, even when at first glance the mill buildings did not seem to be arranged as a castle, but all of whose rooms nonetheless fed into two courtyard passages.[150] The layout created an encompassing perimeter while permitting rapid movement in the interior.
Surveillance of the central yard could give a comprehensive view of important traffic at a glance.[151] To take advantage of this, British textile
[150] Plan at Kirklees Archives.
[151] William Strutt's Belper Round mill, completed in 1813, divided the circular interior into eight segments and placed an overseer in the center with a direct view of each part, "like a spider at the heart of his web." R. S. Fitton and A. P. Wadsworth, The Strutts and the Arkwrights 1758–1830 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958), p. 221. But Belper Round Mill was unique. The British textile mills of classic design differed from Jeremy Bentham's Panopticon because employers sought to control the threshold and observe movement within the main yard rather than to bind workers to the location of their machines.
directors occasionally incorporated large lookouts or jutting bay windows into their mill offices. These impressive windows did not face away from the factory perimeter for an enjoyable view, but looked instead toward the interior mill yard.[152] At Grecian mills in Bolton, Lancashire, the management offices had such an obtrusive bay window facing the main gate that it may well have shunted entering traffic to the side.[153] At Bean Ing mills in Leeds, Yorkshire, the surveillance windows were placed at the curved tip of a projection that pointed toward the middle of the inner yard.[154] A visitor to a coarse cloth factory at Knightsbridge during the 1840s described a more elaborate contrivance at a rotunda-like factory: "On the summit of the building, at a considerable elevation, is a small square room, provided with windows on all four sides. From this an extensive view may be obtained in every direction."[155] Of course, a simple window peering inward could serve as the observation site almost as well: the strategy was to position the management complex so that it could receive vendors and customers from without but also scan the interned laborers within.[156]
When the Germans constructed their facilities, they consciously imitated other, superficial features of British mill design, such as styles of ornamentation.[157] The Germans also followed the English methods of
[152] See, for example, Learoyd Brothers, Huddersfield, "A Modern Fancy Worsted Mill," Textile Manufacturer , December 15, 1896, p. 457.
[153] Bolton Library Archives, ZTA/10, T. Taylor & Son. For another example, see Murray's mills, Manchester Archaeology Unit.
[154] Colum Giles, Royal Commission on Historical Monuments, unpublished manuscript, p. 20.
[155] George Dodd, Days at the Factories: Or, the Manufacturing Industry of Great Britain Described (London: Charles Knight, 1843), p. 285.
[156] See E. Blackburn, op. cit., p. 10, and Judy Lown, Women and Industrialization (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990), p. 37. For an example of employers using their office window to observe a confused demonstration in the mill yard, see Yorkshire Factory Times , September 25, 1903.
In the north of England the passage to the factory system coincided in some districts with the heyday of violent Chartist conflict, for which there is no close parallel during the industrial transition in Germany. A volatile setting may have increased interest in the control of labor among early British factory employers. But the passing moment of struggle does not clarify the precise modes of spatial control nor the reasons for their reproduction throughout the century; for this, an explanation must call upon the definition of labor as a commodity.
[157] Alex Moll, 950 Jahre Oerlinghausen (Oerlinghausen: Loewe, 1986), p. 50. Gustav Baum, Entwicklungslinien der Textilindustrie mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der bautechnischen und maschinellen Einrichtungen der Baumwoll-Spinnereien und Webereien (Berlin: M. Krayn, 1913), p. 83.
transmitting power from the steam engine to the machines.[158] But they incorporated different structural principles into the layouts of the buildings themselves. Their factories did not arrange the workrooms to cordon off the outside world and impound laborers inside. Where German mill owners fenced in their property, as was often the case, this did not form an integral part of the design of the building itself.[159] Rather than arrange workrooms as a fortress to accentuate the frontier between outside and in, the German facilities emphasized the constriction of movement once laborers were engaged in the labor process. Except for the essential transport of materials, the German building layout segregated the principal workrooms from each other and from the ancillary rooms that housed processes such as carding raw cotton or preparing warps for the looms. Moving from one corner of the mill to another required workers to proceed through intermediate chambers of the interior. Figure 8 reproduces the floor plan of a German mill. Figure 9 diagrams its basic structures.[160] In contrast to the British mills, traffic does not converge on a nodal point but flows among links on a chain. There is no "center" from which the privileged observer can inspect traffic on the premises as a whole, yet the lack of central oversight is balanced by greater obstacles to movement between distant points.[161] Counterfeit instances of symmetrical fortress-like structures appear in Germany.[162] With one plan, sketched in 1849 for
[158] Wolfgang Müller-Wiener, "Die Entwicklung des Industriebaus im 19. Jahrhundert in Baden," diss., Karlsruhe, 1955, p. 76.
[159] The factory rules in German mills frequently specified that workers should enter and leave the factory only through a designated door. The design of the mills, unlike that of those in Britain, did not make the injunction superfluous. Decker, op. cit., p. 213; HSTAD, Landratsamt Mönchengladbach, 703, Kloeters & Lamerz; Germany, Jahres-Berichte der königlich preussischen Regierungs- und Gewerberäthe und Bergbehörden für 1889 (Berlin: W. T. Bruer, 1890), p. 302.
[160] See, too, Stadtarchiv Gera, Schulenburg und Bessler, Zwötzen, 1909; floor plans in Kreisarchiv Karl-Marx Stadt-Land, Stadtrat Limbach III 10d, Nr. 1139.
[161] The factory rules issued by textile employers in Germany forbade the hired hands to trespass in rooms outside their own work spot, even when the machinery was turned off and there was no danger of accident. For the lower Rhine wool industry, see Decker, op. cit., p. 214. Elsewhere: Elisabeth Plössl, op. cit., p. 243; Stadtarchiv Greiz, B 5975, Kap.IV, Nr. 65, C. G. Lorenz, ca. 1887; Marie Bernays, "Auslese und Anpassung der Arbeiterschaft der geschlossenen Grossindustrie: Dargestellt an den Verhältnissen der'Gladbacher Spinnerei und Weberei' A.G. zu Mönchengladbach," Schriften des Vereins für Sozialpolitik Volume 133 (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1910), p. 185; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Flöha, Nr. 4038, G. F. Heymann Spinnerei, Gückelsberg, 1869.
[162] For the absence of the fortress structure, see Utz, op. cit., p. 275, and Ludwig Utz, Die Praxis der mechanischen Weberei (Leipzig: Uhlands technischer Verlag, 1907), charts; Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, 5/418, floor plan for Buchaly & Herbertz from 1909, and 5/187, floor plan for Bloem & Remy from 1902; Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , 1910,Nr. 8, pp. 235 ff.; Edward Beyer, Die Fabrik-Industrie des Regierungsbezirkes Düsseldorf vom Standpunkt der Gesundheitspflege (Oberhausen: Spaarmann, 1876), spinning mills in Mönchengladbach; Allgemeine Deutsche Ausstellung auf dem Gebiete der Hygiene und des Rettungswesens (Berlin, 1883), M. May & Co. in Mönchengladbach; Hans-Peter Schwanke, "Architektur für Stadt, Gesellschaft und Industrie: Das Werk der Krefelder Architekten Girmes & Oediger 1892–1933," diss., Bonn, 1987, p. 650. For mills in less urbanized areas, see floor plans for L. B. Lühl & Söhne in Gemen, 1913, Heuveldop & Söhne, Emsdetten, at the Westfälisches Textil-Museum. The firm Schulenburg und Bessler in Zwötzen had a factory with multiple entrances (plan from 1909 in Stadtarchiv Gera). The layout of buildings around a central, enclosed yard also typified farm estates in Germany, although these complexes had numerous entrances into the buildings. Schwanke, op. cit., p. 710.
Figure 8.
Model German Weaving Mill
Source: Ludwig Utz, Moderne Fabrikanlagen
(Leipzig: Uhlands technischer Verlag, 1907)
Figure 9.
Traffic Structure of Model German Mill
a Saxon village, the castle layout may have fit an aesthetic ideal of a noble court, but it actually contained multiple entrances and was ill adapted for forming an impenetrable perimeter.[163] With another, the Spinning and Weaving Factory Ettlingen in Baden, erected in 1838, the constructor designed the mill according to the same plan he had drawn up earlier for an army barracks.[164] The mill was inserted in a complex that created numerous openings and did not direct traffic through the central court. This was representative: the editor of one set of German mill plans even boasted that an exemplary weaving building was accessible from three separate points after workers had entered the grounds.[165] When large German complexes were erected at once around a central space, such as the Flax Mill of Schoeller, Mevissen, & Bücklers in Düren, they could have emphasized the enclosure of workers and observation of their movement through a central yard. Instead, they opened up onto the adjacent gardens and fields.[166] In Britain, the fortress design could be employed in "rationalized" mills, where each processing room was located around the perimeter for the most efficient movement of raw materials, as well as in haphazardly organized older mills, where the stages of processing the materials were not necessarily assigned sequentially in adjacent work rooms.[167]
German commentators believed that contrasts in building materials and climate could not account for differences in structural design between their country and Britain. Taste, they said, determined the ultimate format.[168] As early as 1844, the engineer Ludwig Kufahl of Berlin observed a crucial difference between British and German plans:
[163] Staatsarchiv Dresden, Ministerium des Innern, Nr. 5771. Analogously, see the plan of the Facilides cotton printing and spinning mill with multiple entrances despite the arrangement of rooms around a yard, in Siegfried Kress, "Die Bauten der sächsischen Kattundruck-Manufaktur," diss., Technische Hochschule Dresden, 1958, p. 152.
[164] Müller-Wiener, op. cit., p. 21.
[165] A. Knäbel, Die Tuchfabrikation und der Zeugdruck (Leipzig: Karl Scholtze, 1882), pp. 186–188.
[166] The depiction of this factory complex on the company letterhead accentuated its openness and the easy passage from outside. Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv zu Köln, Kölner Unternehmer und die Frühindustrialisierung im Rheinland und in Westfalen 1835–1871 (Köln: Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv, 1984), p. 76. This raises a separate issue for cross-national investigation, to wit, the principles governing not only the construction of the building itself but the perspective by which to represent the completed edifice.
[167] See the chapter on "Modern Mill Layout" in Williams, op. cit., p. 3.
[168] Der praktische Maschinen-Constructeur, Bau-und Betriebs-Anlage für Spinnereien und Webereien (Leipzig: Baumgärten, 1875), p. 1.
I am familiar with the example of an extremely large flax spinning mill in Leeds. . . . With very scrupulous concern this building ensures above all that the workers can be watched over with complete ease. With us this very important point is often neglected. In fact, one could say that our factory buildings often appear to have been deliberately laid out to hinder surveillance of workers. For this one cannot combine every conceivable kind of work process together; but this is by no means necessary, just so the various jobs are grouped in such a way that a suitable control is possible and so that raw materials pass through the hands of the workpeople in the proper order, proceeding in their conversion from a raw condition to a completed manufacture.[169]
Kufahl did not think that work processes should be combined or connected to a single open space simply for the sake of comprehensive oversight of workers from afar. He considered it sufficient to organize traffic to move components through the mill in a logical sequence.[170] The German factory designs were "cellular," with numerous partitions and no centralized pathway for movement between chambers.
The fortress layout in Britain rested upon a combination of technological limits and opportunities. It took the liberty of breaking up the total production space of a factory premises into smaller units to form the fortress wings. Given the engineering techniques of the day, this represented a useful way of partitioning the land parcel. The width of work rooms in multistory spinning mills had in any case been limited by reliance upon iron frameworks to support the weight of the building. Rooms were long and narrow, a shape that was easy to configure around a large court. Beginning in the second half of the nineteenth century, however, an increase in the size of machines and in the scale of production made it preferable to unify floor space.[171] Cotton spinning
[169] Ludwig Kufahl, "Ueber die Anlage von Fabrikgebäuden," Zeitschrift für praktische Baukunst , Volume 4 (Berlin: Allgemeine deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1844), p. 30.
[170] Of course, as British designers themselves emphasized, the fortress design was also compatible with arrangement of workrooms for efficient throughput. Williams, op. cit., pp. 3 ff. On the relative absence in Britain of textile mills designed from the start for production flow, see Scott, op. cit., p. 104. German technical writers sometimes presented comprehensive plans for large factory estates, in which the production process is fit, not into a single building, but into a number of small structures. German plans for a complete spinning and weaving facility, including dyeing and finishing, laid out the buildings on large grounds with a symmetrical design, but the units were not arranged around a perimeter to enclose the production processes. Knäbel, op. cit., pp.174, 203.
[171] Frank Nasmith, Recent Cotton Mill Construction and Engineering (Manchester: John Heywood, 1909), pp. 10–11.
mules, for example, reached a length of 140 feet, so that the width of new buildings had to triple to organize aisle space efficiently.[172] Meeting this requirement became possible only with changes in construction methods. The introduction of steel girders and new techniques for supporting weight in the 1890s permitted the development of huge, squarish rooms that used space efficiently but were no longer arrangeable around a yard.[173]
These innovations in engineering changed the visible edifice of the labor process in newly constructed spinning facilities in Britain. Yet the principles of the underlying structure were preserved and manifested in fresh ways. The cavernous new buildings built in the British towns that were still expanding production were distinguished by an absence of dividing walls between the work processes.[174] Managers in the Bolton cotton trade, for instance, suggested that the preparatory processes be housed on the first floor without boundaries between the drawing, slubbing, and jack frames and the carding engines.[175] At Gil mill, expansion of the mill allowed the preparatory and spinning processes to be installed in the same room as the weaving machines without partitions. By contrast, German mills of equal capacity retained internal walls between departments.[176] This became a characteristic difference between British and German mills that did not escape the notice of contemporaries. A technical writer based in Manchester presented a cotton mill plan in 1897 borrowed from the Continent but made a suggestion on how to adapt the foreign blueprint to British expectations: "The supervision and management of the mill is greatly facilitated," he said, if "the whole of the machinery can readily be
[172] Presentation by Harold Hill on "Influences Arising from the Employment of New and Improved Machines," Official Record of the Annual Conference of the Textile Institute Held at Bolton, June, 1927 (Leeds: Chorley & Pickersgill, 1927), charts following p.57; Scott, op. cit., p.72. In spinning departments, a width of forty meters became commonplace: Baum, op. cit., p.90.
[173] Duncan Gurr and Julian Hunt, The Cotton Mills of Oldham (Oldham: Oldham Cultural and Information Services, 1989), p.8. Auxiliary work rooms could also form a perimeter around the main building, as at Hargreaves's Victoria mills, Bolton, plan in Bolton Library Archives.
[174] Nasmith, op. cit., pp. 10–11.
[175] Presentation by Hill, op. cit., p.60. Only the scutchers were walled into a separate room, due to the need to isolate the danger of fire. For other examples, see Textile Recorder , November 15, 1883, p. 157 for the plan of Stalybridge Mills Co., Oldham.
Of course, not all new mills needed such gigantic rooms or required multistory buildings that used ground space efficiently, so the fortress enclosure could be carried over into some of the latest designs. For examples, see Platt Brothers and Company, op. cit., p. 323; Bolton Library Archives, J.G. & C.Hargreaves, Victoria Mills, p. 11.
[176] Baum, op. cit., p.81; Utz, op. cit., pp. 258, 264.
seen. If desired . . . the internal division walls can be removed and columns substituted."[177] As with the fortress design, the undivided British layout in giant mills depreciated control over the rapid circulation of workers once they were inside the mill, but it lent the observer a sweeping view of their movement.[178] In contrast to the "cellular" design of German factories, the British designs were "circumferential," emphasizing the outer boundary but not partitions within.
The definition of labor as a commodity did not conjure the factory layouts out of thin air, but started from the technical preconditions of building design. Despite changes in these requirements in the late nineteenth century, the tangible materials of production could still be sculpted into shapes that carried the same implications for the treatment of labor as a commodity.[179] Mill architecture and rituals for entering the factory in Germany and in Britain reified contrasting fictions about the employment relation—again, the disposition over labor power versus the appropriation of labor incorporated into products. In Germany, the production process was conceived as the continuous transformation in time of labor power into a product. In this process the worker's labor activity was consumed inside the factory owner's domain, so the divide between inside and out
[177] Theodore Sington, "Plan for a Continental Cotton Mill," in his Cotton Mill Planning and Construction (Manchester: published by the author, 1897), unpaginated.
[178] British managers expounded their jurisdiction over factory workers in expressions involving the "eye." For illustrations, consult "Cotton Mill Organization," Journal of the British Association of Managers of Textile Works Volume II (1910–1911), p. 37; autobiographical statement by Joseph Wilson, born 1833, in Joseph Wilson, Joseph Wilson: Life and Work (London: Lund Humphries & Co. [1923]), p. 29. Workers referred to the "eagle eye" and "the proverbial 'lynx-eye' " of the employer. Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890, Apperly Bridge and October 12, 1894, p. 5; Dermot Healey's interview tape 655, female weaver from Darwen, born 1890, lines 565 ff. British employers conceived their knowledge and superiority in terms of eyesight: "It should always be remembered that 'the eyes of a master are worth more than the hands of a man.' " Cited in Textile Manufacturer , January 15, 1903. See also S. J. Daniels, "Moral Order and the Industrial Environment in the Woolen Textile Districts of West Yorkshire, 1780–1880," Ph.D. diss., University College, London, 1980, p. 249; Burton, op. cit., p. 171. An emphasis on surveillance does not necessarily mark greater management control of the shop floor. British employers sometimes resorted to visual monitoring as an ineffective substitute for direct command over the labor process. See Dyke Wilkinson, Rough Roads: Reminiscences of a Wasted Life (London: Sampson Low, Marston, & Co., 1912), p. 19.
[179] The taken-for-granted character of the agents' understanding of labor as a commodity froze neither institutional nor architectural forms in place. The same specification of labor could be embodied in a changing technical environment. It did not rule out change, but ordered it. For an analysis of the adaptation of technical requirements to cultural models of space, see Betsy Bahr, "New England Mill Engineering: Rationalization and Reform in Textile Mill Design, 1790–1920," Ph.D. diss., University of Delaware, 1987, p. 19.
did not become marked as the crucial zone of subordination.[180] The layout of the German mills corresponded to an emphasis on the overlooker's responsibility for attaching the worker to the machine and a comparative depreciation of controls at the perimeter of the building. In Britain, by contrast, the workers retained ownership of their labor power but conveyed labor through products that were appropriated; since the workers' labor was not incorporated into the employers' domain through a continuous process in time , it was incorporated at a discrete moment through the ritual event of entering the factory. Rather than being transformed in the factory, labor was merely circumscribed and observed at a distance, by emphasizing the boundary between the factory and the world outside. Both the centripetal paths for traffic in older British mills and the atrophy of room partitions in the newer cotton spinning mills relaxed controls over rapid movement. Within the German factory, by contrast, the workers were segregated in compartments that curtailed passage between various corners of the mill. Their activity itself was appropriated in space.[181]
Because German and British factory buildings concretized information about the labor transaction, they could take on the task of imparting and reproducing—truly, "holding in place"—definitions of labor among the
[180] By the turn of the century, when German rules for discipline in the mills generally followed a standardized format, their titles revealed the center of their interest. Could it have been purely accidental that they were not called "factory ordinances," as in Britain, but "labor ordinances"? Stadtarchiv Rheine, Nr. 183, Gewerbeinspektor Münster.
[181] Theft of materials from German textile mills appears to have been a frequent occurrence, partly because home workers in the putting-out system had accustomed themselves to appropriating materials to supplement their official wage. Many late-nineteenth-century German factory ordinances specified that workers suspected of stealing materials or tools were subject to frisking by managers. Despite a similar legacy of domestic production, British codes from the same era seem to have remained silent about such personal examinations. Could the scrutinizing principle incorporated into British mills have obviated body searches? The design of German mills was consistent with an attempt to control the illegal removal of materials from the premises through the ongoing disposition over the body of the worker. The British workers' press considered it rare for workers even to be asked to open their lunch baskets upon exiting. Yorkshire Factory Times , October 11, 1889. For references to German workers pilfering materials, see Gladbacher Zeitung , May 11, 1871; Ernst Barkhausen, Die Tuchindustrie in Montjoie, ihr Aufstieg und Niedergang (Aachen: Aachener Verlags- und Druckerei-Gesellschaft, 1925), p. 102; on the practice of body searches, HSTAD, Geilenkirchen 88, 1899, P. W. Blancke; Emsbach, op. cit., p. 320; Staatsarchiv Dresden, Amthauptmannschaft Chemnitz, Nr. 16, "Fabrikordnung," ca. 1858, p. 230. On the tradition of embezzlement among domestic weavers, see Peter Kriedte, Hans Medick, and Jürgen Schlumbohm, Industrialization Before Industrialization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), pp. 53–54; and for both wool and cotton in Britain, see Alfred P. Wadsworth and Julia de Lacy Mann, The Cotton Trade and Industrial Lancashire 1600–1780 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1931), pp. 393, 395, 399.
workers. To receive this knowledge, the participants did not study messages; they enacted and lived them. In the critical mind of the analyst, the tendency for a conformation between architecture and accounting, between spatial and temporal demarcations, makes for a charming coincidence; in the experience of the producers it created an encompassing constellation. For those who lived through the procedures of entry and the partitioning of space under the factory roof, concepts of labor became influential not because they were embodied in literature but because they were literally embodied. The enclosed mill yard and internment of workers in a centripetal space characterized factories in other British trades, including leather-making and sewing.[182]Vide et crede: the fictive inventions of labor as a commodity were written in stone.
