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Katie Viljoen
"Work Like Hell and be Merry"
I was born in 1912 on a farm near Bloemfontein, in the Orange Free State. My parents were at first well-to-do farmers in the Boshoff district and owned a large farm named "Banks-fontein". We were a large family-seven boys and three girls.
I went to an Afrikaans school in Boshoff and passed Standard VI. There I learnt very little English, as we only had a half-hour lesson in English once a week, which consisted almost entirely of reading. I was quite good at school and would have liked a higher education, but the decline in my father's fortunes made that impossible.
I left school at the age of fifteen and, to help my parents, took employment in Kimberley as a dressmaker at £2 a month. I stayed with relatives who did not charge me for board and lodging, and regularly sent my parents £1 to 30s. a month. I worked in Kimberley for about three years, until 1932, without any increase in wages.
In 1932-a year of depression-I came to Johannesburg and obtained a job with a private dressmaker in Bezuidenhout Valley at 30s. a week. Unfortunately she closed the workshop after two weeks. I boarded with a Jewish family, Suzman by name, who were extremely good to me and whom I paid £1 a week for board and lodging.
I knew a girl, Lena van Rensburg, also from Boshoff, who -had already worked in the clothing industry for some time, and she found me a job in a dressmaking factory at o£ 1 a week. The firm's motto, inscribed in white letters on black cloth, affixed to the entrance, was "Work Life Hell and Still be Merry". They employed about forty women and we did, in fact, work like hell, but were not particularly merry. The firm specialised in making very good frocks and wedding gowns. I was so desperate to find a job that I told the employer I could work an electric machine although I had never used one before, nor had I handled high-class garments. It did not take me long to discover my mistake. The first garment I was given to machine was a white satin wedding gown. I put the material in the machine, pressed the treadle right down and the machine started off at a speed which made my head turn and scared me stiff. I forgot to take my foot off the treadle and the machine kept on racing madly. Very soon I heard a shout from the manager, who had his cutting table in the centre of the room and who bawled: "Viljoen, you --, look what you have done to my frock".
Trembling with fear, I went up to him and he told me my fortune in more unprintable language. I naturally kept quiet, but the tears streamed down my face. He gave me a day frock to machine, and a friendly fellow-worker, who sat next to me, asked me very kindly where I came from and whether I had ever before worked an electric machine. I admitted my ignorance and confessed that I did not know much about the better type of dressmaking, but was terribly anxious to work, as I had to help my parents. Perhaps she too had poor parents to support, for she was most helpful and, when the manager had turned his back, came up to my machine and showed me how to work the monster.
It was my first day's work in Johannesburg and, like thousands of other women workers; I found the city of gold unfriendly and frightening. As I could not afford tram fares on £1 a week, I walked home from work with my friend, Lena, who, though she lived in an entirely different suburb, acted as my guide. To make sure that I would not lose my way, I took a piece of white chalk with me and made various marks on the route from the factory to my lodgings. Next morning, I left the house at 5.30 a.m. as I had to walk a distance of about four miles and work started early.
For a month I walked to and from work every day, but then these long journeys became unbearable. The work was really slave-driving. We started at seven a.m. and finished at six p.m. I could not send anything home to my parents, as my total earnings just covered my board and lodging.
At the end of the first month, I went to see my friend, Lena, again and she found me a job at Awlwear Overall factory. I started shirt machinist at £l 10s. a week. Most beginners started at a week, but when Lena told the manager my sad story, he agreed to raise the wage. I was very anxious to send some money to my parents, and I needed new shoes and clothes as the old ones were wearing out. I did not know the town, but I went from building to building enquiring about cheap accommodation and at last, after a great deal of walking, found a room to share with another young girl, a sweet worker, for which we had to pay 6d. a week.
My budget was made up as follows:
Rent: 17s. 6d. per week.
Saving up for new clothes: 7s. 6d. per week.
10s. a month I sent to my parents.
