The fact that he was lost in deep thought was quite evident from John’s lumber across the street. Industrial revolution was an epoch in human history where every soul couldn’t help but reek in grease and coal. The extent of filth was such, which if explained, will leave today’s generation entangled between belief and incredulity. John was the son of this filth. He was born, raised and was destined to die here.And today, there was something that was floundering this factory baked man’s mind.
John in the factory, today, had overheard his co-workers talk about the plague that was spreading like wild fire in the countryside. They said that it was soon going to make its way into the industrial towns like London too. John wasn’t really sure how true these prognostications were. He was not even sure of the authenticity of the information, as what the workers in the factory say, are facts that they themselves have gleaned from various sources.
John’s fear was evident, because if the plague somehow managed to reach the streets of London, then catastrophe would be inexorable, as the medical resources in the city were extremely maladroit. His helplessness made John peevish.
Although brimmed up with emotion, John was trying to find a pragmatic approach to tackle this problem. But the greatest challenge was the mode of spread. No one knew how this disease spread from one person to another, and without knowing this, all the steps would become inane. Lost in these series of thoughts, John reached the entrance of his apartment.
London in the 1800s was a city where profligacy was a myth. And this fact was quite evident from the appearance of John's apartment. The conditions were such, which if experienced by a modern day youth, would fill them with a sense of repugnance. But, this was what John and the people like him, called home. It was a small one room apartment, too insignificant to sport a lock on the door. The room was dimly lit by a kerosene lamp, which also contributed to the acrid stench that filled its air. John had a light supper, said good night to his son George and went straight to bed. Usually, the labour of the factory made him doze off as soon as he touched the mattress, but today his tired mind was occupied with something far more important than sleep. He was worried about the day when this inscrutable disease will knock on the doors of London, and the people of this city could do nothing but foist this call of doom with commiseration...
And that dreadful day finally arrived. The London Times reported the first death due to what was now being referred to as "Black Death". And within a week, all the hospitals of London were full of either patients or corpses of those succumbing to this dastardly disease. Whereas within a month anyone loitering around in the streets of London could espy bodies degrading at the corner. Wearing masks and carrying fragrant flowers(roses, poises,etc) in the pockets had become a necessity for everyone. The graveyards had run out of burial space and people were forced to burn the corpses, which led to ashes floating in the air.
Seeing this battered state of the London dwellers, George, John's son, wrote a song:
"Ring-a Ring-a roses
pocket full of poises
Ashes ashes
we all fall down"
Now this was something you guys didn't really expect. But, its true, the nursery rhyme that you sang out with immense fidelity, is nothing but a plague song ;-)
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