Theory in the Mill Yard
The present study suggests that powerful impressions of labor as a commodity, which showed prominent variations between countries, were not deliberately generated by formal organizations for the dissemination of ideas. They were not subsidized by the state or by a class but were born in the producers' lived experience at the point of production. Cultural formulations are transmitted through the form of instrumental practice, in addition to conventional verbal communication. For example, the procedures for entering the mill comprised both a humdrum action of individuals' daily routine and a public ritual through which the meaning of labor was communicated and re-endorsed in a shared setting.[183] The ideologies of labor as a commodity were sustained not because they were consistent with or corresponded to everyday procedures but because they were part and parcel of them, brought to life because practice was designed as a mode of communication. Unless analysts reconstruct the signifying function of the forms assumed by the instrumentalities of everyday life, they will pass over the lived context in which verbal discussion assumed its meaning and its power. Furthermore, they will necessarily miss the lucid ideas of a culture that are incarnated in material techniques, transferred from enactment to enactment
[182] John Hannavy and Chris Ryan, Working in Wigan Mills (Wigan: Smiths Books, 1987), p. 76; W. H. Chalonder and A. E. Musson, Industry and Technology (London: Vista Books, 1963), illustration 218; Shoe and Leather Record , Jan. 1, 1892, p. 10.
[183] On the transmission of discursive ideas in material practice, see Göran Therborn, The Ideology of Power and the Power of Ideology (London: New Left Books, 1980), pp. 81–82: "The distinction between a ritual and a material affirmation is an analytical one."
and visibly articulated without passing through a moment of verbal elucidation.[184] Individual agents borrowed the specifications of labor but never became their appropriators and owners, for these designs remained lodged in the shared house of public, sensuous practice.
[184] Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), p. 87.
4—
The Cultural Location of Overlookers
[Persons] performing the same motions side by side, might be said to be performing different acts, in proportion as they differed in their attitudes toward their work.
Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives
Investigators who conduct cross-national studies of the labor process take the "organization" of production as their object of analysis. They assume that cultural differences are revealed in organizational structures. Marc Maurice and his colleagues, in their classic studies of contemporary French, German, and British factories in the 1970s, compared such organizational features as the chain of command, the proportion of blue collar "works" employees, and the distribution of workers among maintenance and production departments.[1] The team of Gary Hamilton, Nicole Woolsey Biggart, and Marco Orrù is bringing this same focus up to date. They have identified national differences within East Asia in the "organizational characteristics" of economic undertakings such as the patterns of subcontracting relations and of social networks for financing.[2] The inquiry at hand diverges from these prior efforts because it finds national differences not in organizational structures but in the humble instrumentalities of production, in the micro-procedures by which workers and employers treated labor as a commodity that could be registered, manipulated, and accounted for. Consider our initial exemplar, the construction of the piece-rate scales, which specified the terms by which weavers' labor was valorized. The piece schedules anchored the essential terms of the labor transaction. Yet obviously the functioning of the piece-rate scales—or of the indicators for output, or of accounting for the
[1] Marc Maurice, François Sellier, and Jean-Jacques Silvestre, The Social Foundations of Industrial Power (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The M.I.T. Press, 1986), Chapter Two, pp. 59 ff. Michel Crozier, in The Bureaucratic Phenomenon , compared the institutions of collective bargaining. The Bureaucratic Phenomenon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964), pp. 244–251.
[2] "Organizational Isomorphism in East Asia," in Walter W. Powell and Paul J. DiMaggio, editors, The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), p. 386.
costs of weaving—did not comprise part of the organizational structure of the factory, insofar as they did not by themselves constitute significant differences in job responsibilities or in social interaction among the agents of production in the workplace. They point to a dimension of production separate from face-to-face interaction and distinct from social structure. They mark the formation of inconspicuous but vital micro-procedures for conceiving the valorization of labor.
The constraints of the manufacturing process in nineteenth-century textile mills provide uniquely favorable terrain for illustrating the analytic difference between organizational structure and the instrumentalities of discipline and production on the shop floor. The historian Sidney Pollard, in his distinguished essays on the development of industrial supervision, offered a remarkable comment about the textile business: although this trade included some of the most dynamic enterprises of the first phase of industrialization, it seemed to Pollard that even for the early, "heroic" stage of textile development there was less to be said about administration in this branch of enterprise than in many others. He reasoned that the labor process in the mills was so circumscribed by its essential machinery (in comparison with mining or metal-working) that little scope remained for originality in the layout or design of production.[3] By the latest evidence of the day, some may question Pollard's logic, but we have faint reason to revise his judgment as a statement of historical fact, at least for a comparison of weaving mills.[4] Yet the relative uniformity of industrial organization in this branch of production, far from closing it off to cultural examination, provides a privileged site for highlighting the lodgement of different cultural practices in similar social organizations.
The separability of social organization and micro-procedures becomes evident in the ensemble of practices that defined the activity and the labor contribution of textile factory supervisors. In the weaving branch, overlookers in Germany and Britain had similar training, the same position in the chain of command, and parallel job responsibilities. Yet contrasting procedures were used to conceptualize their wage and to account for its cost to the firm, and the concepts used to compare and distinguish overlookers from workers were different indeed. In other words, although the overlookers had
[3] Sidney Pollard, The Genesis of Modern Management (London: Edward Arnold, 1965), p. 90.
[4] For spinning, however, see William Lazonik, "Production Relations, Labor Productivity, and Choice of Technique," The Journal of Economic History Volume XLI, Number 3 (September 1981), pp. 491–516.
the same productive functions in each country, these functions received divergent cultural inscriptions.
In the movement of production, weaving supervisors stood in a structurally ambiguous position: they were paid for their labor, in some form, like any other employee; yet in the name of the capitalist they also supervised underlings' performance.[5] Given the overlookers' equivocal status, the definition of the employment transaction in Britain as the delivery of materialized labor could highlight the aspect of the overlookers' activity which corresponded to that of productive agents who incorporated their labor into the product of their subordinates. In Germany, given the same job functions and responsibilities of overlookers, the cultural understanding of employment as the transfer of a service potential framed the overlookers' activity as the execution of the owner's authority over subordinates. The definition of the textile overlookers' role depended upon the template by which labor was commodified, rather than upon differences in the distribution of responsibilities, technology, markets, or societal differences in the style of command in private and public organizations.
Imagining the Overlookers' Contribution
The purchase of labor in the capitalist enterprise confronts social agents with a paradox when they analyze expenses and earnings. The moment workers expend their efforts, their labor no longer belongs to them and cannot be sold. Therefore as a visibly constructive activity, labor lacks an exchange value. It exists as a commodity in the marketplace as a projected activity or as it is materialized in another good—in effect it is brought to market before it is created and remunerated as it disappears into another object.[6]
Yet textile directors had to quantify this apparition. To establish the receipt of labor at a cost, textile employers in Britain and Germany confronted a challenge more difficult than the one they encountered in draw-
[5] Erik Wright musters an elaborate set of concepts to capture this ambiguity in managers' positions in Class Structure and Income Determination (New York: Academic Press, 1979), pp. 39 ff.
[6] We prisoners of the twentieth century have lost a sense of the queerness of labor's commodification. But in the nineteenth century, ordinary weavers still pondered at length the baffling process by which labor, which "has not the essentials of any other commodities," was exchanged as a ware. United Kingdom, Select Committee on Hand-Loom Weavers' Petitions , PP 1834 (556) X, testimony of William Longson, p. 518.
ing up scales for the weavers. To establish the price of weavers' labor, owners resorted to measuring the product, either as an index of activity or as a vessel for materialized labor, and on either basis compared the value of fabrics that differed only in their formal properties. For the overlookers' pay scales, however, it was not immediately evident to employers and workers whether there was in fact any "product" of the overlookers' activity to take as an emblem for labor. Overlookers assisted in manufacturing but did not accomplish the weaving themselves. Employers relied upon fictive concepts of labor as a commodity to identify the contribution of the overlookers' activity to the company's overall production effort. To isolate the independent effect of these shared concepts on owners' decisions, we must appreciate the overlookers' visible functions in the weaving process.
In contrast with such enterprises as mining or steel, where an owner needed the overlookers to guide and coordinate the labor of work teams, the role of overlookers in weaving rested more exclusively on an immediate technical demand: namely, the need of prewar power looms for frequent repair, for replacement of worn parts, and for adjustment to each change in fabric pattern. Certainly up to the time of the First World War, looms required constant repair. Even for the most experienced weavers, the loom's output in experimental trials varied considerably with the attention given by the overlooker to the instrument's ongoing adjustment.[7] Textile directors in both Germany and Britain assigned each overlooker responsibility for maintaining a number of looms grouped together in a section of the weaving room. Having a team of overlookers take collective responsibility for all the looms in a room proved impossible, for each machine in the mill had its quirks and idiosyncratic history of repairs. Overlookers worked most efficiently on machines they knew individually.[8] At mills that manufactured short runs of different kinds of fabric the overlookers might also take responsibility for assigning warps to particular weavers.[9]
[7] "A certain mechanical skill is of great advantage to a weaver," the English Board of Trade found, "so that any slight adjustment of the loom can be done immediately, without calling the help of the tuner." United Kingdom, Textile Trades, Huddersfield (London: H.M.S.O., 1914). For Germany, see Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 14, 1909, p. 155. Weavers, including the women, did their own adjusting of loom chains and tightening of nuts. See Joanna Bornat's interview with Mrs. T., born 1903, pp. 7–8; Hebden Bridge Oral History Project, OH 85/58.
[8] Seide , January 7, 1914.
[9] HSTAD, Regierung Aachen 1634, Birkesdorf, January, 1900.
The weaving overlookers in Germany and Britain also shared the same position in the factory hierarchy. Above them stood the foremen, usually assigned one to a department. Below stood only the weavers themselves. Depending on the difficulty of the pattern and the fragility of the materials, a weaver served from one to four looms: in cotton, four represented the norm; in worsteds, two; and in woolens, one. Any attempt to formulate these averages in a straightforward manner brings out a host of exceptions. Yet in both countries these assignments were the typical ones.
Just as the ratios of looms to weavers corresponded in Germany and Britain, so did the ratios of looms to overlookers. Although employers in both countries saw the overlookers as the key agents responsible for the maintenance of discipline in the mill, the need for adjusting the machinery rather than the need for oversight set the major boundaries for the hiring and allocation of overlookers within the factory. Hardly any manager considered hiring more overlookers than necessary for servicing the looms, although additional superintendents might have offered tighter surveillance over the weavers and greater opportunity to catch faults before weavers ruined a run of cloth. One director of a Yorkshire woolen mill said, "It is far better that the [overlooking] staff should be inadequate rather than too numerous, for men are never so discontented as when they have too little work to do."[10] The precise ratio of overlookers to looms depended primarily on the design of the machine.[11] In both countries, according to oral reports and technical journals, an overlooker for, say, narrow, plain cotton cloth had in his section eighty to one hundred looms and, for checked cotton cloth, fifty to seventy.[12] Due perhaps to relative stagnation in mechanical design in the decades near the turn of the century, these ratios remained stable from at least the 1880s until the
[10] John Mackie, How to Make a Woollen Mill Pay (London: Scott Greenwood & Co., 1904), p. 43.
[11] Wide looms and ones with a complicated mechanism for weaving patterns demanded a great deal more maintenance. Textile Manufacturer , January 15, 1913, p. 29. A survey by the Bradford overlookers' union in 1913 found that members on box looms (which changed the color of the weft for pattern effects) served only half as many machines as those on plain looms. Bradford District Archives, 1913 survey.
[12] Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 6, 1907; Cotton Factory Times , February 26, 1897, Norden; Henry Brougham Heylin, The Cotton Weaver's Handbook: A Practical Guide to the Construction and Costing of Cotton Fabrics (London: Charles Griffen & Co., 1908), p. 207; LRO, DDX 1115/1/2, February 17, 1897; Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , 1912, p. 210, and oral testimony, Herr Schnieders, Rheine. The wage books for the cotton firm Gebrüder Laurenz, in Ochtrup, show that in April of 1912, at nearly full production capacity, when 92 percent of the machines were filled with orders, each overlooker serviced only sixty looms. Their exact model is unascertainable. Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv Dortmund, F61, Nr. 222.
First World War.[13] In silk mills, both German and British businessmen considered fifty looms per overlooker the maximum.[14] In the woolen trade, an overlooker might have charge of fewer than twenty-five looms.[15] The matched numbers of looms per German and English overlooker across the wool, cotton, and silk branches suggests that the actual division of labor in weaving followed down-to-earth technical imperatives in the two countries.
Contemporaries believed that the supply of capable overlookers by far exceeded the demand.[16] Until the First World War, weaving overlookers seldom received specialized technical training, apart from optional attendance at night school.[17] The earliest German investigations into the availability of overlookers, undertaken by the factory inspectorate in 1887, concluded that in Germany as a whole employers very seldom complained of shortages of skilled overlooking applicants.[18] Overlookers' associations in Germany had members on call to fill in or to take up permanent positions.[19]
[13] Textile Manufacturer , March 15, 1887, and Jubilee Number, December, 1925.
[14] Seide , January 7, 1914. Bradford Daily Telegraph , July 6, 1899.
[15] Bradford District Archives, 1913 survey; my interview with Edward Mercer, Rawdon, Yorkshire; Hugo Ephraim, "Organisation und Betrieb einer Tuchfabrik," Zeitschrift für die gesamte Staatswissenschaft Volume 61 (1905), p. 607; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 31, 1902, Crimmitschau. Johann Junkers, 100 Jahre 1852–1952 (Rheydt: n.p., 1952), commemorative book, data for 1895. Usually an overlooker had a variegated mix of loom models in his section, which makes comparisons of assignments between mills, not to mention between nations, merely approximate. In fact, since owners themselves could not compare the burdens of different kinds of looms, they made an effort to give each overlooker in the mill the same mix of loom types.
[16] Herbert Kisch, "The Crafts and Their Role in the Industrial Revolution: The Case of the German Textile Industry," Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 1958, p. 298. For the Wuppertal, see Der deutsche Meister , December 21, 1904. For Yorkshire, Minutes of the Overlookers' Union, Calderdale Archives, and Keith Laybourn, "The Attitude of the Yorkshire Trade Unions to the Economic and Social Problems of the Great Depression, 1873–1896," Ph.D. diss., Lancaster University, 1973, p. 314. For information on the employment of Lancashire overlookers, see Cotton Factory Times , March 19, 1897, p. 1.
[17] Ernst Dietel, Die Greizer Wollindustrie (Berlin: Wilhelm Pilz, 1915), p. 89; Franz Decker, Die betriebliche Sozialordnung der Dürener Industrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Köln: Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv, 1963), p. 101. See the enrollment schedules for textile schools in HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf 11641, 11652, 21809. In the event of a strike, skilled weavers could immediately fill in for the overlooker. Textile Mercury , July 8, 1899, p. 23; United Kingdom, Textile Trades, Huddersfield , op. cit., p. 12.
[18] Germany, Jahres-Berichte der mit Beaufsichtigung der Fabriken betrauten Beamten, 1887 (Berlin: Kortkampf, 1888), p. 102. Employers' occasional laments over the lack of qualified supervisors could represent part of a general deficit of labor. Staatsarchiv Detmold, I.U. Nr. 566, Minden, March 26, 1897.
[19] For the years 1910–1913, "Stellenvermittlung nach den einzelnen Gewerbegruppen," Reichs-Arbeitsblatt Volume 10, 1912, Nr. 4, p. 273; Volume 10, 1912, Nr. 7, p. 516; Volume 10, 1912, Nr. 10, p. 756; Volume 11, 1913, Nr. 1, p. 42; Volume 11, 1913, Nr. 4, p. 280; Volume11, 1913, Nr. 7, p. 518; Volume 11, 1913, Nr. 10, p. 760; Volume 12, 1914, Nr. 1, p. 43; Volume 12, 1914, Nr. 4, p. 302; Volume 12, 1914, Nr. 7, p. 552. A representative to a national convention of foremen in Germany at the turn of the century said younger overlookers joined the union "mainly" because it offered unemployment insurance. Archiv des Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes, Deutscher Werkmeister-Verband, "Stenographischer Bericht über die Verhandlungen des Delegiertentages des Deutschen Werkmeister-Verbandes," 1913, p. 201. The German foremen's union reported that in 1908 it paid fifty-five of its members in the textile industry unemployment payments; in 1907, it gave thirty-two members such support. Archiv des Freien Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes, Berlin, Deutscher Werkmeister-Verband, "Geschäfts-Berichte des Zentralvorstandes des Deutschen Werkmeister-Verbandes." I cannot say what percentage of the total members in textiles this represented. For Britain, see Yorkshire Factory Times , June 12, 1903.
In Bradford, Yorkshire, the weaving overlookers' union considered the surplus of overlookers so serious that after the turn of the century it periodically prohibited its members from taking on apprentices, even their own sons.[20] The abundance of qualified overlookers in Yorkshire can also be assessed from the circumstance that some owners there, to take advantage of the competition for overlooking jobs, opened bids from candidates for a position and hired the person making the lowest offer.[21] The overlookers may have dominated their underlings, but above the overlookers there towered a forbidding market.
In view of the parallels in weaving overlookers' technical responsibilities and market predicaments in the two countries, it ought not to occasion surprise that German and British weaving overlookers also shared about the same levels of pay, reckoned as a proportion of that received by an average weaver under them. The Board of Trade in the United Kingdom found in its survey of 1906 that overlookers in the north of England earned 50 to 75 percent more than an average weaver.[22] Local surveys and company wage books in Germany reveal about the same differential.[23]
[20] Bradford District Archives, Overlookers' Society Minutes 3D86, e.g., February, 1891, June, 1892, July, 1914. On the surplus, see also Kirklees Archives S-PLT, 1912.
[21] Yorkshire Factory Times , December 12, 1902, Elland. For an example of an unemployed weaving overlooker in Germany being hired at a low salary, see Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , January 8, 1914, p. 2. For an overlooker working as a weaver, see Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , June 8, 1901, "Sonderorganisationen."
[22] G. H. Wood, "The Statistics of Wages in the Nineteenth Century," Journal of the Royal Statistical Society Volume 73 (1910). "Earnings and Hours of Labour of the Workpeople of the United Kingdom," PP 1909 LXXX, p. 83. However, in keeping with the locally segregated labor markets, founded on idiosyncratic types of weaving, the ratios of overlookers' to weavers' pay varied greatly by locality. United Kingdom, Returns of Wages Published Between 1830 and 1886 , PP 1887 LXXXIX, pp. 91–122; United Kingdom, Return of Rates of Wages in the Principal Textile Trades of the United Kingdom , PP 1889 LXX, pp. 69–130.
[23] Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz, n Rep. A, Kap. IX a, Nr. 326, 1905, p. 330; Barmen, Beiträge zur Statistik der Stadt Barmen Volume 2 (1906), p. 7; Klaus Tidow, Neumünsters Textil- und Lederindustrie im 19. Jahrhundert (Neumünster: Karl Wachholtz,1984), p. 81; Victor Böhmert, "Weberlöhne einer Fabrik in Meerane," Zeitschrift des königlich sächsischen statistischen Bureaus Volume XXIII (1877), p. 64; Marie Bernays, "Auslese und Anpassung der Arbeiterschaft der geschlossenen Grossindustrie: Dargestellt an den Verhältnissen der 'Gladbacher Spinnerei und Weberei' A.G. zu Mönchengladbach," Schriften des Vereins für Sozialpolitik Volume 133 (1910), p. 15; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , September 25, 1909, Bocholt; Seide , February 3, 1904; also Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, 1141, Nachweisung.