The balance of 2s. 6d. a week had to be sufficient for food. Once a week I used to buy a loaf of bread for 6d., and a pound of butter at 1s. 8d. I lived on bread and butter the whole and still had 2d. left over at the end. Deeply religious, I used to pray every night for enough strength to carry on with my work. I was a very healthy girl, strongly built, weighing a hundred and fifty pounds. I kept my health, but in a short space of time eight dropped to a hundred and seventeen pounds. My parents never knew the hardships I had to endure.
I knew nothing about trade unionism at that time, but after I had worked for a short while, Johanna Cornelius came and led to the workers to join the union. When she mentioned that the contribution was 6d. a week, I decided not to join. I did not know what the word "union" meant, but I knew that if I paid 6d. to the union there would not be enough for a loaf of bread.
A month later, Mr. Sachs, the general secretary, came to the factory and spoke to the workers about joining the union. I remember him telling us that, although the employers paid us our wages, it was the union that fixed the amount. About a hundred and fifty workers were employed in the factory, of whom than half were already members of the union, and after this visit more joined. When Mr. Sachs left, a girl, Maria Primavesi, who was sitting next to me at the machine, said that I was a coward for not joining the union. I was too proud to admit that I could not to contribute 6d. a week, so I merely replied that one day she would find out the reason.
After working for three months, I received an increase of 5s. a week. I immediately went to Maria, told her why I had not joined before and became a member of the union. From that day onward, I took an active interest in the welfare of the workers of the factory where I was employed. I brought all the workers' complaints before the manager, who rather liked my courage and straightforwardness. This made me popular with the other workers, who regularly came to me with their complaints. I managed to settle many minor disputes over wages with the management and put a stop to petty underpayments altogether. I also succeeded in getting the cloakroom regularly cleaned and washed and in having tea served for all the workers.
My wages increased every three months, in accordance with the agreement which the union had made with the employers' association and, in time, life became more tolerable. When my weekly wages reached £2 10s. I could afford to rent a room for myself and to send money regularly to my parents.
In 1938 I was elected a member of the central executive committee of the union. I found the work on the committee very interesting and took an active part in union work. In the same year, the "Reformers", led by a certain D. B. H. Grobbelaar, started their attacks on the union and on Mr. Sachs. I understood at once that these people were not interested in the welfare of the workers, but were out to destroy the union, and I despised them intensely. All the workers in my factory felt the same.
In March 1938, the union had arranged a challenge meeting with Grobbelaar at the City Hall, Johannesburg, and all the workers were greatly excited. A few days before the meeting was held, I spoke to the workers and told them that we were going to march as a body to the meeting hall. We received information that a gang of Reformers was going to attack us when we left the factory. The Manager received several anonymous telephone calls, saying the mob would be waiting for Katie Viljoen, but on the afterÂnoon of the meeting, the workers marched out of the factory and nothing happened. Ours was the only factory where the workers-three abreast-marched to the City Hall, singing homeÂmade songs and shouting, "Down with Grobbelaar and up with Sachs". When we arrived at the City Hall, we gave three cheers for Solly Sachs. The hall was crowded and an overwhelming majority of the workers showed, in no uncertain manner, their bitter hostility towards Grobbelaar and the Reformer disrupters.
Some months later, the union sent me to Port Elizabeth to organise the garment workers there. I had no previous organising experience, and fully realised that I had a tremendous job of work ahead of me, but I was determined to do my best. There were about eight hundred garment workers in Port Elizabeth and not many were members of the union. Wages and conditions were bad-much lower than in the Transvaal-and most employers were not well disposed towards the union.
Apart from having to battle against the employers for higher wages and better conditions, there was the tragic position, common in South Africa that the workers were divided amongst themselves. Many of them had come under the influence of the Reformer disrupters.
In 1942 the union decided, after months of negotiations, to call a strike in Port Elizabeth. The union was asking for increased wages, paid holidays and the introduction of the closed shop. The employers agreed to the first two demands but obstinately refused to accept the principle of the closed shop.
