Dear Diary,I'm in Blackpool with a friend and having a great time. We're staying in a nice little holiday cabin, perfect for a weekend away. My mind is no longer on my passage of life or that grotty factory that I call work.
I must be dreaming, as we wake in the morning the sun beams through the windows, and as we leave for the beach a strong fierce coastal breeze zips past my face. I and Susie, my friend, went out last night.We wandered along the pier taking in the great view as the sun set upon us, soon the heavens opened, but it was of no care to us, and it was great not having to trouble myself for once or worry that my hair was getting wet or that I was freezing cold because my mind was on having fun. we were so tired and looking horrendous were are mascara had run from the rain we decided to go home, have a chat and fall asleep, and within our arms a hot cup of coco.I'm wide awake this morning after a good nights sleep and we are now heading for the beach to stumble upon maybe a gorgeous man or two.
I am having the time of my life!1st September, 1910Dear diaryI barley remember my holiday in Blackpool, that's right the time that I was enjoying life. Well I mentioned the grotty factory but maybe not quite enough, the same routine everyday, the noise of the machines which makes me livid and off course the greasy man who owns this horrific place, Mr Birling. I constantly work hard from 7:00 in the morning till 7:00 at night; two 10 minute breaks prevent us from nothing as they are a poxy ten minutes out of 12 hours of hard grafting sweat. I and the girls have decided to ask for more pay, the risk of losing our jobs in hanging in the balance but its all worth it.Late September, 1910Dear diary,It's not even like we were asking for a lot, a few shillings more per month, that's nothing to a man of Mr birling's wealth. We asked Mr birling for more money straight out, but he wasn't having any of it, but neither were we.
The next day we went on strike as the gang grew and grew we thought we were getting somewhere, we were even frustrating Mr Birling. Later on in the day the factory was dead no workers, no deafening machines everyone was " We want more pay say we want more pay" as it seemed Mr birling gave in and called the main protesters into his office including me. Everyone was sure that we had succeeded but it wasn't to be, we were sacked, discharged, kicked out whatever you want. And now no money, no income, no family, nothing.Dear diary,I was down and out, but I have escalated and life's never been better.
I had a job in a factory, now a job in Mllwards an upper-class clothes store. I was earning 20 shillings a month now nearly double that. Work is now a part of my life meeting people surrounded by lovely dress's and blouses what more could I ask for.I saw a dress yesterday on floor 2 it was something that I had never seen before, I didn't think that I could bring myself round to picking it up it was so much money. But I did It felt right. Miss Griffith another shop assistant said it brought out my eyes and made my hair glow, and you know what it did, I actually felt like a belonged just because of this dress.
January, 1911Dear diaryI now know that I didn't fit in and I never will. That job was everything to me. I can't believe I've been sacked.This upper-class tart totters in like she's the queen, she walked over to the highly priced dresses shrugged some aside and filed some over her arm to say ill have that, err that and yeh ill have that, like she had money to burn. And then the chick to pick up the dress that I could only have dreams about, well I walked over to assist her in opinion, she tried on the dress and asked me what I thought, of course it looked a lot better on me but saying this would be unfair, anyway the delay in my response ended up a smirk with my eyes tightly closed.
And then she went mad shouting things that I would never of thought of saying, the manager came running like he was her slave, shouting and accusing me of all sorts he stupidly enough believed her and I was sacked. The only glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, the only burning flames gone.Dear diaryI had good times here in Blackpool but this time im here souley for survival a one bedroom flat and nothing to look forward to, apart from Gerald oh Gerald if only everyone was like Gerald. He was my hero a few months back when I was employed at the palace music hall I was being hassled by a man who tried to kiss me; he stunk and looked like something I'd never seen before. Gerald took me for a drink and we talked and talked and talked. We got on so well and he didn't even know my name, my true name that is, I said my name was daisy Renton the new me.
Gerald gave me some money to get by on. I was obliged to take it.Soon after me Gerald became more than good friends, you could say we were sleeping partners, that's why it didn't bother me when I found out that he had a girlfriend. We became very close and I worked for him for a while, until it got to normal and intermate and we split up. But I still wanted to make love to him and I do miss him I really do.
I now realise that I need someone to be with me to keep me going.Spring, 1911Dear diaryI am in disarray, I feel no need to live anymore one minute everything is going great and the next, it all seems to cave in on me and im back at square one depression. I met someone called Eric he seemed dodgy when I met him.I was at the music hall, again, when Eric came up to me and asked if I would like a drink I wasn't bothered but I had said yes. After a night of drinking he insisted on walking me home, I thought he was just being a gentleman, but by now the amount that he had drunk he didn't know where he was.He walked me to my door and somehow, I don't now, horribly drunkenly forced is way in, and that's when it happened.
He raped me. I couldn't move it was like a nightmare I was trying to shout for help but the words were just not coming out. I felt so alone once he left, sorry to say that I felt better when he was doing it, I was so alone, I just , oh no.Dear diary,I'm pregnant and im not proud, its dad a rapist what's there to be proud of. Of course it was his.
The only way to sought this was to go back to where I thought he would be the palace hall ,and he was he didn't have a clue who I was, but then for one moment he realised who I was and what he had done that night.He offered me another drink it was like that same night how could he what was he thinking.September 1910Dear diaryI met Eric again later on that week; I think he was in major shock after I told him he was the father. He gave me money but I didn't want it, but still I couldn't refuse I had no money for myself let alone for when there is two of us , and he was offering.The money did me good and I was grateful but as expected money doesn't last that long.After thinking that I would be okay, I was struggling in such ways that I couldn't afford to rent anyway, eat anything, and wake up in the morning with clean clothes.
I realised that there must be somewhere that would take me in or listen to me and my problems.Dear diaryThe last chance that I had is gone, ruined, by some over eccentric cow who so horrible to me, and I haven't even met her before in my life. It was like oh I don't care, I really don't care.No point in living, no point in caring whether to live or to die. This child I have, I already love but it wouldn't be fair to him or me to see it suffer and struggle.When I raised a smile something would go wrong, and when something went wrong I didn't feel anything not useless, helpless, not unhappy, a big fat nothing.