If the level of compensation for overlookers was proportionately equal between the two countries, the business procedures for conceiving it followed contrasting principles. In Lancashire, by "universal custom,"[24] an overlooker received the whole of his pay in the form of a commission. It was reckoned as a fraction of all the pay received by the weavers in his section. An overlooker earned a certain amount—from a shilling and twopence up to a shilling and fourpence—on each pound sterling of the weavers' take-home pay. This equaled a commission of 5 to 7 percent.[25] The participants called this the "poundage" system (referring to the unit of currency, of course, not that of weight). Elsewhere in the north of England the methods by which overlookers received their pay varied. In Yorkshire, only 8 percent of overlookers received their wage exclusively in the form of a commission.[26] More often, each received a minimum weekly sum, supplemented by a bonus determined by the earnings of their subordinate weavers.[27]
A variety of payment conventions for textile overlookers also arose in Germany, but remuneration purely by commission was extremely rare.[28] German weaving overlookers, including the lowest loom fixers, generally
[24] Textile Manufacturer , March 15, 1887.
[25] This rate yielded the overlooker between 45 and 65 percent more pay than that of an average weaver, assuming a complement of twenty-five weavers per overlooker.
[26] "Earnings and Hours of Labour of the Workpeople of the United Kingdom," PP 1909 LXXX, pp. 43 ff. See also Yorkshire Factory Times , September 27, 1889, January 23, 1891, Bradford, February 5, 1892, p. 4; July 28, 1893, Batley, p. 1, and June 20, 1912, p. 1. At Dudley Hill in Yorkshire, the firm of J. Cawthra and Co. posted the average earnings of the weavers under each overlooker. Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890.
[27] Yorkshire Factory Times , May 9, 1890, p. 1; January 22, 1892, p. 4; April 1, 1898, Oakworth; March 11, 1898, Great Horton; December 6, 1901, p. 5. Calderdale Archives, wagebooks of Stott and Ingham, STO 12, 1892–1901, for fluctuations in overlookers' pay. Bradford Daily Telegraph , January 1, 1891. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, Vol. 1, pp. 223, 303. Respondents to the survey of loom assignments and pay taken by the Bradford tuners' union in 1913 sometimes volunteered information about bonuses. Bradford District Archives, Bradford Overlookers' Society survey of looms, 1913. Mackie, op. cit., p. 45.
[28] For weaving I found several exceptions where German overlookers received a bonus for the output of their underlings. H. Mattutat, "Das Prämiensystem in der Augsburger Textil-Industrie," Soziale Praxis , Volume 5 (1895–1896), pp. 210–211. See also Böhmert, op. cit., p. 64. Some firms gave bonuses to overlookers if production exceeded the standard quota. An example: the company records of F. F. Koswig, in Landesarchiv Potsdam, Rep. 75, Nr. 399, Akkordlohnsätze 1907.
worked for a fixed weekly wage.[29] They also received year-end salary bonuses.[30] In contrast to arrangements in Britain, a major portion of the German textile overlookers' compensation seldom fluctuated with the productivity of the immediate underlings they assisted.
How did German and British employers imagine they received the commodity of labor from overlookers? In the case of the overlookers, unlike the weavers, the product could not be decomposed to serve as a model for the activity put into it. For the overlookers we must look beyond the form of remuneration to consider how employers apportioned the cost of overlooking wages in their company books. Since each textile enterprise manufactured a spectrum of products, companies had to estimate the expense of producing each type of fabric. With the maturing of the industry and the consequent crowding of the yarn and cloth markets, cost accounting became increasingly important for the survival of the enterprises in both Germany and Britain. "Many mill men will say with pride that they can tell what it costs to produce a pound of yarn, or a yard of cloth, to a small fraction of a penny," the Textile Manufacturer reported in 1907. Although directors and
[29] Staatsarchiv Weimar, Landesregierung Greiz, n Rep. A, Kap. VII a, Nr. 90 a, June 26, 1873, pp. 1–2; Stadtarchiv Bocholt, K2/276, September 24, 1896; Gewerbe- und Kaufmannsgericht , May 1, 1908, p. 179; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie Volume 13, Nr. 47 (1909–1910), "Wer ist Werkmeister!"; Bocholter Volksblatt , January 9, 1901; Decker, op. cit., p. 94. For workers' insights: Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 21, 1901, Elsterberg; Jan. 10, 1902, Sonthofen i. Allgäu; Freie Presse , July 9, 1873, Lunzenau. Want ads for tuners (Untermeister and Stuhlmeister ) in the professional journals offered both weekly and monthly salaries.
[30] The annual supplements usually were not adjusted to the output of individual overlookers. For the woolen industry of the lower Rhine, see Decker, op. cit., p. 88. Elsewhere: Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B47-452, Württembergische Leinenindustrie A.G., 1882 ff.; Der Textil-Arbeiter , September 1, 1905, Politz, and June 2, 1905, Köpenick; Karl Schmid seems to refer to annual bonuses for overlookers in Die Entwicklung der Hofer Baumwoll-Industrie 1432–1913 (Leipzig: A. Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1923), p. 76; 2. Beilage zur Volkswacht , Bielefeld, Volume 18, Number 255, October 10, 1907. On the prevalence of salary systems for overlookers in other industries, see Jürgen Kocka, Die Angestellten in der deutschen Geschichte, 1850–1980 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), p. 37, and Ernst Günther, Die Entlöhnungsmethoden in der bayrischen Eisen- und Maschinen-Industrie (Berlin: Leonhard Simion, 1908); Archiv des Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes, Deutscher Werkmeister-Verband, "Stenographischer Bericht über die Verhandlungen des Delegiertentages des Deutschen Werkmeister-Verbandes," 1909, p. 225. Yet the methods for paying supervisors varied across German industry. In iron-making and metal-work, for instance, foremen depended more heavily on bonuses for output. See, illustratively, Michael Mende, "Männer des Feuers und der eisernen Kraft," in Wolfgang Ruppert, editor, Die Arbeiter (München: C. H. Beck, 1986), p. 232, and Otto Bosselmann, Die Entlöhnungsmethoden in der südwestdeutsch-luxemburgischen Eisenindustrie (Berlin: Leonhard Simion, 1906), pp. 44, 51. The method of payment serves as a cultural indicator only in conjunction with the costing system employed for distributing overlooking expenses.
their scriveners tallied labor expenses with great precision, they used contrasting reasoning in Germany and England when they conjectured about the expense of overlooking for different fabrics.
Managers in Yorkshire who cared to reckon their expenses with precision used different methods than in Lancashire, yet in both districts they followed a logic that was generically different from that used in Germany. In Lancashire, the system of pay directly reveals the accounting method in use: owners automatically lumped the overlooker's wage together with the weaver's wage in the cost of each piece. If the employer wanted to handle not only the weaver's labor but also the supervisory and technical contribution of the overlooker as a commodity embodied in the finished product, this method was the most suitable. It offered a formal advantage in the event of a downturn: not only did overlookers' wages decline automatically, but they did so exactly proportionately to weavers' wages, as if to buy exactly so much "labor" from the overlookers as was necessary for the productive tasks at hand. In terms of Weber's criterion of formal calculability, this system of pay ranks as the most rational: it makes supervisory "labor" a totally flexible production factor.[31] The employer remained free to buy only so much "labor" as he needed at the moment and could shift all the uncertainties of the demand for labor onto the overlookers themselves.
Although the Lancashire system had a high degree of formal rationality, its measure of the "labor" purchased had little to do with the substantive realities of production. Because it piggybacked an overlooker's wages onto those of the weavers, the Lancashire procedure gave an overlooker a bonus when the weavers in his section wove cloth with complicated patterns, which required more skill and thus commanded higher wages. But the overlooker might not be called upon to do proportionately more tuning for the weavers in this case; he received a bonus for their skill unrelated to his own input of time or effort.[32] (Furthermore, an overlooker might let the machinery fall into a poor state of repair and then move to another shop, reaping the pay in the short term for the completed fabric and avoiding the long-term investment in equipment maintenance.)[33] No matter what the conse-
[31] Weber discusses the significance of freely disposable labor for calculability in Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1924), p. 18, and in Economy and Society (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), pp. 162 ff.
[32] Since Yorkshire mills had a greater variety of patterns demanding extreme weaving skill, a pure "poundage" system there would have multiplied the effects of this defect several times over.
[33] For a warning about this possibility, see Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie Number 44 (1913), "Der Webmeister."
quences, the Lancashire system looked at the value of the labor embodied in the product and reckoned backwards to surmise the overlookers' contribution embodied in the product.
The Yorkshire costing method shared the premise of the Lancashire system that the overlookers' wages ought to be figured as if their labor were embodied in the fabric like other workers'. In Yorkshire, the textile book-keepers costed the production expenses of a particular run of cloth by adding the overlooking wages onto the cloth in the same manner as finishing and burling wages: by length of the fabric. The firm took its total cloth production for a year, in yards, and divided this by the overlookers' wage bill for the year. (Less often, the average costs were tallied separately for several major varieties of fabric.)[34] For purposes of costing a particular fabric, Yorkshire mill accountants treated overlookers' salaries as "Productive Wages," together with those of the finishers and burlers and with those of the weavers.[35] Company records show that the overlookers' costs were distributed per piece of fabric, adjusted for length.[36]
In Germany, standard accounting procedures separated the overlookers' wages from those of the subordinate workers. The clerks merged the costs of overlookers' salaries with the costs of machinery, insurance, property taxes, energy, and so forth into a category called Regiekosten. A modern accountant might translate this as "administrative overhead," but the term also connotes something like "costs of directing production." Having created this general classification, German factory owners relied upon two different methods to distribute the costs of supervision onto a weaving mill's product. With the first method, German accountants calculated how long it took a loom to turn out a particular length of cloth, based on the average efficiency ratio for the firm as a whole or for that particular kind of cloth; then the annual overhead, including the overlookers' salaries, was added to the cloth based on how much of the loom's time, including the changing of the warp, the piece would have been expected to claim.[37] The
[34] George Pepler Norton, Textile Manufacturers' Book-keeping (Bradford: Brear & Co., 1894), p. 254; A. R. Foster, Weaving Mill Management (Manchester: John Heywood, ca. 1908), p. 92.
[35] Woollen and Worsted Trades' Federation, Systems of Cost Finding for the Textile Trade (Bradford, 1921), p. 24. The issue in question is not how the mills tallied net expenses but how they allocated the costs to particular pieces. British and German managers may well have tracked their operating expenses in the same fashion.
[36] Calderdale Archives, WAL 3/2–4.
[37] Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , Nr. 8 (1902), p. 549, "Stimmen der Praxis"; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , November 19, 1910. E. Jung testifies about the practice of his company in Die Berechnung des Selbstkostenpreises der Gewebe (Berlin: Julius Springer,1917), p. 131.
German accountants apportioned the wage costs of the ordinary weavers by a different means than they used for the overlookers; they simply read off the amount specified on the piece-rate scales for fabric of a certain grade. But they did not merge overlooking outlays with these expenses, because they did not regard the costs of overlooking as a form of wages (Arbeitslöhne ).[38]
German accountants also used another system for distributing overlooking costs. This second method distributed weaving overlookers' wages, like other overhead costs, as a percentage of material costs and ordinary workers' wages. The firm recorded its total annual expenditure for ordinary wages and materials and then calculated the ratio of this total expenditure to the yearly overhead expenses, including overlooking. For each piece of cloth, then, the company first considered the cost of the materials that went into it, plus the piece-rate wages for the weaving and warping and the average per meter for burling and finishing. Then the firm assumed that for this particular length and type of cloth, the ratio of these primary costs to overhead costs should be the same as for the mill's output in general, so the firm added on this standard percentage to arrive at the cost of that cloth.[39]
Both German methods merged funds expended on overlooking with general overhead, processing overlooking expenses as part of the underlying cost of maintaining the firm, not, as in England, as an ingredient, like weavers' labor, that was used up and embodied in a length of cloth. Neither German method distributed overlooking outlays as a separate component per length of the cloth, as the Yorkshire and Lancashire systems did. In particular, the first of the German methods considered only the time required to turn out a number of shots with a given efficiency ratio rather than the length, that is, rather than the product.[40] This German method
[38] Germany, Enquete-Kommission, Reichs-Enquete für die Baumwollen- und Leinen-Industrie: Stenographische Protokolle über die mündliche Vernehmung der Sachverständigen (Berlin: Julius Sittenfeld, 1878), pp. 403, 453; Landesarchiv Potsdam, uncataloged company records of F. F. Koswig, "Calculation" papers. In comparison with Lancashire, the denominator for calculating overlooking costs was time rather than the labor costs of a piece of cloth.
[39] Die Textil-Zeitung , Nr. 23 (1904), p. 573. Leipziger Monatschrift für Textil-Industrie , Nr. 8 (1902), p. 549, and Nr. 9 (1910), p. 261. Nicolas Reiser, Die Betriebs- und Warenkalkulation für Textilstoffe (Leipzig: A. Felix, 1903), pp. 133 ff.; Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , July 27, 1877, p. 688; Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, Stuttgart, B25-198, Tuchfabrik Lörrach, 1904.
[40] Jung, op. cit., p. 131. Friedrich Leitner, Die Selbstkostenberechnung industrieller Betriebe (3d ed. Frankfurt am Main: J. D. Sauerländer, 1908), p. 190.
operated more accurately at a given juncture in the business cycle than the Yorkshire method, in that its focus on the activity also properly measured the time taken up by producing the various densities of cloth, whereas the British either proceeded by length alone or by only a few benchmark densities for which separate yearly tallies could be kept. The Yorkshire method, however, ran with greater accuracy than the German over long time periods, in that overlooking outlays were distributed per length as a separate component rather than as capital investments, which might not behave like overlooking costs through the business cycle.
What, then, were the practical implications of the methods of allocating overlooking expenses? British costing rested on the assumption that overlooking represented a cost that fluctuated with output: under the Lancashire procedure, if a mill turned out more fabric than the previous year and improved its efficiency, overlooking expenses in costing procedures for the following year remained constant per cloth length.[41] This also meant that overlooking costs rose both absolutely and, since capital overhead for machinery would decline per length, as a proportion of total manufacturing costs per length as well. The system treated the overlooker's contribution as an ingredient embedded in the product. Cloth had the same "amount" of this input even if efficiency improved.[42] The Yorkshire costing procedure assumed that overlookers' pay would behave like the pay of other ordinary workers, that is, would remain stable per length of cloth.[43]
[41] Or, more exactly, overlooking costs as a ratio of the wages put into the cloth length remained constant.
[42] In truth, when the firm was especially busy the weavers themselves had to do more of the loom repairs and adjustments on their own, since the tuner had more warps to install and looms broke more often due to constant operation.
[43] Is it possible that the British, in contrast to the Germans, did not add the overlooking costs into their calculations as overhead simply because of the mechanics of the paperwork? It might have been simpler for the British to consider overlooking compensation like other wages since their overlookers received their pay based on those wages. But this hypothesis collides with the evidence, since British accounting manuals and model ledgers also added foremen's salaries onto the cloth with a per-yard average, although foremen received monthly salaries (Woollen and Worsted Trades' Federation, op. cit.). What is more, some of the German overlookers received weekly wages (Der deutsche Meister , March 15, 1913), yet this expense counted as overhead, even in the case of overlookers for small departments such as mending. Reiser, op. cit., p. 146. Since in both countries the distribution of costs on particular pieces followed methods based on yearly averages anyway, the form of the overlookers' payment in this respect did not determine cost accounting methods; instead of one element determining the other, both the mode of remuneration and the costing procedure rested on assumptions about the exchange of the overlookers' labor as a commodity.
Under the German accounting system, if the factory improved its efficiency after the course of a year, then for costing purposes in the following year the expenses of overlooking, like other overhead, would decline as a proportion of total manufacturing costs per length. Companies treated overlookers' supervision as a precondition for production, part of the "base" for manufacturing, rather than as a quantity which was incorporated into the product. This procedure incarnated a cultural procedure more than it corresponded to the actual conditions of production; in practice, the Germans dismissed overlookers in the event of a business downturn, so overlookers' pay did not represent a fixed cost like that of a standing loom or like the company's key clerical staff.
Can we derive the difference in these procedures from the demands of the business environment? Is it plausible that the German costing procedures in textiles, which fused overlooking costs with general fixed expenses, resulted from a greater tolerance for high or invariable outlays on supervision? German business manuals argued that if a firm confronted a need to reduce manufacturing costs, it caused less turmoil in the factory to cut the salaries of the overlookers than the piece rates of the workers.[44] German business magazines stressed the need to cap outlays for overlooking.[45] Want ads in German professional journals sometimes specified a preference for unmarried applicants among candidates for overlooking positions, presumably so that the applicant could accept a lower salary or undertake repair work during the evenings as needed.[46] The contrast in accounting logic for overlooking outlays did not mirror thrifty administration in Britain and prodigal management in Germany.
To attribute the difference in modes of payment to Britain's "earlier" industrial development would be fashionable but unduly facile. The British arrangement resembles systems of management which have been called "subcontracting" or "indirect control." In many branches of industry, the pioneering factory owners, unable or unwilling to take direct command of production on the shop floor, started by delegating authority to their foremen, whom they paid by the turn-out of goods (and who in turn hired and
[44] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie (1906), p. 11. For the metal industry, see Georg Erlacher, Briefe eines Betriebsleiters über Organisation technischer Betriebe (Hannover: Gebrüder Jänecke, 1903), p. 36. German weavers believed that if they organized and succeeded in receiving higher wages, managers would respond by cutting the salaries of loom tuners and overseers. Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , July 24, 1909, Windelsbleiche.
[45] Die Textil-Zeitung , January 5, 1897.
[46] Seide , November 14, 1906.
controlled their own workers). Research in a range of historical settings, from Europe to Japan, has found that in the early industrial era, systems which paid overlookers as subcontractors predominated in many trades.[47] At a time when manufacturing still depended on craft knowledge or on the secret know-how of the overlookers and foremen, graded monetary sanctions gave owners the only feasible check on, and evaluation of, the overlookers' loyalty and efficiency. An explanation of the British method of paying weaving overlookers based on this ground seems especially plausible since Lancashire, the earliest center of the textile industry, also offered the practice's clearest expression.[48]
Yet such an argument based on the timing of development does not apply to the question at hand. The Wuppertal, a forerunner for the rest of Germany, moved only a few decades behind Lancashire in mechanizing its weaving mills; indeed, in wool weaving it kept pace with Yorkshire.[49] But the Wuppertal had a pure salary system for overlookers and allocated overlooking costs as a fixed expense.[50] Even if payment by results first arose in an earlier stage of development, its survival depended on active propagation, not institutional inertia. Management experts contended that the commissions graded by weavers' wages "stimulated" overlookers' interest in efficient production and encouraged them to be punctual.[51] At J. T. and T. Taylor's mill at Batley, Yorkshire, in 1912 managers shifted the overlook-
[47] Andrew Gordon, The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1985), p. 40; W. Garside and H. F. Gospel, "Employers and Managers: Their Organizational Structure and Changing Industrial Strategies," in C. Wrigley, editor, A History of British Industrial Relations (Brighton: Harvester, 1982), p. 102; for Italy, Carlo Poni, "Mass gegen Mass: Wie der Seidenfaden rund und dünn wurde," in Robert Berdahl et al., editors, Klassen und Kultur (Frankfurt am Main: Syndikat, 1982), p. 25; Sanford Jacoby, Employing Bureaucracy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), p. 15.
[48] In Yorkshire, too, the earliest weaving mills relied on subcontracting. Benjamin Gott did not hire the weavers as employees at the mill he built in 1792, but relied upon overlookers to fill the looms. Adrian Randall, Before the Luddites (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 209.
[49] Wolfgang Hoth, Die Industrialisierung einer rheinischen Gewerbestadt, dargestellt am Beispiel Wuppertal (Köln: Rheinisch-Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv, 1975), p. 200. By 1861, 30 percent of the looms for lining in Elberfeld were mechanized. Leon Mirus, "Die Futterstoffweberei in Elberfeld und Barmen," diss., Leipzig, 1909, p. 18. See footnote 8, Chapter One, above.
[50] My interviews with Ewald Sirrenberg, born 1897, and Hans Penz, born 1895; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , May 21, 1910.
[51] Journal of the Department of Textile Industries , City of Bradford Technical College (September 1918), p. 26; "The Bonus System in Textile Mills," Textile Manufacturer , May 15, 1914, pp. 174–175. Edward Elbourne's respected work on "scientific" management, published in 1914, said that "foremen ought to be judged by results only." Factory Administration and Accounts (London: Green & Co., 1914), p. 85.
ers to pay based solely on output.[52] The methods British owners used to remunerate overlookers resulted from contemporaneous reasoning rather than unexamined tradition inherited from an earlier phase of development.