When the strike began, Mr. Sachs, Hester Cornelius, Dulcie Hartwell and Anna Scheepers came from head office to help. Phillip, my husband, took leave from his work at the Ford Motor Company to give assistance. We divided our forces. Hester and I and a group of pickets went at about six a.m. to Mosenthal's factory, and Anna and Dulcie went to Teikamdas.
When we arrived at Mosenthal's we found a large number of policemen and a "pick-up" van. Groups of pickets were placed outside the four or five entrances and, at 7.45 a.m., when the factory was opened, not a single worker tried to go to his work. At 8 o'clock, however, a group of scabs that had gathered in a worker's house near the factory attempted to force their way through. They were organised and led by the Reformers. A fight ensued, and the police, as usual, protected the scabs, most of who were by no means against the strikers, but had been misled. At about nine o'clock, the sergeant in charge of the police came up and very politely asked whether he and his men could have some of the refreshments which we were serving to the pickets. Many of the police had members of their families working in clothing factories and they themselves have always been badly underpaid. A jug of coffee and plates of sandwiches were soon brought out and the entire police force got into the pick-up van, closed the door and enjoyed the refreshments. They were certainly in no hurry to come out to attend to their duties. Indeed, the sympathy of the police and of the public of Port Elizabeth as a whole was entirely on the side of the workers. Later in the day and during the following days, whenever the strikers assembled in a hall in the centre of the city for refreshments and dancing, quite a few policemen in uniform used to come inside to enjoy a snack and a dance.
At the Teikamdas factory, things did not go so well. The majority of the workers were non-European and they were terrified of losing their jobs. A large number of scabs brushed the pickets aside and poor Dulcie, who had come to Port Elizabeth to help in the strike, was knocked over the head by several scabs and found herself covered with blood. She was rushed to a doctor, had her head bandaged and went back to the factory on picket duty; during the lunch hour, when we called a mass meeting in the centre of Port Elizabeth, Dulcie, with a huge bandage over her head, addressed the audience, bearing no malice towards the misguided workers and no hatred towards anyone. Her bandaged head attracted as much attention as her ringing voice.
On the third day of the strike, the employers agreed to refer the closed shop to arbitration. Mr. T. Freestone, an officer of the Department of Labour, was by mutual consent appointed arbitrator. A satisfactory agreement was reached and, as soon as the closed shop was introduced, there was complete harmony amongst the workers and between the union and the employers.
My whole family has always been staunchly Nationalist, except for my sister, Jacoba, and my brother, Johannes, who are United Party supporters with very strong Labour sympathies. Whenever I discuss politics and trade unionism with my brothers, Koos and Albert, who are both fanatical Nationalists, I can see clearly the tragedy of the workers of South Africa. Like tens of thousands of others, they have had their minds poisoned by the propaganda of the Nationalist Party. Both Koos and Albert are decent men of good character, well-behaved, well spoken, and both of them fully supported our old parents. Both are men of courage and determination and have a tremendous amount of energy and capacity for hard work. As with many other Afrikaners of their generation, the terrible wrongs of the Boer War still rankle in their hearts. They have many English and Jewish friends, but in their hearts they are fanatical followers of Dr. Malan. They read only the Nationalist papers; they hate the non-Europeans and firmly believe .in apartheid. To them Communism means "your sister marrying a 'kaffir'". They hate the "Jew-Communist", Solly Sachs, and also dislike the other officials of the union, whom they regard as communists. I often argue with them and tell them: "But look, it is Solly Sachs who has done so much for the garment workers, the majority of whom are Afrikaners. He fought for improvements in
their wages and working conditions organised them and helped them to gain a better living standard". The reply is that they do not believe it and that the Government has improved the workers' conditions. I tell them that no government has ever helped workers, and that Sachs and the other leaders of the often had to fight the government. They remain unconvinced and say: "We believe what we want to believe and what we do not want to believe we will not believe".