The company provides. Humble housing, at least. Some of the workers at Blaenavon got to live right on the property. Good for the commute, bad for separating work and home life. Was there a home life?
Fancy. Well, kind of, at least for a manager or skilled worker. A roof over your head, a fireplace, a home.
You get a dining table and decent food, including a giant cut of meat. Yum.
Later on, as the fortunes of the ironworks slid, so did the housing. Still the same space, now worn, sparse.
A bare minimum bedroom, just a place to sleep and makeshift nursery. Wallpaper, yesterday's papers. A doll, pure rag.
The company store, there to help with supplies, there to take back most of your paycheck.
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