A final utilitarian approach to the difference between Germany and England might dissect the consequences of the payment methods for production costs. The textile industry was exposed to price fluctuations on both the input and the output side. On the input side, since the trade's raw materials consisted of vegetable and animal products, their prices varied with the weather and growing conditions. Raw cotton prices could change by as much as 50 percent in a few months, and prices for wool yarn fluctuated even more severely.[53] Merchants and manufacturers alike speculated in the market for these raw commodities.[54] On the output side, the fortunes of many firms and of whole branches depended, season to season, on unforeseeable shifts in clothing fashions.
If a company cut back on production, the Lancashire and Yorkshire systems, by basing the overlookers' wages on those of the weavers, automatically reduced overlooking expenses.[55] At first blush, the German technique would seem to rigidify overlookers' salaries; but in the event of a downturn owners simply laid overlookers off.[56] In 1893 and 1894, members of the German overlookers' and foremen's union (which, to be sure, included non-textile overlookers) reported nearly eight hundred cases of changes of employers; of these, 60 percent were due to the employer having given notice.[57]
[52] Yorkshire Factory Times , June 20, 1912, p. 1.
[53] HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 25041, Jahresbericht der Fabrikinspektoren Mönchengladbach, 1911, p. 5; Ernst Meyknecht, "Die Krisen in der deutschen Woll- und Baumwollindustrie," diss., München, 1928. For wool, see R. Isenburg, Untersuchungen über die Entwicklung der bergischen Wollenindustrie , Heidelberg, 1906, p. 53; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , June 25, 1910, and "Arme Aktionäre," January 12, 1901, as well as J. H. Clapham, The Woollen and Worsted Industries (London: Methuen & Co., 1907), p. 182.
[54] B. A. Dobson, Some Difficulties in Cotton Spinning (Bolton: G. S. Heaton, 1893), p. 62.
[55] "Their [the overlookers'] earnings have risen and fallen automatically as a result of the advances or reductions of the weaving rates, or as a consequence of other causes affecting the volume of weavers' earnings." Textile Mercury , July 8, 1899, p. 23.
[56] Stadtarchiv Gummersbach, Akt 4842, September 14, 1891; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , January 29, 1910, Gronau; Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 16, 1905, Crimmitschau.
[57] This figure unfortunately included overlookers in all industries, but after the metal industry, the largest portion of members came from the textile branch. Archiv des Freien Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes, "Geschäfts-Berichte des Zentralvorstandes des Deutschen Werkmeister-Verbandes für 1893 und 1894," p. 12. Textile owners in Krefeld said that laid-off overlookers became weavers for lack of other openings. Seide , June 17, 1914, p. 311. See as well the case of a weaving overlooker from Viersen before the Mönchengladbach business court, in Der deutsche Meister , January 1, 1911.
Alternatively, mill directors could reduce the days of work and pay of those German overlookers on weekly wages.[58] In short, the German procedure featured a degree of elasticity. The two systems did not diverge greatly in their ability to conform to the business cycle.
Finally, mills in both countries specializing in long runs of fabric for which demand was relatively stable did not deviate from the standards set by firms with fluctuating orders. The same accounting logic prevailed regardless of the market niche in which the firm operated, from simple towel makers to fancy goods manufacturers.[59] It also applied to the spinning branch.[60] This relative invariance within each country makes it implausible to contend that the variation in accounting systems evolved to cope with differing business experiences.
The owners' payment of overlookers and their procedures for allocating overlooking expenses fit the commodity forms of labor German and British producers used in carrying out production. As in the construction of weavers' piece-rate scales, so with overlookers the British relied upon the fiction that owners buy the labor embodied in completed products. The employers paid overlookers so much per length of cloth received and calculated the cost as if it represented labor incorporated as a fixed expense in each portion of cloth. As a British textile accountant put it, all machine workers "expend direct labor," because their work is "seen in the finished product."[61] The guidelines for discharging weaving overlookers in Britain also confirmed that overlookers received their payment for materialized labor. In many districts, a weaving overlooker was not to leave his place of employment until the weavers he had supervised had turned in all the cloth he had
[58] Bocholter Volksblatt , January 9, 1901.
[59] See the testimony of German weaving manufacturers in a variety of branches, including fancy mixed wool and cotton, Germany, Enquete-Kommission, op. cit., pp. 245, 251, 403, 453.
[60] W. M. Christy and Sons, foreman's notebooks, December 30, 1892, John Rylands University Library of Manchester Archives; Reuben Gaunt & Sons, Box 13, Leeds District Archives; J. Brook A Rational System of Woollen Yarn Costing (Batley: J. Fearnside & Sons, 1926), p. 57; and, for mule spinning in Yorkshire, Yorkshire Factory Times , March 17, 1893.
[61] Charles Williams, "Cotton Mill Costings," Journal of the National Federation of Textile Works Managers Associations Volume V (1925–1926), p. 87. Likewise, in British shipyard and engineering works, the cost of supervision was charged as a percentage of the labor expended on the material. Dempster Smith and Philip C. N. Pickworth, Engineers' Costs and Economical Workshop Production (Manchester: Emmott & Co., 1914), p. 52; "Manager," Examples of Engineering Estimates, Costs and Accounts, for the Use of Young Engineers (Huddersfield: C. F. Maurice, n.d.), p. 4.
superintended.[62] Otherwise, the overlooker had not "delivered" his labor and did not receive credit for it.
As in the measurement of weavers' activity, so with the overlookers the German producers relied upon the fiction that employers had the right of disposal over the workers' capacity and effort. The German procedure for adding up production expenses mixed the elements of supervisory labor and capital expenditure in apportioning overhead costs. In an accounting manual written in 1903, a costing expert from Aachen saw no incongruity in combining these elements: he suggested a 50 percent cost addition for a category called "overlookers' salaries, electricity, and steam" and joined together supervisory costs and the depreciation costs of looms.[63] The German accountants handled the overlookers' labor capacity as a kind of "human capital," a conveyable resource rather than a substance received in a product.[64]
Belabored Fictions
To trace the construction of a "commodity" out of the ephemeral activity of the overlookers we have so far relied upon the cultural assumptions inscribed in manufacturing practice. In contexts where these suppositions had to be articulated explicitly, they can be found in discursive practice as well. The assumption in Germany that textile supervisors sold the disposition over their work activity, not merely objectified labor, came to light in the judicial interpretation of overlookers' employment contracts. The most arresting legal question for German mill owners in 1911, gauging by the coverage given it by the trade's professional journals, centered on a complaint filed by an overlooker in a town near Düsseldorf. Today the minutiae of this conflict seem, in a word, dull—but not the participants' perception of the facts. The news accounts indicate that the owner of a silk mill hired a certain Herr K. in 1910 to oversee his dyeing department.[65] By the terms of the four-year contract they concluded, the foreman held the title of Obermeister (chief foreman) and headed the whole department. He agreed to obey the firm's production directives under all circumstances. Twelve months after the start of the agreement, the owner found it necessary to divide the velvet section from the remainder of the dyeing department, and
[62] General Union of Associations of Powerloom Overlookers, The Almanack and Guide for 1899 (Manchester: Ashton and Redfern, n.d.).
[63] Reiser, op. cit., p. 146. Similarly, consult Leitner, op. cit., pp. 93, 179.
[64] See HSTAD, Landratsamt Lennep 275, 1865, letter of Bürgermeisterei Radevormwald, for treatment of labor in this fashion.
[65] Seide , April 10, 1912.
he entrusted supervision of the new section to another person. Herr K. retained his title and salary. Yet he charged the owner with a violation of the employment contract on the grounds that the owner had to let him keep the entire department or dismiss him altogether. Before the provincial court in Düsseldorf, Herr K. demanded payment in full of his remaining (three years') salary, since the contract specified that this was due to him in case of dismissal.
How is it that this course of events, whose unfolding makes today for such pedestrian reading, managed to hold the interest of contemporaries? The manner in which the business community endowed the conflict with significance represents an odd fact; its strangeness offers a riddle about the culture of production.
Although the courts ultimately resolved the suit through an evaluation of the pettiest terms of the employment contract, the business community thought that the case raised a basic question about the nature of the factory staff's employment contract. Owners and staff asked whether Herr K. might not have "the right to fully utilize his own capacity for work."[66] One technical journal summed up the issue at stake this way: "A company official, who has bound himself by a contract, naturally has the duty to place his full abilities at the disposal of the enterprise; but it is not so automatic that he also has the right to see that his capacity for work is taken advantage of to the full."[67] Certainly this organ's coverage of the affair threw the foreman's right into question. Yet in its analysis the magazine formulated the possibility of the right as the reverse side of the foreman's contractual obligations. And in so doing the journal, like the foreman's lawyer, revealed something about the business community's understanding of the labor transaction that was set in motion by the employment contract.
In formulating Herr K.'s rights, the press assumed that he offered for remuneration, not the successful turn-out of a quantity of dyed materials, but the disposition of his activity. The business community took the foreman's Arbeitskraft as the basis of the exchange, applying the same generic term for the factory official's productive capacities as for those of ordinary workers. This focus on the sale of the capacity for executing work, rather than on its external outcomes, was widespread: in discussions of the legal fine points of hiring factory staff, German business periodicals did not state,
[66] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , January 4, 1912.
[67] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Nr. 13 (1912), p. 255.
for example, that by accepting a position factory officials obligated themselves to do the best job they could for the owner; they said that the staff had to devote all their abilities and knowledge to the interests of the owner.[68] Only with the premised sale of "labor power" in view could the foreman's lawyer possibly have articulated his client's complaint in terms of a "right to the full exploitation of his labor power."[69] Since the owner understood that he bought the foreman's full capacity, the argument went, he could not alter that capacity's sphere of operation or application. The contract's provision that the owner still had to pay Herr K.'s full salary even in case of dismissal also follows the supposition that the contract covers the disposition of the activity rather than of the output: Herr K. offered up his full capacities and therefore deserved compensation for having offered them even after he was released from the firm.
In its decision the provincial court of Düsseldorf in 1911 sided with Herr K. The owner appealed the decision on the grounds that it interfered with his prerogative to manage his own business. Finally in 1912 the imperial court at Berlin ruled for the owner; it judged that if the owner had the right to dispense with the foreman's services (at the cost of paying him his full salary), then the owner also had the right to dispense with a part of the foreman's services. In this instance the court ranked the right to full exploitation of one's labor capacity as subordinate to another principle—the owner's management authority. For my cultural analysis the fact of primary significance is simply that the conflict was expressed in terms of the sale of Arbeitskraft at all.[70]
My interpretation of the German courts' emphasis on labor power, far from representing a kind of philosophic abstraction, does nothing more than follow the thoughts of the participants themselves. In an age when owners usually regarded the small stratum of professional employees as a species apart from the manual workers under command, the owners nonetheless used the term labor power for a factory official's technical services.[71] Only
[68] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Nr. 17 (1912), p. 346.
[69] "Das Recht auf volle Ausnutzung seiner Arbeitskräfte." Ibid.
[70] This final decision by the imperial court also seems to contradict the earlier judgments of provincial courts. For example, the Landgericht of Hanau in 1906 ruled that if a foreman were moved to another position, the employer was obligated not just to assure the same level of pay but to provide a setting that suited the foreman's "abilities and skills." Das Gewerbegericht , Volume 12, Nr. 9 (June 1, 1907), pp. 199–200, ruling of March 13, 1906.
[71] For another instance in which a court—the Prussian Kammergericht—referred to a supervisor's donation as the consumption of Arbeitskraft , see Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , August 7, 1909.
on the basis of logical assumptions about labor activity on behalf of the enterprise in general could they have abstracted this essential similarity between types of action whose overt appearances and prestige seemed otherwise so discrepant.
If the history of Herr K. discloses something about Germans' perception of the labor activity in general, as opposed to something about the status of overlookers, then we ought to be able to find analogous cases for lower grades of workers. This poses a special challenge, since most factory labor codes governing the employment relation specified the owner's right to switch ordinary workers to another machine or task. Yet a German technical journal in 1900 described a dispute involving a lower worker that offers a close parallel to Herr K.'s case.[72]
The facts of the case were these: a regular factory hand in Berlin stayed on the job after a portion of his company's work force began a strike. The management suspected the worker of organizing support for the strikers at the shop. It requested that he cease actual labor but continue to show up briefly at the company's desk twice each day. In this fashion the firm could isolate him from his fellows but avoid freeing him for an entire day to earn money elsewhere. These check-ins were to continue during four weeks, because, according to the factory labor code issued by the owner, both worker and owner had to give four weeks' notice if they wanted to terminate the employment contract. During this period the firm offered to continue paying the worker his full wage. But the worker objected that unless he worked, he was not obligated to check in at the office at all. After the firm fired him, he complained in court that four weeks' pay was due him for his unjustified removal. His employer argued in court that by requesting that the worker check in, he had simply wished to verify the worker's readiness to work (Arbeitsbereitschaft ). In any event, the employer reasoned, a worker had to report in twice during a regular workday, so the firm was not demanding anything exceptional of him. In the dangerous atmosphere of a strike and at a court which was not known for its support of workers' interests, the judge ruled in favor of the worker. "The plaintiff had a right during the [four-week] interim period not just to payment of his wages," the judge decided, "but to the carrying out of his contractual employment as well."[73]
[72] Seide , November 14, 1900, p. 728.
[73] Ibid.
The Berlin court's decision attached the complex of legal norms to the employee as a bearer of work capacity, not to a person who merely received pay. In a similar case a decade later, the business court of the city of Chemnitz judged that the employment contract required the owner to use the workers' labor capacity and not merely to guarantee compensation.[74] In Britain, by contrast, the laws pertaining to employment were the same as those covering agreements for the delivery of products. Workers could be dismissed without obligation, even if the employment contract required prior notice, so long as they received compensation for the work they could otherwise have completed. The concepts of labor that the manufacturers enacted in practice, the courts sanctified in words.
Forms of Authority
German and British weaving overlookers shared the same dependencies and capabilities with respect to employers above and weavers below. In each country the structure of the production site generated similar conflicts among these parties. Yet due to the understandings of labor as a commodity, the paradigms on which people could draw for interpreting friction varied between Germany and Britain, endowing identical problems with contrasting significance. The British and German definitions of labor as a commodity hold contrasting implications for the owner's authority in the workplace. The German view of employment as the command of "labor power" made the exercise of authority over the execution of work an integral part of the process of earning a profit. The German view unified the relations of appropriation and domination. When capitalists purchased "labor power," their receipt of a profit depended on how successfully they converted that labor capacity into labor itself. Without the immediate domination of the worker, the owner did not appropriate a surplus. Marx believed as a matter of theory, not of rhetoric, that the capitalist organization of work was despotic. Although profit may have been realized through exchange on the market, it was generated and appropriated in production.
The purchase of embodied labor in Britain, by contrast, denied any necessary connection between the exercise of authority and the generation of profit. The producers may certainly have believed that the factory proprietor took advantage of his command over capital to pay workers less than he ought. Even so, the owner secured a surplus through an exchange relation
[74] Das Gewerbegericht , Volume 15, Nr. 5 (1910), pp. 103–104.
set up by the trade of resources rather than in an immediate relation of domination. The generation and appropriation of surplus were accomplished at a remove, not through the owner's command over the labor potential and person of the worker and not through the owner's authority over social relations in the factory.
Weaving offers an exemplary environment in which to explore the influence of these concepts of labor as a commodity, because the technical characteristics of the labor process made the overlooker's role more ambiguous in this than in many other industries. Weavers worked on their own when all was well with their looms; the overlooker did not coordinate the work of machines or of people, nor was he required to show initiative in leading a team of workers. He did not have to exercise authority as an intrinsic part of his technical function. Furthermore, the overlooker did not contribute to output by combining in his department diverse outputs or mechanical procedures; he only aggregated outputs from similar machinery. Production was the sum of the individual loom outputs, a feature which made it easier to think of the overlooker as bestowing his labor upon the lengths of cloth rather than as acting in the capacity of a manager. Textile businessmen in Britain referred to their weaving overlookers as machine "operatives," even when they gave overlookers the right to hire and fire subordinates.[75] Finally, in comparison with a metal-working plant, where each of a company's overlookers might have command over a set of different machine tools and make different kinds of products, a weaving mill had many weaving overlookers, each with a quota of similar kinds of machinery. Because they could compare overlookers who did the identical jobs and they hired many different overlookers for the same job, owners could equate the overlookers' labor and think of it as a homogeneous "input" bestowed upon the fabric.
In this complex situation, how did people on the shop floor define the role of the overlooker? The words used in Britain to designate the overlooker's occupation offer evidence of the participants' emphasis on his role as a technical and productive one. Mill workers in Yorkshire, and on some occasions the owners as well,[76] called their weaving overseers tuners , a title which put these employees' technical function before their supervisory one. The word overlooker may have appeared in management journals and social
[75] Textile Mercury , July 8, 1899, p. 24; LRO, Minutes of Blackburn Masters' Association, DDX1115/1/2, February 26, 1900.
[76] Textile Mercury , July 8, 1899.
scientific descriptions, but not in the ordinary language of the people on the shop floor. Their interviews and their union newspapers' descriptions of mill life used the word tuner. In Lancashire the popular term was tackler , a metonymic derivative that referred to the overlooker's tools—his tackle—rather than to his authority and place in the chain of command.[77]
The evolution of textile production from home weaving to the centralized factory allows the analyst to place the dimensions of the overlookers' role—the exercise of a technical skill and the exercise of authority over other people—in a diachronic progression. Loom tuning or tackling had become a recognized occupation in England and on the Continent before the rise of the factory system. By the early nineteenth century handlooms had become complicated enough that special tuners made house calls to fix or adjust them.[78] In this era the fixers were commonly called loomers. (If the fixer specialized in dobby looms, which had parts called witches, the occupation's popular title carried a pun: "witch doctors.")[79] The chore of overseeing workers' conduct was added to the "looming" occupation with the rise of factory production. But when the occupation acquired a new popular name in the transition, the workers did not apply to the overlookers the range of terms, such as gaffer or simply boss , that they used for persons in higher authority.
In Germany, despite a path of structural evolution similar to Britain's, the overlookers' titles did refer to their supervisory responsibilities rather than to their technical function alone. The lowest-level weaving overlooker, who had responsibility for a certain section of looms, the workers called the Webmeister ("weaving master") or Reviermeister ("section master"). In contrast to the English weaving overlooker, the German overlooker bore a title that placed him in an integrated system of supervision, part of a hierarchy of officials. The system gave higher-level foremen the title of Saalmeister ("room master") or Werkmeister ("shop master").
These phrases were not empty punctilios; they betrayed the essence of the overlookers' performance in Germany. German officials articulated
[77] Yorkshire Factory Times , October 9, 1891. In some cotton districts overlookers were also called loom jobbers. Cotton Factory Times , December 3, 1886. When the weavers found that the overlooker bullied them, they called for an investigation. In Blackburn, the town clerk investigated claims that an overlooker should be dismissed for "tyranny," although the weavers did not charge the overlooker with brutality. See LRO, DDX1115/1/1, Blackburn, November 6, 1895.
[78] Healey, op. cit., p. 4.
[79] Centre for English Cultural Traditions and Language, University of Sheffield, Bob Turner's interview with respondent A67–72.
the overlookers' role when they were called upon to elucidate a new pension law for "professional technical workers." The law, which took effect in 1913, was based on the longstanding proviso that employers contribute to a comprehensive pension and insurance fund for white-collar workers. It extended this requirement to cover higher-level workers in the workshops as well (technische Angestellte ). Government administrators had to decide exactly which persons the law admitted to the pension system as professional technical workers. According to the district reports submitted to the German Foremen's Union, the owners of large weaving mills recognized the weaving overlookers (Webmeister ) as such professionals for insurance purposes without hesitation.[80] But some employers tried to evade requests for insurance coverage by changing the overlookers' occupational titles from Meister of various sorts to mere Vorarbeiter ("preparatory workers").[81]
To adjudicate the resulting disputes, the imperial insurance bureau in Berlin studied in detail the functions of overlookers in the weaving branch. How could this office decide whom to designate as a professional, not just as a schooled technical expert? In the end officials took the employees' exercise of an oversight function, rather than their level of technical expertise, as the critical requirement for classification as a professional.[82] If weaving overlookers did simple manual work such as installing the warps, they were still higher-level professional workers so long as they also were in charge of watching the weaving process, distributing warps, or enforcing the factory work codes.[83] In another illustration of the importance given to authority, the imperial insurance bureau decided that in departments smaller than the weaving rooms, such as those for carding or dyeing, supervisors had to have at least two workers under them to be classified as tech-
[80] Archiv des Freien Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes, "Geschäfts-Berichte des Zentralvorstandes des Deutschen Werkmeister-Verbandes für 1911 und 1912," p. 17.
