When I got home, I bought some food, paid my bills, and all the usual things. I only had eight bob left out of twenty-two and six.
September 25th 1910
This has been one of the worst days of my life. Things have been getting worse. Everyone at work thinks so. We work long hours, and get so little for it. None of us can manage on such low wages. Birlings make a good profit, they can afford to pay us more. We all got together and agreed to ask for a pay rise - nothing less than twenty five shillings a week. So we did. I ended up doing most of the talking. Mr. Birling wasn’t having it, and told us to go and work somewhere else if we didn’t like it.
That man must have never opened his eyes when he walks on the streets, how can he not understand why we need the money, he can’t honestly say he can’t afford it and we don’t deserve it. So we carried on for a while, but people were angry. We decided that the only thing for it was to go on strike. What else could we do? By the end of the day, everyone agreed. All for one and one for all! We were all in the same boat but as the days went by with no wages coming in at all it just got harder, especially for the girls with kiddies at home. After two weeks Birling locked us out and said he’d replace us with new workers, or we could go back straightaway on the old wages. Well, you could understand why some of the girls wanted to go back. Their children needed food. It was humiliating. I went up to the door but Birling stood there and said “Not you, Miss Smith, you must have heard me say that I would not permit the ringleaders back on the premises.” I saw red, and told him exactly what I thought of him and his premises. Men like him treat people like slaves, what choice does a woman with a sick baby have but to meekly obey a tyrant like him? He threatened to have me arrested, if I didn’t leave his property “forthwith” I left.
When I got home I gathered my things, settled up, and moved out. For the time being I am living in digs until I can find another job, which won’t be easy now I’ve been sacked. I’ve lost a lot of friends through this business, too. I haven’t got much money left from my job at Birlings, but hopefully it will just about see me through till I can find work again. I’m so tired now. What was it all for?
December 7th 1910
Good news at last! I’ve managed to get a position at Milwards, the most exclusive shop in town. Now I’m a Milwards Assistant.
This has come just in time. I am nearly out of money, but today could be the start of a new life for me. I been working now for two days, and I am getting on well. The people seem very nice. The pay is better than the workshop; at least operators and filthy machinery do not surround me. It’s so much nicer to be working in an elegant shop with all those beautiful clothes I can only dream of wearing. The customers are so grand, some of them, the aristocracy. Others are just mutton dressed up as lamb – (like the Birlings!)
February 20th 1911
I’ve lost my job at Milwards.
A spoilt, ugly girl, related to the Birlings! She was trying on some clothes that only made her look even less attractive than she already was, my friend, who was helping her choose something suitable knew this, even her own mother knew it. But the young miss was just being stubborn and really sulky about it. When she tried on this dress that made her look absolutely ridiculous, my friend turned around and silently snorted her nose as if she was being a pig. The Birling girl must have seen me smile behind her from the mirror or something. She was so furious. Then I got fired.
I haven’t a hope of getting a new job now, I’ve been fired too many times. They were both caused by the Birlings. They’re like a plague to me.
Perhaps I should just try something else. I could marry. I need a completely new start. A new name would help, I suppose I could just change my name, rather than wait for the right man to come along and do it for me. I should move away too.
September 13th 1911
So much has happened in the last six months since I wrote in this diary. I did change my name. I changed it completely and now I’m known as Daisy Renton. A few months ago I met a man at the Palace Music Hall, G . He was a gentleman, so kind and I liked him. G treated me so well. He always made sure I had enough money, and he found me rooms, which were our little home. Some thing went wrong. I gave him what he wanted, I kept smiling, but he didn’t want to marry me. He just told me he had to leave, that he had “business to take care of”. Why did he have to leave me? I was so happy, until he left. Then I realised that he had never really planned to marry me. I feel so stupid. How could I ever have thought he would marry me? I was just his kept woman. Now I am ruined. Who would want me now? No respectable man wants soiled goods. I ‘m shaking as I’m writing this. I’m so angry. I loved Gerald so much. He did his best for me I suppose. He gave me money to see me through to the end of the year.
I couldn’t bear to keep the rooms, and moved out after G left me. I’m living at the seaside now, it’s peaceful and quiet. I still think about Gerald the whole time and what we had, just to make it last longer. I don’t intend to stay here much longer.
April 20th 1912
I didn’t think life would ever be as bad as it is now. I wish I had never heard the name “Birling”. Their son, Eric, has been my downfall. I should never have gone back to the Palace Music Hall. I didn’t find Gerald again, I found Eric Birling.
He was drunk, and, yes, I was stupid and let him walk me home to my digs. I had to let him in, he was getting noisy, I didn’t want to give myself to him, but I was weak. I let him have his way. We met again at the Palace, and it happened again. I just had no strength left to resist. The third time we met I had bad news for him, I was pregnant with his child. And he’s little more than a child himself. Marriage is completely out of the question, ofcourse. He ‘s too young, he doesn’t love me, nor I him.
He stole money, and tried to buy me off with it. I have told him I never want to see him again.
How am I going to look after this baby and myself?
May 29th 1912
I went to a charity for fallen women. What else could I do? I called myself Mrs Birling – the child is a Birling after all. I wrote on my application that my husband had deserted me. I had to wait while the committee considered the application, then suddenly Mrs Birling – Eric’s mother - burst in, shouting, demanding to know what I was playing at, using their name. She recognised me from Milwards. She kept accusing me of lying, which I was, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. She would never have believed the truth.
She just told me to find the father, and make him help me. “It’s his responsibility”. She just kept saying this. I couldn’t do that, she kept asking why, I couldn’t answer truthfully. The committee wouldn’t help me - I was shown the door.
It’s finished. I think it might be best for me and my child to just let myself be drawn up into Heaven. All is lost.