Meeting Paul

Redcliffe Street Building

Going back to my work at the factory, some days were spent pleasantly with the girls I liked, but some were not so good. The newspapers were always full of stories about the Mormons and they made unfavorable impressions upon the minds of the people. Often when I went to work these stories of the Mormons taking girls to Salt Lake City for immoral purposes were stuck all over the machine where I worked. I had quite a time defending the Church and myself but I know that the Lord was with me and I was able to answer the questions and accusations that were put to me. These experiences helped me to gain spiritual strength for other battles ahead.

One day the news came that the Redcliffe St branch of the factory was to be closed down. It had been condemned because being built on the banks of the river, the rats seemed to have become too numerous. So we were being transferred to either Bedminster or Long Ashton. I had to say goodbye to my first and very dear friends. I remember Beatrice Bush, Myra Potter, Gladys Welsh, Amanda (Minnie) Saunders and many others I had grown quite fond of. They were very special people. Without them it would have been harder to endure the persecution from the rest.

Bedminster Factory

I was transferred to the Bedminster factory. It was about one mile and a half further on. It was the center or main branch. There were about 3,000 people working there. The room to which I was assigned had about 500-600 workers. It was called the stripping room. Here, the tobacco leaves were piled on tables in front of us and we had to strip the stems from the tobacco leaves. The leaves were anywhere from 8 to 12 inches long. The stems went into one basket at our sides and leaves into another. Our baskets held about a hundred pounds and when full were weighed and credited to our names. The more work we did the more we were paid. The leaves were crushed and made into cigarettes and the stems into snuff.

Inside Bedminster

I was put to work on a table with about 20 middle-aged women. They were rough and filthy talkers and it didn't take them long to find out I was a Mormon. I was very unhappy there. These women did everything they could to cause me trouble. They hid my tools, they took the best leaves and left me the dry, skinny ones that weighed the least. They swore continually, taking the Lord's name in vain and told filthy stories. I used to cry myself to sleep at night. I prayed to the Lord for help and for strength to endure these things.

In the factory every person was given a number. This was stamped on their time cards, their seats and tools, so with about 3,000 people to keep track of, they very seldom changed us around as it caused too much work at the main offices. I therefore didn't think there was any way out of this miserable situation, but I had forgotten than nothing is impossible with the Lord. After about three weeks I arrived at work one morning and was about to take my place at the table when the foreman sent word for me to come to his office. This man's name was Joe Coggins. He had been at the Redcliffe factory and knew me quite well. He said, "Hester, I have been watching you for some time. I know you are not happy working with those older women so I'm going to move you to the other end of the room." I was amazed and I almost burst into tears. I was instructed to get my tools and follow him. When those women I had been working with saw that I was being moved, they shouted abusive words at me. I was taken to the other end of the room where people of my own age were working. There were four or five empty seats on one table and I was told to choose where I would like to sit and the number on that seat would be mine as long as I remained in that room. Looking down that long table, I noticed a girl with reddish colored hair seated on the last seat near the window. There was an empty seat next to her and I had a strong impression to choose that one. All the girls on that end of the table smiled at me and made me welcome. We worked in silence for about an hour, then the girl working opposite me looked up and said, "Please don't think me rude, but what is a Mormon? I heard you were one and I'm curious". I told her about the church and why we were called Mormons. We talked off and on most of the day whenever working conditions would permit. The girls were very interested and asked many intelligent questions. The girl next to me hadn't spoken very much but towards evening and near quitting time she whispered to me, "Do you know that you have been sent here in answer to my prayers?"

Lucy Battle, "Paul"

In the days that followed I learned that she was a very unhappy girl. Her home life was almost unbearable and her boy friend to whom she was engaged had jilted her for someone else. The night before, she said she had prayed the Lord would show her why she was here upon the earth and why she had to endure these things. In the days that followed I explained about pre­existence and why we were here and many gospel themes. This girl's name was Lucy Battle, but for some reason she was always called "Paul". The other three girls close by were Laura Clarke, Kitty Smith and Milly Avery. We became very good friends, often going on picnics together or to the theater or picture show. Paul eventually joined the church but I will tell about that later on. We had Saturdays and Sundays off and I helped Mother with the housework on Saturdays. The boys used to call me Lady Diana because I was so fussy about them messing up my clean house.

On Mother and Father

Our Bristol Branch dwindled down to just a faithful few. We gave up the hall and met in homes. Dad used to visit the Saints in Stroud, Cheltenham Bath and Swindon. It was very hard for him with his failing sight and Mother became very unpleasant and uncooperative.

Father was very strict, but very just and kind. He loved the Lord with all his heart and loved the Gospel. Mother did most of the disciplining when we were growing up. Mother was an orphan at the age of 12 and had to earn her own living and help with the brothers and sisters. In the depression days she went to work as a midwife which wasn't very profitable as everyone was poor. She was a good housekeeper. Our house was always clean and well kept and Mother was also a good cook in spite of the fact that some days she had very little to cook with. But Mother was also a very proud woman and after we joined the Church, the persecution was hard for her to take. She lacked the faith and the knowledge to endure it and for a few years became embittered. The devil used her then to test the rest of us and those were hard, frustrating years.

As a Missionary

The next four years are hard to describe--the excitement, the sorrow, suffering and hunger. Food was hard to get. We didn't see a potato for several years and once mother and I took turns standing in line for eight hours for one pound of margarine. I often wondered how the old people fared who couldn't stand as long. My brother who had enlisted in the Grenadier Guards before the war was sent with his regiment to Belgium. The Germans were already invading that country. Our town was full of soldiers from almost every country. Some were billeted in private homes. The girls at work used to go out at night looking for dates. They often asked me to go with them. I did go one night but I didn't enjoy it. I felt so cheap I didn't go again.

At church we had many problems. There were so few of us and some of those few became inactive. All the missionaries had been withdrawn of course. Father was President of the Bristol Branch and supervised the outlying branches. I was almost sixteen when the war started. I was made superintendant of the Sunday School and Sunday School teacher of the adult class. My brother, Walter, and my father were the only members left holding the Priesthood. My brother was a Priest and Father was an Elder. We were also set apart by President Richards, before he left, as proselyting missionaries. Sometimes I went tracting with some of the other sisters and sometimes with my father. I was a very timid, shy person and I never did enjoy tracting and it took all the courage I possessed to go up to a door and knock.

One Sunday afternoon Dad invited me to go with him to do some tracting. When we arrived at the assigned area, Dad took one side of the street and I took the other. The first door I knocked on was opened by a big burly man with a loud, booming voice. A large Great Dane dog was standing by his side (I was afraid of dogs too). He said, "Well, what do you want?" I told him who I was and offered him some pamphlets. Then in his booming voice he told me that if I wasn't out of the gate in five seconds he would set the dog on me. I was scared stiff but I thanked him and turned slowly and walked through the gate and closed it. I walked slowly down the street with all the dignity I could muster. My heart was beating like a sledge hammer and there were tears in my eyes. I kept walking until I reached the last house on the street then I summoned up enough courage to knock on that door. The woman who answered my knock had been crying. I talked with her for awhile and found out that a few days previously she had received word that her son had been killed in action. She had gone to her minister for consolation and help but he had told her that because her son had not been a member of any church his soul had gone to Hell. I talked with her and explained some of the principles of the gospel as taught by our church. I believe I was able to comfort her. A few weeks later I called back to see her but she had moved.

I had lots of experiences as a missionary--some good and some very unpleasant--but this I know, that the Lord truly does hear and answer our prayers. My testimony grew and also my self confidence and my knowledge of the Gospel.