[81] Der deutsche Meister , March 15, 1913; Geraisches Tageblatt , October 31, 1912. The courts established, however, that the overlooker's duties, not his title, determined his legal status. Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , August 6, 1910, p. 1007. For a discussion by contemporaries of the status implications of the term Vorarbeiter versus Meister , see Der Textil-Arbeiter , August 4, 1905.
[82] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , p. 1163; Stadtarchiv Bocholt, K2/276, case from September 24, 1896.
[83] Letter from March 26, 1914, reprinted in Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1914, Nr. 14; the periodical Das Gewerbegericht cites a decision of the Düsseldorfer Zivilkammer of January 2, 1903, in which the court decided that a loom fixer who "merely assists the weavers in installing the warp and who corrects defects is to be regarded as a foreman [technical professional], even when he stands under the supervision of another foreman." See Volume 9, Nr. 7 (1904), p. 198.
nical professionals (technische Angestellte ).[84] Income levels and the time intervals by which the salary was calculated were judged to be irrelevant.[85] Command over other workers was considered the distinctive part of the overlookers' work role. Even technically trained foremen complained that they were viewed by some employers "only as a driver of the employed workers."[86]
When the German courts were called upon to interpret the overlookers' labor contracts, they too made the exercise of authority delegated by the owner an essential part of the employment relation. By the provisions of the German business law, overlookers, unlike ordinary workers, could be dismissed without the usual notice required by contract if they were proven "disloyal" in their service.[87] What constituted "disloyal" conduct? The construals of the courts discloses the conventional interpretation of the labor transaction. An industry journal, in an article about the legal definition of an overlooker that appeared in 1912, asserted that an overlooker, by the implicit terms of the labor contract, "obligated himself to devote his skills fully and completely to the interests of the employer."[88] In this magazine's view, overlookers became instruments of the owners' will, and to support this claim it cited legal verdicts. The German courts had ruled that overlookers, unlike ordinary workers, could not give notice together at a firm. Giving such notice would amount to an attempt to bargain collectively for better employment conditions and therefore would mean that the overlookers were no longer acting "faithfully" to advance the proprietors' interests.[89]
[84] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Nr. 48 (1912), p. 1069.
[85] Das Versicherungsgesetz für Angestellte: Vom 20. Dezember 1911. (Stuttgart: J. Hess, 1912).
[86] Archiv des Freien Deutschen Gewerkschaftsbundes, "Geschäfts-Berichte des Zentralvorstandes des Deutschen Werkmeister-Verbandes für 1912–1913," p. 7.
[87] Germany, Gewerbeordnung für das Deutsche Reich (München: C. H. Beck, 1909), section 133c, point 2.
[88] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Nr. 17 (1912), p. 346.
[89] As an appeals court in Dresden reasoned, "If the professional staff resorts to the threat of collectively giving notice, in order through the planned action to force the employer to be more forthcoming, then the staff has grossly violated the duty inherent in the employment relation to safeguard the interests of the owner and to refrain from anything that could run against those interests, and has thereby proven itself guilty of disloyalty in service." The quotation comes from a case involving white-collar workers but applied to the category of professional technical workers as well. Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , October 1, 1913, p. 264. For an analogous case outside of textiles where an employer could immediately dismiss a technical professional for collaborating with workers, see Das Gewerbegericht , September 3, 1903, p. 294, Solingen.
The employment contract was void if the overlookers did not minister to the owners as servants.
This bond of service let the courts designate overlookers as literal agents of the owners. According to German law, if a worker grossly insulted the employer, he or she could be dismissed immediately. The statutes, however, did not specifically address the question of whether overlookers, like owners, enjoyed this privilege. When the courts were called upon for an interpretation, they decided that even the lowest-level overlooker ought to be regarded as an "agent of the employer." On these grounds, disrespect toward an overlooker equaled a direct insult to the owner.[90] The German judicial review for business courts reprinted the rulings of the imperial court in Berlin that emphasized the view that overlookers were agents of the proprietors. The review in 1901 summed up the precedents: "The authority of the employer is transferred to the foreman, for without the accompanying carryover of the 'prestige' of the owner, the transfer of part of the owner's legitimate authority would be unthinkable, otherwise it [the transfer] would directly contradict the interests of the employer, for whose protection the transfer is consummated."[91] The authority of the employer was distilled in the overlooker's everyday activities.
Although the specification of the overlooker's labor as a ware differed between Germany and Britain and the exercise of authority by overlookers carried different implications, the responsibilities of the overlookers in the two countries did not diverge. Even in the most important area in which overlookers exercised authority—in hiring—the German and the British overlookers occupied approximately equivalent positions. To be sure, one finds great variation within each country in the weaving overlookers' responsibilities for production. There were two benchmark systems. Under the first, the owners or mill directors took responsibility for recruiting and hiring new workers and assigned them to overlookers as
[90] Seide , September 16, 1914; Gewerbe- und Kaufmannsgericht Volume 19 (1914), pp. 271–272. A weaver unsuccessfully challenged the legality of firing him without notice after he called his tuner a "lazy bum" (Faulenzer ). Der deutsche Meister , May, 1914.
[91] Das Gewerbegericht , Volume 6, Nr. 9 (1901), p. 183. See also Volume 7, pp. 209–210, for an analogous decision in Mainz. Some of the disciplinary ordinances issued by textile factories treated disrespectful statements to the owners' representatives as direct insults to the owner. See, illustratively, Landesarchiv Potsdam, Rep. 6B, Kreisverwaltung Cottbus, Nr. 1253, regulations issued December 15, 1905, by the Heinrich Linke factory in Guben. The mayor of Fischeln, a town near Krefeld, reported with approval in a letter to provincial authorities in 1891 that overlookers "advocate the views of the employer frequently and with pleasure in personal interaction with their workers." HSTAD, Landratsamt Krefeld 175, p. 35.
they pleased.[92] Under the second system, overlookers or departmental foremen did the hiring entirely on their own.[93] This could lead to extreme decentralization: at a mill near Bradford, a female weaver whom an overlooker fired in 1902 for acting as a ringleader in a "disturbance" immediately found a job under a different overlooker at the same firm.[94] These two pure systems of responsibility for hiring, in which either factory directors or the overlookers themselves took sole responsibility for hiring, formed in both countries the exception rather than the rule. Between the two extremes lay various mixtures of authority between overlookers and higher managers. At many factories, the overlooker did the hiring, but the director exercised veto power or carried out an interview with each worker before the final decision.[95] At others the manager did the hiring but restricted the main field of candidates to people recruited or recommended by the overlooker.
In these mixed systems of hiring the producers never arrived at consistent rules for finding new hires. If a manager happened to see a vacant loom one morning, he might immediately put someone on without asking the overlooker, yet assume that the overlooker as a matter of routine would fill
[92] Bernays, op. cit., 1910, p. 186. My interview with Arthur Murgatroyd, born 1902, Halifax. Rowland Kennedy, Westering: An Autobiography by Rowland Kennedy (London: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1939), p. 95; Cotton Factory Times , February 19, 1897, Rochdale.
[93] For Lancashire, see Textile Mercury , July 8, 1899, p. 23; Bolton Oral History Collection, tape 54, male weaver, born 1898. For Yorkshire, see Yorkshire Factory Times , July 26, 1889; July 1, 1892, p. 5; June 21, 1901, Shipley Mary Brown Barrett, "In Her Clogs and Her Shawl: A Working-Class Childhood, 1902–1914," Bradford Library Archives, p. 56. According to a male spinner, born 1896, most overlookers in the Bradford area did their own recruiting, but it was not uncommon for managers to do it. Bradford Heritage Recording Unit, tape A0091. For Germany, see Stadtarchiv Bocholt, K2/276, December 20, 1900, and 6/K1, 1892, Arbeitsordnung Actien-Gesellschaft für Baumwollindustrie, and, for spinning, K2/276, March 6, 1899; Stadtarchiv Rheine, Nr. 183, February 3, 1915, Dyckhoff & Stoeveken; Staatsarchiv Osnabrück, Rep. 610, Lingen, Nr. 125, "Arbeitsordnung Gerrit van Delden," 1901; Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 14, 1901, Aachen. In the German case, since the workers had to be entered on the firm's chief roster for the owner to make contributions to the medical and insurance funds (Krankenkasse ), the overlooker made the offer of employment but could not become an employer of labor on his own right.
[94] Not until a higher shop master happened to notice her transfer one day did she finally leave the firm. Yorkshire Factory Times , July 4, 1902. The higher supervisor did not himself inform troublesome employees of their dismissal but entrusted delivery of the message to the overlooker. For a parallel example, see Yorkshire Factory Times , December 6, 1890.
[95] Yorkshire Factory Times , October 11, 1889; October 25, 1889; December 13, 1889. For Lancashire, LRO, DDX 1115/1/1, Blackburn and District Managers' Mutual Association, resolution of August 23, 1894. H. Meyer, Einrichtung und Betrieb einer Seidenstoff-Fabrik (Zürich: Juchli & Beck, 1908), p. 19. My interviews with Ewald Sirrenberg, born 1897, and with Hans Penz, born 1895 in Barmen.
other empty looms.[96] This vague apportionment of responsibility for hiring at mills in northern England could result in overlookers and managers at a firm promising the same loom to more than one person.[97] Workers in Yorkshire complained that when they wanted to leave the firm they did not know to whom they should give notice.[98] Likewise in Germany the weavers said they were unsure about which of their supervisors was "really the master" and whose permission they needed to take a day off.[99] In Germany, on the one hand the newspapers of the textile workers criticized overlookers for abusing their arbitrary powers of dismissal; on the other, the papers acknowledged that in effect overlookers also needed, but did not always get, upper management's consent to fire a worker.[100] In both countries the compass of the overlooker's jurisdiction was ill-marked and specified more by imputation than by official notice.
If the exact boundaries of the overlooker's responsibility for hiring remained unclear, his influence was nonetheless real. In light of their command over people, how could British producers have crystallized the overlooker's activity as the delivery of materialized labor? Even where British overlookers hired weavers themselves, this could be seen as a technical function, a means of equipping looms with weavers, not weavers with looms. James Burnley, a textile worker and well-known dialect poet, described overlookers' roles in mill life after he revisited a Bradford weaving company: "There are several overlookers in the room, each of whom has the superintendance of a certain number of looms. Their duties are to keep the looms in repair and to supply them with weavers."[101] Burnley, who had a
[96] Yorkshire Factory Times , May 16, 1890. For cases where the manager overruled the overlooker, see Yorkshire Factory Times , August 3, 1894, Horton.
[97] Yorkshire Factory Times , September 1, 1893, Apperley Bridge.
[98] Yorkshire Factory Times , August 23, 1901. For other complaints regarding the confusion in responsibility for hiring, see Yorkshire Factory Times , October 31, 1890, Bradford and Keighley; March 18, 1892, Ravensthorpe; September 23, 1892, Yeadon; January 2, 1891, Dewsbury; June 19, 1891, Keighley; November 13, 1891, Marsden.
[99] Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , August 13, 1910, and September 14, 1901, Krefeld; Christlicher Arbeiterfreund , September 23, 1898, p. 5; Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , March 15, 1902, Mönchengladbach.
[100] Der Textil-Arbeiter , October 18, 1901. For Yorkshire, see Textile Manufacturer Oct. 15, 1891, p. 456. In part, owners deliberately maintained the ambiguity in responsibility for hiring and firing. They did not always trust their overlookers to hire workers by criteria of efficiency, yet they did not want to diminish overlookers' power to discipline workers. Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1885, p. 791. According to the Yorkshire Factory Times , a manager in Batley revoked an overlooker's right to hire due to the favoritism the overlooker showed in hiring. See February 7, 1890.
[101] James Burnley, Phases of Bradford Life (London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co., 1889), p. 197.
firsthand acquaintance with weaving, expressed himself with precision—and his choice of words made the looms, rather than the workers, the overlooker's real object of attention.[102] Then, too, the ultimate means by which overlookers supported or dismissed weavers was not that of official commands but of covert deeds. If a weaver got on the wrong side of the overlooker, he or she might as well leave the firm, even if the overlooker said nothing. When a piqued overlooker began to withhold prompt technical assistance, the earnings of the ancillary weaver declined quickly. The authority of the overlooker could be transmitted through their care of the machinery as much as through a chain of command.[103]
The specification of the overlooker's transmission of labor did not alter the overlookers' functions and responsibilities in Germany or Britain, but it provided the template for workers to formulate their grievances about superiors. For a ground-level view of workers' complaints, I coded the local reports that appeared in the newspapers of the textile workers in Britain and Germany. In Britain, the Yorkshire Factory Times focused its coverage on the everyday concerns of textile workers.[104] This journal, whose premier edition appeared in 1889, devoted most of its pages to a feature called "Echoes from Mills and Workshops." Each week this revue described incidents at factories in more than a dozen towns and villages, based on correspondents' reports and on letters and tip-offs sent in by workers. Nowhere else, the paper boasted, could one find "so true an index of the life of the textile factory."[105]
In Germany, reports from textile factories reached two newspapers. In 1889 the "free" (or Social Democratic) trade union of the textile workers began publishing the complaints workers submitted to union officials or voiced at meetings.[106] The Christian union for German textile workers fol-
[102] The overlookers referred to their wages as "monies coming off the looms." LRO, DDX 1151/19/3, July 31, 1908.
[103] Yorkshire Factory Times , September 19, 1890, p. 4, and March 29, 1901, pp. 4–5.
[104] The editor of a sister newspaper, The Workman's Times , believed that the Yorkshire Factory Times was "specially dominated" by the textile workers. See his comments, August 29, 1890.
[105] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 11, 1902. Twenty-five years after the paper's founding, Ben Turner, one of its original staff members, recalled, "It was a real workmen's paper written by workmen and workwomen for workfolks." Turner described the original network of contributors in the Yorkshire Factory Times , June 25, 1914, p. 4. For an example of an incomplete report from a correspondent that illustrates the amateur nature of the reporting, see Yorkshire Factory Times , October 23, 1891, Bradford. The paper had the largest circulation of any weekly journal in the West Riding (June 17, 1892, p. 8, and April 18, 1902, p. 8).
[106] See Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 17, 1902, Gera, for a reference to the submission process. The reports were published with major editing. Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband,Protokoll der vierten ordentlichen General-Versammlung des Verbandes aller in der Textil-Industrie beschäftigten Arbeiter und Arbeiterinnen (Berlin: Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, 1898), p. 32.
lowed suit with a similar publication in 1898.[107] I coded the complaints of workers about practices on the shop floor from the earliest surviving volumes of each of these newspapers. In both countries, these early volumes had the richest and most extensive coverage of problems on the shop floor. The British sample covers the years from 1890 through 1893, the German sample the years from 1899 through 1902. I coded the complaints concretely, with over one hundred separate categories.[108] With such a naive procedure, I could register problems ranging from the cleanliness of the toilets to the timbre of the factory bells used to dismiss the labor force.
The catalog of major complaints listed in Table 1 suggests that in many respects the immediate grounds for conflict were parallel in the two countries. In both, the four most frequent complaints concerned the level of pay, reductions in pay, the fines imposed for allegedly "bad" work, and the disrespectful attitude of supervisors toward their workers. Since the question of interest is how complaints varied within manufacturing processes that were organizationally and technologically alike, I compared the distribution of complaints between countries within the same occupation. The most significant divide is that of the weavers versus those in other textile occupations. In both countries, about two-thirds of the grievances recorded in the newspapers came from the weaving branch (66 percent in Britain, 68 percent
[107] For a description of the process by which workers submitted reports to the Christian textile newspaper, see Archiv der Gewerkschaft Textil-Bekleidung, Zentralverband Christlicher Textilarbeiter Deutschlands, "Geschäftsbericht, 1910–1912," p. 120.
[108] A word on procedure: since I was interested in using these complaints as a tool to analyze perceptions of relations in the workplace , I excluded two kinds of complaints. First, I omitted complaints that referred only to outside agencies such as factory inspectors or the police (these were in any event rare). Second, I eliminated complaints about low wages unless they met one of the following conditions: (a) they attributed the problem to circumstances in the workplace, or (b) they discussed specific rates, modes of payment, or reductions. I excluded general comments about pay that did not meet either of these conditions, on the grounds that they were so vague they could not illuminate workers' perceptions of relations in the workplace. In Britain, where the stories were more numerous, I coded every third issue from these years; in Germany, every issue. If a news story contained multiple grievances, I included each, I am interested in using newspapers for their interpretations of events, not as tools for counting the events themselves. Therefore, where coverage of a strike or protest movement extended across more than a single number of a newspaper, I continued to count each grievance. After all, the same strike could be described in different ways across the weeks. Multiple reports on a single incident were, however, rare. I coded only the weekly local reports, not editorial articles, which were less representative of views on the shop floor. In each country, the sample years included periods of both business recession and prosperity, although I did not find significant differences in the leading complaints generated in good times versus bad.
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in Germany). Table 2 compares the twelve complaints that appeared most frequently among weavers alone. The non-weavers were fragmented among so many labor processes that the sample does not allow for such comparisons across other occupations. The figures serve as one piece of evidence among many, not as an arbiter of hypotheses. I cannot derive the meaning of problems as they appeared to the weavers themselves from a set of codings. What appears to have been the "same" complaint for German and British weavers may have come to life in substantially different cultural forms.
To help us begin to appreciate the cross-national differences in the import of complaints, in Table 3 I compare the distribution of persons blamed in the newspapers for workplace problems in all branches of textiles. The Germans assigned blame to the "firm" as a whole for problems nearly twice as often as the British. On the face of it, the meaning of this divergence remains uncertain. It could imply that the German papers considered it less important to censure particular categories of persons, as opposed to the "system," as the cause of problems. Assigning responsibility to the "firm" might also serve as just another way of blaming the firm's owner.[109] If we leave aside complaints about the "firm," the German papers blamed owners and managers in 75 percent of the cases, compared to 54 percent of the cases in the British paper. Rather than looking upward to the top of the company to assign blame, the incidents reported in the British papers stayed closer to the persons with whom workers labored side by side. Among the complaints that blamed particular categories of persons, the British paper blamed the overlookers in 30 percent of the cases, whereas the German paper assigned only fifteen percent of problems to that lower-level party. If we treated complaints about the "firm" as referring to owners and higher managers, the German complaints would appear even more top-heavy. Finally, the same table shows that within the German sample, the Christian and socialist newspapers assigned blame among the factory personnel in almost identical proportions. If these two journals, which originated in markedly contrasting ideological milieus, assign blame to the same categories of persons in the workplace, we have more secure grounds for supposing that the stories to some extent replicated the workers' formulations, not just the agendas of the editors who processed the stories in their offices.
[109] Blaming problems on the "firm" did not, however, serve as a way of avoiding reprisals for having named particular individuals: other complaints did not always identify even the firm and usually referred only to the position, not the name, of the person blamed.
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The German workers' tendency to focus more often on higher-ups is slightly more pronounced among weavers than among the sample as a whole (Table 4). This only accentuates the question of how factories that appear similar not only from the standpoint of organizational structure and technology but in the sorts of conflicts and disagreements they generate can differ significantly as institutions that "produce" a human experience of the labor activity. We need to rely on contextual evidence to assess the cultural significance of the German assignment of responsibility to overlookers. One of the most frequently voiced complaints, that concerning the supervisors' disrespectful manners, illustrates how British and German workers attached different meanings to complaints that appear categorically similar.
For weavers and for textile workers in general, the British newspaper complained more about the disrespectful treatment workers received from supervisors than about any other difficulty. The late-nineteenth-century factory provided a setting in which overlookers could indulge in severe verbal abuse of their underlings. Employers considered it something of a prerequisite for maintaining discipline that overlookers be able to swear in the local dialect.[110] A reporter from Elland said that some overlookers treated their spot in the mill as a "privileged place." In the overlooker's corner, the reporter said, a female underling might hear "a voice addressing
[110] Sidney Webb, The Works Manager To-Day (London: Green & Co., 1914), p. 105.
