The fog shrouded everything. I could scarcely see my feet or the wet cobbled stones that they trod upon as I stood beside the man looking up at the contraption. He was an elderly gent, he wore a flatcap and a warm coat, scarf wrapped about his neck.
'What am I supposed to do nah?' he asked me, not taking his eyes from the contraption that had not been there the previous morning. It had been placed upon the side of the road. A tall, gaunt monolithic thing that hailed the changing of times.
'You could learn other skills?' I volunteers sheepishly, not entirely sure what to say.
'Me?' He asked, offering me an incredulous look that was near-invisible in the thick fog. 'I'm an old man! What could I possible learn nah that could be of any use to anyone?' came the retort.
I thrust my hands further into the pockets of my thick coat and had no real reply. The fellow looked back up at the contraption. 'There's no way to stop it, is there?' he said to me after a few moments silence. I shook my head. 'I don't think you can stop progress,' I replied.
'Is that what they call this, eh? Progress? I call it a fuckin travesty is what!'
I pursed my lips, searching for a response by finding none of any value. 'Yeah, it is,' I finally said. 'And it will only happen again. Over and Over throughout history.'
'History, eh? Your words are strange to me,' rejoined the man.
A weak smile spread across my countenance. 'Yeah, I get that a lot,' I said.
The man said nothing and scratched at his head beneath his cap. 'So what now?' he asked. 'I 'ave. to go 'ome and tell this to me wife and kids,' he said. 'Aar am I 'sposed to fee me kids, eh?' he enquired of me.
I was becoming increasingly frustrated that I was unable to furnish the man with answers. With all of the knowledge within me of what was to come I was completely unable to help the man.
The man sighed heavily and lowered his candle on his stick and blew out the flame. 'No point in me bein' 'ere,' he said. 'I'll go 'ome and rot, I think.' And with that he began to walk slowly away into the thick fog. I lingered for a moment and looked up at the contraption and frowned at how something so simple as an electric street lamp could ruin so many lives. There were millions of lamplighters around the country and with street lamps being rapidly replaced with electric ones, the poor coves had no trade to get up to and no recourse for any other trade. Most lamplighters were elderly and unable to toil in factories or join the army. So whilst the world stared in wonder and awe at the onset of Industrial Revolution and with amazement at innovation and breakthroughs being made seemingly day by day, these humble tradesmen sat at home, mourning the loss of their income and debating whether to send their children to the factories for fear of starving.
I breathed in deeply and girded myself. 'Something more cheeful,' I said to myself and to the aether. 'Ian Dury and the Blockheads, 1979 Top Level, Sheffield…' And with that I too vanished into that thick mist whistling 'Hit me with your rythm stick'.