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her in language known as profane, and which, if used on the public streets by a drunken man, would see him taken in hand by the police."[111] The textile workers' unions tried without great success to elicit the cooperation of the overlookers' unions in restraining the corrupt language.[112] They had better
[111] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 7, 1890, p. 5. A female weaver from the Colne Valley summed up her managers' behavior diplomatically in an interview: "The bosses didn't act like they was educated," she said. "They'd no manners." Joanna Bornat's interview with Mrs. B., born 1887.
[112] Bradford District Archives, Minutes of the Overlookers' Society, 3D 86 1/1/11, Spring, 1914; Textile Mercury , April 25, 1914, pp. 328–329. The secretary of the Bradford branch of the General Union of Textile Workers said that his association would investigate every case of verbal abuse by overlookers and, if redress were not obtained, would authorize a strike. Yorkshire Factory Times , May 7, 1914. For the registration of women's complaintsabout foul speech, see Archive of General Union of Dyers, Bleachers, and Textile Workers, Yeadon General Union, minutes book April 6, 1911. Female workers were not the only recipients of verbal abuse: in the textile workers' newspapers of both countries that I coded, objections to the insulting speech of supervisors were statistically no more likely to appear in stories featuring women as the complainers than in those featuring men or mixed-gender groups.
luck in securing the assistance of the courts. One judge in Dewsbury, Yorkshire, ruled in 1913 that a worker who objected to a supervisor's lewd comments could quit work without waiting to give proper notice.[113]
German workers complained that managers addressed them in military-style, "barracks" language.[114] They claimed that the supervisors' dictionary of abusive terms included "scoundrel" (Halunke ), "rogue" (Spitzbube ), and "old ass" (alter Esel ).[115] At a spinning mill in the Mönchengladbach district, workers testified that a supervisor had "badly cursed even older people." The workers at this mill, trying to discover whether the supervisor could be prosecuted for such conduct, sought the advice of police, who would, they supposed, be knowledgeable about the law.[116]
Not surprisingly, workers picked out their immediate supervisors, with whom they had the most contact, as the most frequent users of humiliating expressions.[117] In both countries, overlookers received a greater share of complaints about rude conduct than about other problems. British workers blamed overlookers for the ill treatment in about two-thirds of the reported incidents in the Yorkshire Factory Times. In Germany, overlookers received the blame for harsh manners less frequently, in about 42 percent of such complaints. Yet German overlookers received the blame for poor language more often than did managers or owners (see Table 5).
The raw numbers do not show that British workers reviled their overlookers more than the German their own. Rather, they provide clues whose meaning for the participants can be reconstructed by examining the style of the evidence. The British newspaper framed its comments about the overlookers differently than did the German papers. In Britain, workers criticized the overlookers as individuals; their complaints portrayed the
[113] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 13, 1913, Dewsbury Borough Court.
[114] Report from the "Sprecher am Niederrhein," reprinted in Die Textil-Zeitung , March 20, 1899, p. 226. See also Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 11, 1909, Landeshut.
[115] Der Textil-Arbeiter , April 19, 1901; May 4, 1906, Euskirchen.
[116] Gladbacher Volkszeitung , July 13, 1899.
[117] Even at relatively small firms, workers had little contact with owners. One female weaver in Milnsbridge, born in 1903, said that in twenty-eight years of employment she spoke to the boss, Emmanuel Hoyle, on only two occasions. Joanna Bornat's interview with Mrs. T., born 1896. At Taylor's of Batley, the owner left all the discipline to the foremen: Centre for English Cultural Traditions and Language, University of Sheffield, A73–72, Herbert Chapell, Batley, started work before 1914.
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personalities of the overlooker. The epithets applied to the overlookers reproduces this personalistic framework. Many of the insults refer to the physical appearance of the overlooker, such as "Golden Whiskers," "Little Darkey Tuner," or "the fancy-moustache stroker."[118] Others summed up the conduct of the supervisor with nicknames such as "Growler & Howler," "Woman Hater," or "Sleepy."[119] The British workers' conflict with their overlookers rested on a foundation of familiarity. The British complaints also characterized the behavior of the overlookers by comparing them to animals: a "puddledog that can do nothing but bark," a "bull terrier," a "wild bear."[120] These analogies removed the overlookers' conduct from the context of the factory hierarchy. They emphasized the overlookers' personal failings rather than their exercise of the authority that inhered in their office.[121] One story about an unpleasant overlooker (which cited an unfortunate cliché) captured the way workers attributed problems to an unchangeably bad character: "How true it is," the correspondent wrote, "the black man cannot wash his face white, nor a bad-tempered man forget his ways."[122]
[118] Yorkshire Factory Times , June 13, 1890, p. 4; December 6, 1889, p. 4.
[119] Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890; December 6, 1889, p. 4; February 28, 1890, p. 4.
[120] Yorkshire Factory Times , March 24, 1893, p. 5; April 8, 1892, p. 5.
[121] A story from Apperley Bridge said that one must consider the character and intelligence of the overlooker before condemning him. Yorkshire Factory Times , May 15, 1891.
[122] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 17, 1893, p. 4.
German workers also used epithets for their overlookers, but of a less personal sort. They labeled their overlookers with general names in popular circulation, such as "brute" (Grobian ), "beast" (Vieh ), and "ape" (Affe ).[123] These were the impersonal insults that might well be applied to an over-bearing stranger. The German newspapers criticized overlookers as the occupiers of an office who insisted on exercising their authority in the name of the owner. Overlookers, they claimed, had nothing better to do than to demonstrate a "service of love" for their employers.[124] "One constantly observes that the overlooker at every moment supports only the interests of his master employer," the Textil-Arbeiter reported. "Direct personal contact with the owner," it added, "is suited, like no other practice, to illustrate the superiority of the position of overlooker."[125]
Another major complaint points to different understandings of the exercise of authority in Britain and Germany. As is shown in Table 2, twenty-three complaints about people who squealed to higher-ups in the factory appeared in my British sample for the weaving branch. Sixty percent of these cases identified overlookers as the culprits. A story from a mill in Dewsbury, published in 1893, conveys the spirit of these reports:
A tuner here is to get married shortly, and the weavers, like good weavers, chaffed him in good fashion. He could not stand it and went and complained in the office. Wasn't it nice to go and complain over a paltry affair like this? I wonder what his affianced will say about it?[126]
The story illustrates the belief that the overlooker's conduct violates the norm against tattling. Its concluding question hints that the overlooker, by snitching on his underlings, will suffer the censure of his friends.[127] The account also suggests that workers and overlookers were co-producers, enough on a level for them to form joking relationships.
[123] Der Textil-Arbeiter , February 13, 1914, p. 55; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 24677, p. 153; Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 28, 1905, Niederzwönitz. For other generic aspersions, see Stadtarchiv Augsburg, No. 1667, 1903, p. 16.
[124] Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , May 25, 1901, Mönchengladbach.
[125] Der Textil-Arbeiter , October 18, 1901. For a complaint about "fawning overlookers" (liebedienerische Untermeister ) see Der Textil-Arbeiter , July 9, 1909.
[126] Yorkshire Factory Times , August 11, 1893, Dewsbury.
[127] This premise appears in other complaints in this category. For example, one story that warned an overlooker about tattling said, "A certain tackler must mend his ways, if he wants people to believe him to be what he represents himself to be." Yorkshire Factory Times , March 21, 1890, Skipton.
Most of the tales British overlookers took to superiors concerned the alleged errors weavers made in production or the slow pace of their production. An overlooker who tattled became known as a "greasy" tuner, a "greasehorn."[128] The British complaints regarding tattling about production foul-ups reflect the workers' assumption that the overlooker should not have acted as if he were merely an agent of the owner. The British weavers believed that the lower-level overlookers ought to support their efforts to labor with a degree of autonomy.[129]
In contrast to the frequent complaints about snitching in the British sampling, the German cases revealed only one example. In this exception, from the Bergisches region, the workers had already launched a movement against the authority of the central management. They complained that an overlooker had informed on the weaver who he believed had given a signal to the others to stop work at their looms before the rest period. The account mentioned the overlooker's conduct only as a detail in its narrative of the work stoppage.[130] The significant comparison to draw about tattling is this: in Germany, no grievances appeared regarding overlookers' informing about everyday production errors or about workers' demeanor. Instead, the German workers' comments about the overlookers' "service of love" indicate that workers took it for granted that overlookers would keep the owner informed.
The frequency of complaints about the rude manners of overlookers in Britain suggests that overlookers and workers stood in a closer, more equal relation to each other in Britain than in Germany. British workers, in comparison with their German counterparts, expected overlookers to classify workers as colleagues and were perhaps more sensitized to disrespect. Respondents from Yorkshire said that supervisors and weavers drank at the same pubs.[131] Indeed, the textile workers' newspaper in Yorkshire complained that weavers who shared pub rooms with the overlookers tried to get better warps for themselves or jobs for their relatives by buying drinks for their overlooker.[132] Yorkshire weavers expected their overseers to socialize with them and accused them of "putting on airs" if
[128] Yorkshire Factory Times , July 1, 1892, Bradford.
[129] Cotton Factory Times , March 11, 1904, Hyde.
[130] The incident occured in Hückeswagen. Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , May 25, 1901.
[131] My interviews with Mrs. May Broadbent, born 1896, and with Edward Crowthers, both of Midgley. On socializing between overlookers and workers in Lancashire, see Patrick Joyce, Work, Society and Politics (London: Methuen, 1982), pp. 101–102.
[132] Yorkshire Factory Times , September 20, 1889, Slaithwaite; September 27, 1889; October 11, 1889, Bradford; December 4, 1891, p. 5; November 10, 1893, p. 4.
they did not.[133] British weavers were familiar enough with their overlookers to play practical jokes on them without fear of reprisal when the perpetrators revealed themselves.[134] As a weaver correspondent from Bingley expressed it, "Tuners are only workers like ourselves."[135] A spinner from Halifax in an interview put it even more simply: "We was one."[136]
A careful reading of the textile workers' newspapers in Germany provides insight into a different set of relations in Germany. To be sure, the workers there complained that some of their colleagues used all manner of tactics to bribe overlookers for preferential treatment. They alleged, for example, that some workers gave overlookers free pies and turkeys or agreed to buy trinkets from overlookers at inflated prices.[137] In their coverage of these incidents, however, the German newspapers did not mention an equivalent to the British workers' tactic of tipping a drink side by side at the pub, perhaps a relationship more intimate or socially reciprocal than the German overlookers would have tolerated. A respondent from Oerlinghausen in Westfalen, for example, volunteered the insight that the overlookers and weavers in town drank at separate inns and that social mixing would have broken an unspoken law.[138]
The farewell gifts workers gave their overlookers also serve as an index of national differences in relations between these groups. The workers' newspapers in Britain reported that weavers frequently took up collections to provide farewell presents for tuners and managers who were retiring or
[133] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 22, 1901, and July 8, 1892, p. 5, Oakworth. Russell D. Johnstone, "The Textile Industry in Meltham Fifty Years Ago," Institute of Dialect and Folklife Studies, University of Leeds, p. 13. Workers considered it a universal custom to call overlookers by their first name. See, for example, Joanna Bornat's interview with Mrs. T., p. 17, Miss. B. Nr. 5, born 1887, and Mrs. Q, born 1899; my interview with Arthur Murgatroyd.
[134] Elizabeth Roberts's interview with Mr. and Mrs. L1P, born 1894 and 1900; Joanna Bornat's interview with Mrs. H, born 1891, p. 26.
[135] Yorkshire Factory Times , August 12, 1892.
[136] My interview with Arthur Murgatroyd. At the start of the great strike at Manningham mills in 1890, the Bradford Daily Telegraph reported, "It is not the wages exactly which has caused the strike, but the sense of inequity. If there is a depression, the wages of all, including foremen and overlookers, should be reduced. Somehow or other there is the feeling among the workpeople that one is as good as another, although there may be a little pomp" (December 22, 1890).
[137] Staatsarchiv Münster, Abt. VII, Nr. 52, Bd. 1, March 2, 1910, Gewerbeinspektor Bocholt; Stadtarchiv Gummersbach, Akt 4842, November 26, 1889. Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , August 11, 1900, Fischeln; June 16, 1900, Krefeld.
[138] My interview with Fritz Soll. Max Weber studied the major mill in this town for his monograph on textile production. See Anthony Oberschall, Empirical Social Research in Germany, 1848–1914 (New York: Mouton & Co., 1965), p. 115.
transferring between mills.[139] Since the gifts went only to departing supervisors, they could not be reciprocated in favors at work. By all accounts, British workers offered the gifts spontaneously and apart from those bestowed by management.[140] In Germany, by contrast, stories about unsolicited collective presents from workers to exiting supervisors seem practically unobtainable.
According to German journals of the textile trade, many German owners preferred to hire supervisors from distant areas, on the grounds that strangers could better maintain their distance from the lower workers.[141] A respondent from Barmen, who became a loom tuner himself, said weavers believed that the manager "deliberately" hired outsiders from other towns as supervisors, with the aim of keeping them separate from the workers.[142] By comparison with this explicit discussion in Germany, the professional literature for textiles in Britain remained silent about this tactic. Factory ordinances issued by German employers warned that each overseer had the duty "to protect his prestige against the workers."[143] Indeed, the separation
[139] Yorkshire Factory Times , April 4, 1890, p. 4; October 23, 1891, Ravensthorpe; May 30, 1890, Rastrick; April 25, 1890, Dewsbury; February 5, 1892, p. 4; Sept. 8, 1893, Thongsbridge; November 17, 1893, Great Horton; Cotton Factory Times , Oct. 22, 1886, Rochdale; January 5, 1912, Stalybridge.
[140] Yorkshire Factory Times , February 5, 1892, Liversedge.
[141] Centralblatt für die Textil-Industrie , 1881, pp. 557–558. Die Textil-Zeitung , November 21, 1904, Nr. 47, p. 1162. Max Haushofer, Der Industriebetrieb (München: E. Koch, 1904), p. 380. For an example reported in the workers' press, see Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , June 11, 1910, Wassenberg. Oral reports from German workers confirm the owners' preoccupation with dividing the overlookers from the workers. If an employer promoted one of his workers into the ranks of the supervisors, he took precautions to segregate him from his former peers. A worker from the Münsterland, for example, reported that after his promotion from mule spinner to Meister , the owner forbade him to let his friends greet him with the familiar form of address, du. My interview with Franz Reidegeld, born 1900, Rheine.
[142] My interview with Hans Penz. Weaving overlookers in both countries rose from the ranks of the weavers. Some overlookers briefly attended textile night schools, but only foremen completed a regular course of study. Yorkshire Factory Times , February 13, 1891, p. 4; July 12, 1901, Stainland; April 12, 1901, Bingley; December 18, 1903, Batley. Kirklees Oral History Project, Miss V., born 1901, p. 23. Cotton Factory Times , Sept. 10, 1886, Oldham. Edward Beyer, Die Fabrik-Industrie des Regierungbezirkes Düsseldorf vom Standpunkt der Gesundheitspflege (Oberhausen: Spaarmann, 1876), p. 135. Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , Nr. 44 (1912), pp. 966–967. Heinz the Potthoff, Ziele und Erfolge des Werkmeisterstandes , pp. 4–5. Der Textil-Arbeiter , June 16, 1905, Beilage, and July 26, 1901, Barmen. Weavers emphasized that their overseers were not superior in education.
[143] Hauptstaatsarchiv Düsseldorf, Regierung Düsselfdorf, BR 1015, Nr. 169 I, Gladbacher Spinnerei und Weberei, 1855; Stadtarchiv Rheine, Nr. 183, F. H. Hammersen, 1910; Stadtarchiv Greven, IV o 30–32, labor ordinance for the Grevener Baumwollspinnerei, issued 1886, reissued for the 1891, Gewerbeordnung; Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv Dortmund, S 8/41 L. & S. Leeser, Dülmen, 1892; Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, B46–391, 1846, requires that Meister "ihr Ansehen gegen die untergeordneten Arbeiter zu behaupten wis-sen"; Wirtschaftsarchiv Baden-Württemberg, Stuttgart, B46–398 Fabrikordnung, L. Hartmann Söhne, 1846; Stadtarchiv Augustusberg, Clauss firm, ordinance 1910.
of overlookers from workers in Germany took the most solid form possible: factories' architectural design. A number of mills in Germany provided toilets or eating rooms for supervisors separate from those for workers.[144]
The pattern of fining for indiscipline also betrays the greater emphasis placed on the overlooker's authority in Germany. In both Germany and Britain, workers received petty fines for "misconduct." For example, overlookers and foremen punished workers by withholding earnings for offenses such as looking out the window, talking, or letting bobbing lie on the floor.[145] All of these fines might be explained, perhaps, as measures to ensure high output or to provide greater safety on the shop floor. Beside the fines that bore upon output, however, the German supervisors, unlike their British counterparts, also imposed disciplinary fines for actions they perceived as insults to their authority.[146] At a firm in Mönchengladbach, for example, the foreman fined a weaver who once forgot and twice refused to take off his cap upon greeting the foreman.[147] At a firm in Birgden, near Geilenkirchen, a weaver who expressed irritation at the overlooker for not adjusting the loom received a fine for disrespectful conduct.[148] German managers listed these punishments into "fine books," which include entries for "insolence," "insult," "is always coarse toward me," and "affront."[149]
[144] Ludwig Utz, Moderne Fabrikanlagen (Leipzig: Uhlands technischer Verlag, 1907), pp. 133–134; Stadtarchiv Oerlinghausen, Floorplan Carl Weber & Co., Oerlinghausen.
[145] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 21, 1890, p. 5; June 10, 1892, Leeds; November 4, 1892, Bradford; March 17, 1893, Leeds, p. 5; Kreisarchiv Kempen, Gemeindearchiv Schiefbahn 715, July 30, 1905; my interview with Herr Schnieders of Rheine, who recalled the stories of older weavers; Der Textil-Arbeiter , April 25, 1902, Auerbach; March 5, 1909, Rheydt; November 25, 1910, Bautzen, and July 15, 1910, p. 221; HSTAD, Regierung Düsseldorf, 24684, April 27, 1894, report on Klauser firm.
[146] On fining for perceived insults, see Wolfgang Ruppert, Die Fabrik (München: Verlag C. H. Beck, 1983), p. 211.
[147] Der Textil-Arbeiter , May 20, 1910. The business court in Mönchengladbach ruled that the employer had been justified in levying the fine, because the worker had disobeyed a supervisor's order. See account in Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Protokoll des 10. Generalversammlung, 1910 (Berlin: Karl Hübsch, n.d.), p. 291.
[148] Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , January 20, 1900, and Die Textilarbeiter-Zeitung , October 15, 1910. In another case, a female worker in Krefeld received a fine for giggling at a manager. Der Christliche Textilarbeiter , December 16, 1899. For another fine for disrespectful conduct, see Der Textil-Arbeiter , March 21, 1902, Lörrach.
[149] Such entries were reproduced in Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 20, 1911, for Bamberg. Also see Westfälisches Wirtschaftsarchiv Dortmund, F32, Huesker fine book, 1892–1905; and, at the same archive, F11, Delius fine book, p. 105; Textilmuseum Apolda, Zimmermann firm, "Verzeichnis über verhängte Geldstrafen," 1892 to 1906; Archiv des Volkseigenen Betriebs Palla, Meerane, Gebrüder Bochmann, Nr. 575, Strafbuch, 1905–1906, "Gehorsamsverweigerung." For an example from Göppingen, see Deutscher Textilarbeiterverband, Protokoll des10. Generalversammlung , 1910, p. 289.
German overlookers also charged their underlings in court with having affronted them. In fact, the records of the local arbiters from textile towns indicate that this was not uncommon. In Odenkirchen, a textile center in the Rhineland, the summary transcripts show that the legal complaints during a twelve-year period at the turn of the century included charges of insult brought against employees by the following supervisors: a spinning overlooker, a weaving overlooker, a carding room supervisor, two foremen, a maintenance overlooker, and a factory director.[150] Where such records also specify the location of the alleged offense, they often refer to the factory itself.[151] The overlookers took seriously the supposition that they shared in the employer's dignity.[152]
The lists of mill complaints in the Yorkshire Factory Times , and, less frequently, in the Cotton Factory Times might have been expected to mention fining for "affronts" to overlookers' authority. Yet accounts of such incidents are wanting. To the contrary, workers seem to have teased their supervisors to their face. The autobiographies of textile workers describe how workers mocked their overseers. One female weaver from Bradford mentioned her encounter with her overlooker, Harry:
I have not forgotten how he tried to set Ellen Jaratt's loom right . . . and he had no sooner set it on when the shuttle flew right through the window into the dam, and they never found it yet. I asked him if he had made a goal with that shuttle, and if it counted to his side the other goal, but he pretended not to hear me. . . . I can say a great
[150] Stadtarchiv Mönchengladbach, Protokollbücher des Schiedmannes, Odenkirchen, 2769.
[151] For example, ibid., p. 93, October 1902; March 2, 1911; March 14, 1912; July 19, 1912. For another town with similar occurrences, see Stadtarchiv Nordhorn, Protokollbuch B42 Schiedsmann zu Bakelde, p. 148.
[152] Another complaint from Germany indicates that German workers believed the overlookers identified more with the employer's role as a supervisor of labor than with the worker's role as producer. The overlookers responsible for adjusting and repairing equipment, a German newspaper reported, act "as if they had been appointed to the position of coupon cutters. We are used to seeing them scan their section up and down, with a pencil or cartridge pen behind their ear, in a well-cut blue uniform, ostentatiously carrying their writing book rather than outfitted with a leather bag filled with assorted wrenches and physical instruments." Der Textil-Arbeiter , October 11, 1901. The workers' emphasis on the overlooker's task of writing can also be discerned from the surviving fine books. They show that overlookers punished workers who dared glance at their books on the writing pulpits. Stadtarchiv Gummersbach, Nachlass der Gummersbacher Spinnerei Krawinkel & Schnabel, fine for "Gehen auf den Pult"; Der Textil-Arbeiter , January 20, 1911, "Eine Strafliste." Protesters in Germany picked out the writing stands (Pulte ) as targets for vandalism. Werner Rohr, "Die Geschichte der Arbeiterbewegung in Nordhorn," diss., Universität Bremen, 1981, p. 47.
deal more about Harry if he tries to be so witty about me being an old maid again.[153]
Weavers near Baxenden played a game with authoritarian overlookers to shame them. They handed such overlookers the gift of a whip, ridiculing them as slave drivers.[154] Perhaps the most telling demonstration of British workers' assertion of their equality with overlookers came from Great Harwood, Lancashire. The weavers who struck a mill there in 1893 succeeded in having their overlookers sign an apology, which said, "We, the undersigned, do admit that we have been guilty of driving and humbugging the weavers employed under us. . . . We herewith guarantee that in future we will not speak to any weaver when going round with the slate or when fetched to tackle their looms."[155] The autobiographical stories of British workers leave no doubt that they were exposed to tyrannical abuse from some overlookers. At issue is not the degree of cooperation or conflict but the intimate and equalitarian framework British workers used to condemn mishandling.[156]
The factory owner's first motivation for hiring an overlooker, according to the working-class press in Germany, was not to acquire the skills of a technical expert; it was to obtain an agent through which he could exercise his authority
[153] Bradford , "A Weaver's Notions About Factory Work and Other Work," November 30, 1895. In the original, the last sentence of this quote appeared first. In the representations of complaints in the British textile workers' newspapers I coded, female weavers assigned blame to overlookers more frequently than did male workers, at a statistically significant rate. In Britain, for instance, 40 percent of stories portraying female weavers as the complainers indicted overlookers, versus 29 percent of stories with male or mixed-gender complainers in weaving. In the newspapers' depictions, male or mixed-gender groups of weavers in Britain blamed overlookers twice as frequently as did male or mixed-gender groups in Germany, and female weavers in Britain blamed overlookers two and a half times more frequently than did female weavers in Germany. I plan to publish a separate study contrasting gender distinctions in the two countries. For the present comparison, it is perhaps sufficient to note that the cross-national differences in representations of relations to overlookers traverse the line of gender.
[154] Cotton Factory Times , September 17, 1889, p. 5.
[155] "Strikes and Lockouts in 1893," PP 1894 LXXXI, pp. 625 ff., strike reference number 664, December 14–January 15.
[156] Some British supervisors, including female overlookers, left permanent impressions of ill will. Annie Kenney, Memories of a Militant (London: Edward Arnold & Co., 1924), p. 16; Hebden Bridge Oral History Project, OH85/59; "Autobiography of Thomas Wood," regarding mill in Bingley, born 1822, Keighley News , March 3, 1956 ff.; Sherwin Stephenson, "The Chronicles of a Shop Man," Bradford Library Archives; Jan Lambertz, "Sexual Harassment in the Nineteenth Century English Cotton Industry," History Workshop Number 19 (Spring 1985), pp. 29–61. Conversely, many German overlookers had an amiable relation to their underlings within the hierarchical framework. Marie Bernays, "Berufsschicksale moderner Industriearbeiter," Die Frau Volume 18, Nr. 3 (December 1910), p. 136.
over the factory.[157] As the Textil-Arbeiter said, "The owner of the production shop naturally says to himself that it is in his interest to place the tasks of the workers under control by putting a person there . . . so that a mere glance from this personage will spur workers to the strictest fulfillment of their duties."[158] The German practice of fining workers for mere "affronts" to supervisors reproduced the view that the overlookers' exercise of authority in the name of the owner was essential to the extraction of surplus. In Britain, on the other hand, since the overlookers did not act merely to extend the owners' authority, the extraction of a profit for the owner of the factory was severed from the exercise of authority on the shop floor. The Northern Pioneer , a journal for the labor and the "liberal radical" movements in the Colne Valley, expressed the view that the exercise of authority was not an essential aspect of the employment relation and extraction of profit. Textile workers and factory owners, it said in 1883, were merely exchanging their commodities. "Employers should not want to be masters anymore than the men should want to be masters," it concluded.[159] For the British textile workers, as for artisanal workers in an earlier age, the exchange of labor as a commodity could be not only separated from but contrasted with the exercise of authority. "You are no master of mine," a rule-maker told his employer in the 1840s, "but only a man who buys my labour for a good deal less than it's worth."[160] The formulation acknowledged a relation that included both formal equality in the marketplace and real exploitation.
It would be simple but superficial to imagine that the differences between practices at the point of production in the two countries resulted from a greater emphasis in general in German society upon authority for building social relations. Such an approach would confuse the ideologies celebrated in the public sphere with actual practice on the shop floor. If the famed tradition of liberalism in British political discourse lent support to notions of individual liberty and autonomy, such ideals did not have any elective
[157] Der Textil-Arbeiter , February 15, 1907, Augsburg.
[158] Der Textil-Arbeiter , October 18, 1901. The workers' comments had grounds in reality: some German want ads for overlookers specified that the overlooker, in addition to having technical training, had to know how to control the workers, or, as one ad put it, "possess complete confidence in contacts with workers." Der deutsche Meister , January 1, 1913, Betriebsleiter for spinning mill.
[159] Northern Pioneer , March 3, 1883. The workers' sentiment survives in rarified economic theory even today. For example, the British economic historian John Hicks insists that a hierarchical relation between employer and worker is incongruous with mercantile society. John Hicks, A Theory of Economic History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), p. 122.
[160] Dyke Wilkinson, Rough Roads: Reminiscences of a Wasted Life (London: Sampson Low, Marston, & Co., 1912), p. 19. Emphasis in original.
affinity with actual use of the British idea of labor as a commodity. After all, the confinement of inmates in fortress-like enclosures scarcely embodied the notion of liberalism. The specification of labor as a commodity in Britain did not inhibit employers from attempting to exercise control episodically in heavy-handed fashion on the shop floor. Although the practice formed no part of the usual organization of production, British employers, if it struck their fancy, fired underlings without warning for looking at them "the wrong way."[161]
The contrasts between factory procedures in the two countries were based not on degrees of authoritarianism but on the modalities by which employers asserted their domination. British employers devoted no less attention to cultivating a paternalist regime in pliant neighborhoods outside the factory as their German counterparts did. Rather than consecrating their mastery of the transformation of labor power into a product at the site of production, British employers displayed their superordinancy in the community, where they could influence workers' mobility and sense of dependency.[162] The Strutt family, acclaimed in the early nineteenth century as factory pioneers, watched over their employees' morality by imposing fines for such mischievous behavior outside the workplace as maltreating a neighbor's dog.[163] In the second half of the nineteenth century, British factory owners did not just support recreational and educational clubs at the mill site. They subsidized workers' clubs, schools, and churches in the community at large.[164] Interviews with former textile workers from Lancashire
[161] A Huddersfield employer allegedly slapped a female worker in the face. Yorkshire Factory Times , April 17, 1908, p. 4. The editor of the Textile Mercury trade journal, Richard Marsden, told employers to combat idleness with "instant dismissal." Richard Marsden, Cotton Weaving: Its Development, Principles, and Practice (London: George Bell & Sons, 1895), p. 470.
[162] David Gadian, "Class Formation and Class Action in North-West Industrial Towns, 1830–1850," in R. J. Morris, editor, Class, Power and Social Structure in British Nineteenth-Century Towns (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1986), p. 50. For the early industrial revolution, see Pollard, op. cit., pp. 201, 205–206; Sidney Pollard, "The Factory Village in the Industrial Revolution," The English Historical Review Volume 79, Number 312 (July 1964), p. 527; David Roberts, Paternalism in Early Victorian England (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1979), p. 180.
[163] R. S. Fitton and A. P. Wadsworth, The Strutts and the Arkwrights 1758–1830 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958), p. 236. Similarly, in 1891 a firm in Bradford allegedly fired a "mill girl" for making a face at a fellow worker outside the mill. Yorkshire Factory Times , June 19, 1891, p. 4.
[164] Anthony Howe, The Cotton Masters, 1830–1860 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), p. 285; Joyce, op. cit., pp. 144–145, 168–175; David Russell, "The Pursuit of Leisure," in D. G. Wright and J. A. Jowitt, editors, Victorian Bradford (Bradford: Bradford Metropolitan Council, 1982), p. 211; Mike Holbrook-Jones, Supremacy and the Subordination of Labour (London:Heinemann Educational Books, 1982), p. 93. Sometimes the material basis of employers' hallowed authority was all too flagrant: until at least the end of the nineteenth century, William Hollins Company in Pleasley owned the town church. Stanley Pigott, Hollins: A Study in Industry (Nottingham: William Hollins & Co., 1949), p. 91.
and Yorkshire towns reveal that into the first decade of the twentieth century many workers still felt compelled to attend the same church or chapel as their employer.[165] Even in large towns with an adequate stock of housing, some British textile employers (like several of their German counterparts) erected company homes and required subordinates to occupy them.[166] British textile workers in employer-provided housing denounced the "tyranny" of their dependency.[167] But the textile industry was in this respect typical of British business.[168]
The prominent commitment of British employers to molding an obedient community outside the point of production attracted the criticism of German employers. As a businessman from the German wool trade judged in 1886, "To encourage the factory director to exercise surveillance over his people even beyond the work hours in order to look after their moral health—this is one English institution that has been taken too far. By this means one develops only empty-headed workers."[169] We should not accede unreservedly to the national contrast this executive wished to draw. But his sentiments undermine the presumption that German employers were automatically more custodial. What differed fundamentally between British and German employers was not the general readiness to supervise or control workers but the catego-
[165] Paul Thompson and Thea Thompson, family and work history interviews, no. 67, Bolton, born 1901. Joyce, op. cit., pp. 175–176. Joanna Bornat's interview with Mr. L., born 1899, p. 20. Nonconformist employers treated management of workers' personal life as a moral necessity. S. J. Daniels, "Moral Order and the Industrial Environment in the Woolen Textile Districts of West Yorkshire, 1780–1880," Ph.D. diss., University College, London, 1980, pp. 32, 133; Joseph Wilson, "A Private and Confidential Letter from Joseph Wilson to the Workpeople," Bradford Library Archives. Yorkshire Factory Times , April 4, 1890.
[166] Cotton Factory Times , Sept. 10, 1886, Todmorden; J. D. Marshall, "Colonisation as a Factor in the Planting of Towns in North-West England," in H. J. Dyos, editor, The Study of Urban History (London: Edward Arnold, 1968), p. 228. Patrick Joyce emphasizes that efforts to build company housing varied: op. cit., pp. 121–123. But the employers themselves confessed that, but for lack of capital, they would have liked to have built more housing, "not for the benefit of the hands exactly, but so that they themselves can be ensured an efficient supply of labour ready at hand as required." Textile Manufacturer , June 15, 1901, p. 182.
[167] Blackburn Labour Journal (February 1898); Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 223; Yorkshire Factory Times , June 21, 1901, p. 5.
[168] James Jaffe's The Struggle for Market Power shows that in the British coal industry, too, the employers' claims to superordinancy were exerted, not at the point of production, but in the community at large, where employers sought to control housing and commerce. The Struggle for Market Power: Industrial Relations in the British Coal Industry, 1800–1840 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 73 ff.
[169] Das deutsche Wollen-Gewerbe , November 25, 1886, p. 1497.
ries of social consciousness by which they defined the exchange of labor at the point of production. If the emphasis on the disposition over labor power in the German factory had derived from a general cultural emphasis on authority, we would expect the authoritarianism to carry over into all contexts. Instead, in the community, where social relations were mediated by capitalist relations of production but not cast directly in their image, British employers appear no less interested than their German counterparts in controlling subordinates' leisure, religion, and education.[170]
Culture's Contemporaneous Effect
This chapter has compared structurally equivalent cases to identify the distinct contribution of cultural assumptions to the status of overlookers. In both Germany and Britain, weaving overlookers occupied an ambiguous position between workers and owners. On the one hand, they sold their labor for a wage, like a worker; on the other, they exercised authority over the production process, like an employer. The production process in textile factories was sufficiently standardized by the late nineteenth century that it offers the comparative analyst approximate controls for differences in the social organization of work. Weaving overlookers in Germany and Britain had the same technical roles, similar locations in the factory hierarchy, similar positions in the labor market, matching levels of pay, and the same responsibilities for supervising workers. Given these structural parallels, the divergent cultural definitions of labor as a commodity in Germany and Britain intervened to give overlookers different statuses. In Britain, the view that labor was sold via its products accentuated the aspect of the overlookers' activity that corresponded to that of a productive agent. In Germany, the view that labor was sold as a service placed an emphasis on the overlookers' exercise of authority in the name of the owner rather than on the delivery of a product; in this manner, the German view defined the overlooker's role as essentially unlike that of a worker.[171]
[170] Textile Manufacturer , April 15, 1886, p. 168: "In England, he [the supervisor] is distinctly told by his employer that he must listen, and also that he must keep a look-out upon the conduct of his men after mill hours. . . . I am well informed in a case where a mill manager told his employer that he would not, even at his bidding, have his jurisdiction extended beyond the mill lodge and gates"—accordingly, the manager was fired! In Apperley Bridge, an employer knew his subordinates' habits well enough that when a young male weaver asked for a raise, the employer advised him instead to stop attending the theater. Yorkshire Factory Times , Nov. 17, 1893, p. 4; see also April 29, 1892, p. 5.
[171] Chapter Ten, below, shows that the cultural classification of the overlooker's role influenced the grounds and goals of workers' collective action.
Historians of late-nineteenth-century factory organization have often emphasized the willingness of British employers to dedicate the real control of production on the shop floor to the workers themselves, particularly to those with craft skills. Compared to capitalists in other countries of the time, economic historians reason, British employers generally enjoyed greater access to pools of highly trained workers who inherited their know-how from the country's generations-long edge in manufacture. Since many British enterprises were founded early in the nineteenth century, when entry costs were lower, British companies in branches of production such as iron and steel production or metal work were smaller and more numerous than counterpart firms in later-developing countries. These circumstances made it more difficult for British firms to muster the great resources needed for investing in new technology and management organization in the course of the century and made it less costly for them to rely instead on the technical and organizational skills of their workers.[172] By this line of reasoning, the British specification of labor as a commodity could well have emerged as a natural reflection of an organizational structure in which employers were compelled to renounce control in reality, not just in ideology, over the conversion of labor power to a product.
A comparative study of the textile industry reveals the limitations of this approach. As we have seen, no prominent organizational differences existed between Germany and Britain in key branches of wool textile production. Yet important cultural differences did arise between them, revealing that the immediate institutional context is not responsible for differences between the materialized specifications of labor as a commodity. At most historical junctures before 1914 in the Yorkshire textile industry, where trade unions were comparatively weak, and at critical moments in the craft trades, such as metal-working after the wholesale defeat of unions in 1898, British employers had carte blanche to reorganize practices on the shop floor to match the self-conscious conversion of labor power to a product.[173] They did not try. What is more, analysts' reasoning in terms of adaptation to inherited constraints and opportunities fails to explain the structure of practices in large, recently founded companies in new branches of produc-
[172] William Lazonick, Competitive Advantage on the Shop Floor (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1990), p. 184; E. J. Hobsbawm, Industry and Empire: An Economic History of Britain Since 1750 (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1968), p. 158; Perry Anderson, "The Figures of Descent," The New Left Review Number 161 (January–February 1987), p. 72.
[173] William Lazonick, Business Organization and the Myth of a Market Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 143.
tion, such as motor vehicles. The Engineering Employers' Federation successfully combated the establishment of formal collective bargaining in the British auto industry. Despite the freer rein given to employers to reorganize shop-floor practices in this innovative business, especially after 1922, management left control in the hands of craft workers and relied on payment by results to stimulate productivity.[174] Surely the employers' premises about the labor transaction, not just structural constraints, contributed to these outcomes.
In view of the visible decline in competitiveness among most branches of British industry since 1914, it is all too easy to read history backwards, attributing the differences between German and British practice before 1914 to German owners' greater push for efficiency. But certainly up to 1914, German textile mills did not operate more successfully than their British rivals. In the branches of wool textiles in 1907, the length of cloth produced annually from a loom in Germany approximately equaled that produced in Britain.[175] Among the European competitors, Britain's share of world trade in wool fabric rose in the decade before 1914.[176] In the cotton branch, German businessmen who measured output in Britain near the turn of the century had no doubt that British weaving mills produced more cloth
[174] Jonathan Zeitlin, "The Emergence of Shop Steward Organization and Job Control in the British Car Industry: A Review Essay," History Workshop Number 10 (Autumn 1980), p. 122; Lazonick, Competitive Advantage , op. cit., p. 201.
[175] Gross national comparisons of wool cloth output are necessarily clouded, since the design of each fabric had a strong bearing on the labor and value added. Nonetheless, annual wool fabric production can be estimated very approximately at 3,850 meters per loom in Britain, slightly less in Germany. For Britain I compared output from 1907 and the loom census from 1904, listed in D. T. Jenkins and K. G. Ponting, The British Wool Textile Industry 1770–1914 (London: Heinemann Educational Books, 1982), pp. 169, 260. For Germany, see Karl Ballod's calculations in "Die Produktivität der industriellen Arbeit," Jahrbuch für Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft im Deutschen Reich , new series, Volume 34 (1910), p. 732. I also checked this with the loom count from the 1907 census, excluding hand looms. I compared this with the length of fabric the Germans produced, assuming that ratios between the consumption of wool and cloth output remained constant between 1897 and 1907. This procedure may underestimate German efficiency, but the diminution is offset by the fact that the German output included the contribution of hand looms, which survived in fancy weaving. To add to the murkiness, census takers in both countries inconsistently counted looms that wove mixtures of cotton and wool. Germany, Statistik des Deutschen Reichs , Volume 214 (Berlin: Kaiserliches Statistisches Amt, 1910), p. 303, and Arthur Spiethoff, Die wirtschaftlichen Wechsellagen: Aufschwung, Krise, Stockung , Volume 2 (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1955), pp. 4–5 and Table 24. Market share is in the end the only usable indicator of performance.
[176] D. T. Jenkins and J. C. Malin, "European Competition in Woollen and Cloth, 1870–1914: The Role of Shoddy," Business History Volume 32, Number 4 (October 1990). Jenkins and Ponting, The British Wool Textile Industry , op. cit., p. 294.
per loom than German contenders did.[177] The difference in the specification of labor as a commodity did not cause the British to fall behind in production.[178]
In both countries the character of textile technology before 1914 discouraged contemplation of the systematic conversion of "labor power" into a product. The raw materials could not be manipulated by the available technology according to standard rules, only by knack that defied analysis. "The loom of today is practically identical with the loom of fifty years ago," the Textile Mercury complained in 1912. "The loom may be ranked today as the crudest piece of widely used mechanism extant."[179] The technician Charles Vikerman remarked in the 1894 edition of his manual on woolen spinning that "no significant technical advance" had occurred in spinning during the preceding fifty years.[180] Technical experts in Germany voiced similar opinions.[181] In the hands of workers with only general experience in a textile branch, the equipment that twisted fiber and finished cloth operated too harshly for satisfactory results. Each town became a specialist in a different range of types of yarn and fabric, due to the mysteriously acquired knack of local labor for pushing obstinate varieties of fibers and yarns through the insensitive machinery. Even in the same neighborhood, however, a manufacturer sometimes failed to turn out a particular weave while the nearest challenger down the street, relying on the same kind of loom and material, succeeded.[182]
The reliance on the workers' knack for product specialties led the participants in the trade to think of fabrics as the result of confecting rather than of manufacturing. Factory managers drew analogies between the spinning
[177] Gerhart von Schulze-Gävernitz, The Cotton Trade in England and on the Continent (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., 1895), pp. 107–108. On the greater value of British textile production despite the equality in the size of German and British textile workforces, see J. A. Hunter, "The Textile Industries of England and Germany," Textile Mercury , January 23, 1915, pp. 68–69.
[178] In the 1920s the value of output per worker remained somewhat higher in Britain than in Germany in the textile industry as a whole. The difference was not attributable to price levels alone. Robert Brady, The Rationalization Movement in German Industry (New York: Howard Fertig, 1974), p. 268.
[179] Textile Mercury , December 9, 1912.
[180] Charles Vikerman, Woollen Spinning: A Text-Book for Students in Technical Schools and Colleges and for Skillful Practical Men in Woollen Mills (London: Macmillan & Co., 1894), p. 223.
[181] Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , June 27, 1912; Zeitschrift für die gesamte Textil-Industrie , 1910/11, p. 846.
[182] Hermann Dornig, Die Praxis der mechanischen Weberei (Leipzig: A. Hartleben, 1895), p. 29.
of yarn and the distilling of fine drinks. To produce yarn suited for different kinds of twistings, a director from Bolton explained, "one mill may have five or six different 'mixings,' as they are called, each mixing [of cotton types] more or less skillfully adapted to the requirements of the yarn. This is as important, in its way, as the blending of teas, wines, or spirits."[183] Like the distiller who coped with seasonal variation in the character of the grapes harvested, the spinner dealt with crops of cotton and wool that differed in unpredictable ways, year to year, lot by lot, depending on the season's conditions for growing cotton and raising sheep.[184] Textile production depended on nature in other ways. The direction of the wind affected humidity and temperature and thus yarn breakages, so workers learned to pace their motions in response to the weather. At a mill sheltered behind a hill they learned a different rhythm of work than in a neighboring establishment exposed to the wind.[185]
By reason of this technical foundation, the textile industry developed in both countries into a "folk" trade, dependent on native lore and resistant to systematization.[186] The relatively stagnant design of equipment and the reliance on hit-or-miss tinkering indicates that the specification of labor as a commodity in German textiles did not arise as a consequence of attempts to keep pace with technical change or to rationalize the use of technology.[187] As the introduction of pay by shot first suggested, the German producers imported the definition of labor into the labor process in the early days of the factory system. They maintained their focus on the transfer of labor power to the employer although the surprisingly primitive technology of textile production during the second half of the nineteenth century discouraged employers from methodizing the conversion of labor power into a product. The adoption of a particular concept of labor in Germany did not reflect utilitarian demands but served as a premise for meeting them. The specification of labor was reproduced, not by its conformity with the tech-
[183] Dobson, op. cit., p. 27.
[184] Cotton Factory Times , March 5, 1897, p. 1; Textile Journal , 1902, p. 359; Fred Bradbury, Worsted Preparing and Spinning , Volume One (Halifax: F. King & Sons, 1910), pp. 19 ff.
[185] Journal of the British Association of Managers of Textile Works Volume 6 (1914–1915), p. 106. Royal Commission on Labour, PP 1892 XXXV, p. 76.
[186] For more particulars, see Richard Biernacki, "The Cultural Construction of Labor: A Comparative Study of Late Nineteenth-Century German and British Textile Mills," Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1988, pp. 223–243.
[187] Brady, op. cit., p. 263.
nological environment, but through the symbolic configuration of micro-practices that communicated labor's definition.
In this chapter, as in the two preceding, I have relied on three forms of argument to demonstrate that the cross-national divergences in textile factory institutions had a cultural origin. Most important, I have compared similar business environments in detail to rule out alternative, utilitarian explanations for differences in factory procedures—in this instance, the allocation of overlooking costs—or for differences in the ascription of authority. In particular, my comparisons have excluded explanations based on the timing of the founding of textile mills, on adaptation to the business cycle, or on national variation in the factory directors' commitment to improving efficiency. Second, I have shown that the differing views of labor as a commodity in Britain and in Germany extended into minutiae of factory life where variation did not bear strategic consequences, such as the formal methods for distributing overlooking wages over various types of cloth. The shape of practice in these instances, too, is unamenable to utilitarian explanation. Finally, the contrasting cultural definitions of labor as a commodity in Germany and Britain which found expression in the methods of defining overlookers' remuneration serve as the core principles for interpreting an entire constellation of factory customs. The scope of the instrumentalities elucidated by a cultural principle raises our confidence in the method of analysis and challenges the advocates of purely utilitarian reasoning to account for this range of differences between German and British textile mills. Let them bring their case before the court.
Concluding Reflections on Part One
Part One of this study has not attempted to decide which of two forces, culture or material circumstances, was the more powerful. Analysts who conceive of these forces as variables to be laid out side by side might suppose that their effects were conjoined, but their admixture is in fact more fundamental than that. Not only were both prerequisites for the composition of production, but the very operation of each remains inconceivable without the other. Material constraints assume their social effectivity only as they are encoded by culture; culture operates only as it is materialized in the concrete media at hand. The two forces are different moments in the same social process. Nonetheless, we can still isolate the effects of culture if we ask, not which had the most influence, but which comprised a social logic. The brute conditions of praxis in capitalist society, such as the need to compete in a market, did not provide the principles for organizing practices in forms that were stable and reproducible, for by themselves they did not supply a meaningful design for conduct. Rather, practices were given a consistent shape by the particular specifications of labor as a commodity that depended, to be sure, upon the general conditions of praxis for their materials, but granted them social consequences according to an intelligible logic of their own.
The discovery that factory production in Germany and Britain was orchestrated according to its signifying function bears important implications for sociological theories about the distinguishing character of human action in the capitalist order. Many in the tradition of Western Marxism have viewed the increasing salience of exclusively calculative, instrumental conduct as a characteristic developmental tendency of capitalist society.[188] But looking at the sensuous realm of practice on the shop floor from a comparative perspective discloses a more complex process. One can, perhaps, refer to the "rationalization" of the labor process at the very end of the nineteenth century, when formal ideologies of management appeared and the legal system, at least in Germany, elaborated more explicitly the rules governing the transmission of labor in the factory. But the development of capitalism was not marked by the progressive reduction of the activity of labor to the logic of instrumental action alone, without respect for action's communicative function. Instrumental action, rationalized by progressive adjustments
[188] See, illustratively, Max Horkheimer, Eclipse of Reason (New York: Oxford University Press, 1947), pp. 93, 102.
to end-means logic, was still ordered by its conveyance of meaning and followed the cultural coordinates of a commodity form that varied apart from immediate economic conditions.[189]
If micro-procedures at the site of production were grouped in a meaningful pattern that incarnated different concepts of labor, how did this cultural logic tend to be incorporated consistently into practice? The concept of culture has drawn researchers' attention to the systematicity and global patterning of practices and signs, of strategies and life forms in society. Yet it is too easy to take this patterning as evidence for the influence or presence of something termed culture without asking how culture produces this configuration—or this configuration, culture. No social agent craftily designed the constellation of instrumentalities in the factory to embody, across the board, different specifications of labor as a commodity. By what processes did people create and reproduce not just an accidental assemblage of practices and concepts but an undivided cultural system based on concepts of labor?
To explain the survival of consistencies in the form of practice we need not invoke the notion of an overarching, harmonized normative order, internalized by the agents, that restrains deviant action. Once practices were installed as a consistent ensemble, their very execution could reproduce the concept of labor they embodied. Adherence to an ideal did not descend downward from contemplative knowledge of the general but percolated upward from practical knowledge of the concrete. It was the encounter with ideas residing in these humble instrumentalities that gave producers a practical knowledge of the ideal form by which labor was transferred as a commodity.[190] The micro-practices contained within themselves the principle that structured the social whole; execution of specific practices could reproduce the structure of the whole from the ground up.
The question that remains unanswered is not how a patterned cultural system was maintained, but, simply, why and how do practices cohere to
[189] Habermas makes distinctions among several modes of action, including instrumental action, defined by its focus on the efficacious employment of technical skills to manipulate the environment, and communicative action, which is oriented to reaching reciprocal understanding with other social agents. This philosophical dissection of types of action reflects rather than penetrates the abstractions of capitalist society. For the divides it presents between modes of action, even if intended to be purely analytic, reinforce the separation between technical and communicative functions in the labor process, whereas the use of the impersonal micro-apparatuses of production performed a communicative function.
[190] On recent experimental evidence that suggests that abstract concepts can be communicated through forms of practice, see Jean Lave, Cognition in Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 183.
begin with? The matched comparison of economic environments for British and German factories shows that, in each country, alternative conventions would have met the requirements of the firm in the realm of capitalist competition equally well. If a method for, say, the imposition of fines is installed under one form of labor as a commodity, the choice of form for other techniques is not entailed by practical necessity. What generated the tendency toward consistency of form?
Even if one admits that agents' cultural schemata are arranged into a systematic whole, it by no means follows that the institutions of the factory must themselves incorporate this coherence. Instead, culture could be used by the agents to formulate only a subjective response to practices shaped by external necessities.[191] The built-in requirements of the mind for the production of meaning, which the cultural structuralists present as the ultimate cause of the coherence of culture, may well dictate a kind of formal patterning in language and in conceptual designs.[192] If this holds true for the constitution of language and signification, however, the question—altogether separate—remains of how and why industrial practice in the newly emergent capitalist factory methodically embodied such adroit schemata.[193]
Max Weber's sociological perspective offers an advantage in responding to the riddle of systematicity in factory practices because it views cultural patterning as a contingent accomplishment open to historical investigation. As is well known, Weber identifies intellectual specialists as the historical actors who are responsible for the creation of doctrines that make possible the systematic patterning of culture and of conduct.[194] Yet the details of the
[191] Stephen Gudeman seems to adopt this viewpoint in Economics as Culture: Models and Metaphors of Livelihood (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1986). He unearths the underlying structure of peasants' economic concepts in Panama, although their culture serves only as a means for interpreting changes in economic practices dictated from without (pp. 23–25).
[192] Marshall Sahlins, Culture and Practical Reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976), p. 55; Marshall Sahlins, Islands of History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), p. 146.
[193] Donald Donham outlines the problems occasioned by the application of models of language to models of practice in History, Power, Ideology: Central Issues in Marxism and Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 211. A valuable analysis of the alleged coherence of culture appears in Neil J. Smelser, "Culture: Coherent or Incoherent," in Richard Münch and Neil J. Smelser, editors, Theory of Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), pp. 10–13.
[194] From Weber's standpoint, the congeries of ideas in a society does not organize social reasoning and conduct by a consistent pattern until an ethical or managerial doctrine has been articulated by experts in symbol-making. Max Weber, The Sociology of Religion (Boston: Beacon Press, 1963), pp. 30, 82.
cases at hand disqualify the Weberian approach to the development of a meaningful configuration of micro-practices in the factory. The principle of labor as a commodity did not form part of a formal management doctrine imparted to factory employers. To be sure, general precepts about the mutual responsibilities of the employing and the working classes had wide currency throughout the nineteenth century.[195] But those sanctimonious philosophies about virtuous relations had nothing to say about the organization or execution of manufacturing techniques themselves. "So far as we know," Sidney Pollard concluded for the period of early industrialization in Britain, "the management pioneers were isolated and their ideas without great influence."[196] Since so many factories were family-operated, the technical mysteries of the trade could be passed between generations through firsthand experience in the enterprise. In point of fact, there was as such no formal management doctrine to disseminate during the early development of the factory system. Professional administration of employees did not form an object for sustained reflection and study in either Germany or Britain until approximately the 1880s.[197] Until then the managerial function on the shop floor was not differentiated from that of technical oversight. Accordingly, books on the management of textile mills most often referred to machinery, not people.[198] At least until midcentury, the very term manager in Britain lacked a clear referent. The usual title for a supervisor of employees was clerk , a locution directed toward the older activity of book-
[195] Reinhard Bendix, Work and Authority in Industry (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1956), Chapter Two; Judy Lown, Women and Industrialization (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990), p. 96.
[196] Pollard, The Genesis , op. cit., p. 254. Cf. Peter L. Payne, "Industrial Entrepreneurship and Management in Great Britain," The Cambridge Economic History of Europe , Volume VII, Part I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), p. 196.
[197] Joseph Litterer, The Emergence of Systematic Management as Shown by the Literature of Management from 1870–1900 (New York: Garland Publishing, 1986), pp. 65, 68; Introduction by Anthony Tillett to Anthony Tillett et al., editors, Management Thinkers (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1970), pp. 48–49. For general reflections on the slow emergence of management as a self-conscious undertaking, see Charles S. Maier, "The Factory as Society: Ideologies of Industrial Management in the Twentieth Century," in R. J. Bullen et al., editors, Ideas into Politics (London: Croom Helm, 1984), p. 148, and L. Urwick and E. F. L. Brech, The Making of Scientific Management (London: Isaac Pitman & Sons, 1957), Chapter Six. For Germany, see Jürgen Kocka, "Entrepreneurs and Managers in German Industrialization," in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe , Volume VII, Part I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), p. 549.
[198] When Babbage does refer to workers at the point of production, he limits his observations to the principles of muscular fatigue, as if people qua producers entered his discourse as machines. Charles Babbage, On the Economy of Machinery and Manufactures (London: Charles Knight, 1835), Chapter Four.
keeping.[199] The crystallization of factory practices based on specifications of labor that varied between Germany and Britain occurred decades before the emergence of management science in either country.
The functioning of the networks of communication in the textile districts also excludes the possibility that similarities in practices across regions arose from the diffusion of formal doctrine about the efficient deployment of labor among machines. Although factory procedures in Yorkshire and Lancashire were based on similar principles, in the formative years of the factory system factory owners in these provinces did not remain in contact with each other to transmit information about those practices.[200] The language of shop-floor life confirms the independence of development. In each of the neighborhoods of Lancashire and Yorkshire counties, managers used distinct vocabularies for parts of the loom and jobs in the mill.[201] Information about technical innovation—a subject of great concern to mill managers—was slow to diffuse. For example, managers in Elland, just outside Bradford, did not acquire for two decades the attachments for automatically changing the weft color on multi-shuttle looms that were standard in the city of Bradford by the 1870s.[202] How much less likely is it, therefore, that communication at length among factory managers about the interior social life of the mill led to the standardization of procedures within each country for managing the purchase of "labor" in the factory. The patterning of conduct according to the specification of labor as a commodity did not reflect a deliberate systematization of administrative rules.
If the patterning did not result from agents orienting themselves to environment with a certain schema and then creating a world in the image of this schema—the solution of idealists—neither was it the trace of the imperatives of the capitalist system imposing their image on people's consciousness. We cannot derive the cultural pattern from the functional requirements of the economy operating behind people's backs, for the
[199] Pollard, The Genesis , op. cit., pp. 59, 104, 125.
[200] Payne, op. cit., p. 196. For an illustration of the lack of communication between Lancashire and Yorkshire textile business people at the dawn of the factory era in Lancashire, see the testimony of James Ellis in United Kingdom, Minutes of the Committee on the Woollen Trade , PP 1806 (268) III, April 18, 1806, p. 8.
[201] Biernacki, op. cit., pp. 244–247.
[202] Yorkshire Factory Times , November 15, 1889, "Elland"; April 29, 1892, p. 7. The innovation, called a "revolving loom box," was perfected in 1856. Gary Firth, "The Bradford Trade in the Nineteenth Century," in D. G. Wright and J. A. Jowitt, editors, Victorian Bradford (Bradford: Bradford Metropolitan Council, 1982), p. 17.
differing specifications of labor were both equally well suited for the reproduction of capitalism. Moreover, they could have been used together indiscriminately in one setting. The conditions of the capitalist system may have sustained a cultural outlook, but they did not by themselves inaugurate it; conversely, a cultural template lodged in concrete practice may have served as a moment in the reproduction of the capitalist system, but it did not create a capitalist economy.
The execution of practice incorporates a cultural schema, as Bourdieu always reminds us.[203] Yet even in his studies of kin-based societies, Bourdieu did not consider seriously the next issue: whence, not just culture, but a cultural system?[204] If action requires conception, still there is no requirement emanating from the agents themselves that requires diverse practices to follow a single, generalizable idea. The record of anthropological research shows time and again that agents seem to have an inexhaustible capacity for synthesizing contradictory assumptions into a coherent, though perhaps imperfectly consistent, outlook.[205] The systematicity of practices on the shop floor did not reflect some cognitive necessity lodged in the agents themselves that required them to "think" the structure of society or of the factory with a single principle. Such an explanation would reduce culture to a constraint of the contemplative mind, as if agents engaged in practice so as to gaze upon it from without as upon a work of art—and a simple one at that.
In each country, the operative concept of labor had two guises. Within the rude walls of the factory, the producers transmitted "labor" as an imaginative construct of their lifeworld to their employers through their tangible actions and face-to-face social ties; yet, beyond the realm of lived experience, abstract human labor formed the common denominator by which diverse kinds of products with incomparable use values could be brought into relation with each other and exchanged in the market, awakening to life an impersonal world of commodities in motion. The category
[203] Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), p. 97.
[204] To be sure, Bourdieu explains that whatever cultural coherence is observed in the operation of a habitus "has no other basis" than the coherence of the social structure from which the habitus was derived. This of course leads to the Durkheimian circle: the systematicity of culture is a correlate of the systematicity of social structure, which relies upon . . . the operation of culture. Pierre Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990), p. 95.
[205] Introduction to The New Institutionalism , op. cit., p. 18; Terence Turner, " 'We Are Parrots,' 'Twins Are Birds': Play of Tropes as Operational Structure," in James Fernandez, editor, Beyond Metaphor (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991), p. 156.
of labor did not function as a pivotal concept because it expressed the detached logic of the capitalist system, or, from the other side, because it revealed the supremacy of culture in the producers' negotiation of a meaningful order; instead, it bridged these two realms of a market-integrated social structure and the experienced world. If people monitor and organize their conduct in accordance with the commodity form of labor, they reproduce the networks of exchange and of objectified social relations that constitute capitalist society. Georg Lukács, who insisted on linking the dynamic of the capitalist system to the forms of understanding that people used to constitute their practice and experience, gave this insight a classic formulation long ago. "Objectively, in so far as the commodity form facilitates the equal exchange of qualitatively different objects, it can exist only if that formal equality is in fact recognized—at any rate, in this relation, which indeed confers upon them their commodity character," Lukács wrote. "Subjectively, this formal equality of human labor in the abstract is not only the common factor to which the various commodities are reduced; it also becomes the real principle governing the actual production of commodities."[206]
In capitalist society alone could a concept of labor serve as the organizing principle for a multiplicity of humble practices. Where labor has not been subsumed under the commodity form, it may be recognized as the source of material sustenance but it does not take on the social function of structuring the relation of person to person through the exchange of abstract labor time. Definitions of labor may not surface at all in kinbased or precapitalist societies as a principle for structuring social relations; should they arise, they remain subordinate to other categories coordinating social reproduction.[207] Only in capitalist society is labor both a form of understanding and the integrative principle that regulates social relations in society as a whole; only there does it bridge lived experience and the invisible functioning of a system.
[206] History and Class Consciousness (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The M.I.T. Press, 1971), p. 87. Jürgen Habermas reformulates this discovery in his reading of Marx, although he frames it in terms of a hypostatized disjuncture between system and lifeworld: "The disposal of labor power by the producers represents a category in which the imperatives of social integration and those of system integration meet: as an action it belongs to the lifeworld of the producers, as accomplished work to the functional nexus of the capitalist enterprise and of the economic system as a whole." Jürgen Habermas, Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1981), Volume Two, p. 493.
[207] Gudeman, op. cit., pp. 20–21, 24; John L. Comaroff and Jean Comaroff, "The Madman and the Migrant: Work and Labor in the Historical Consciousness of a South African People," American Ethnologist Volume 14 (1987), pp. 191–209.
If these considerations render intelligible the patterning of practice by a specification of labor as a commodity, yet they do not explain why the concepts of labor differed between Germany and Britain. To answer this question requires us to uncover the historical genesis of the divergent concepts and the conditions governing their transmission in quotidian practice. That is the task in Part Two of this work.