A BUST HIVE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 988, 7 March 1910, Page 3

A BUST HIVE.

J FRIMLEY AT NIGHT. Knowing that supplies of fresh fruit were literally rolling into the Frimley Canning Factory, ana that its excellent management—notwithstanding the extensive additions made to the works and plant last winterwill now, if at anytime, be experiencing difficulty in clearing the receiving sheds each day, we expressed the wish to see for ourselves how the enormous flood of work was being dealt with. "Come along to-night," was the immediate reply of Mr E. Basil-Jones, the firms' energetic manager, "We are working overtime, and it will interest you to see the place lighted up." This was all we wanted, and at 8 o'clock on Thursday night we presented ourselves at the office door of the factory. Turning down the factory road, at the corner of which a powerful arc lamp threw its bright light for chains along the main road and bringing the .lofty line of poplars into prominence, we heard in the distance the steady hum of machinery, driven at high .speet), and between the trees saw the brilliantly lighted sheds with their outpost lamps shining in the courtyards. The scene before us, together with the vibrations of tbrcbbing engines and whirring pulleys, recalled impressions that ai-e felt when visiting any great exhibitions. But here we are at the heart of a great industry. The exhibitions only give the show side of factories. Frimley is the practical and real thing. "I am glad you have come," is the manager's genuine welcome as we F.tep across the well lighted court yard which is between the office and factory buildings. The yard is largely occupied with long tents, and looking inside these we could see that they were used by the boxmakers who have been evicted from their own quarters by the fruit and fruit packers. We pa|s the hot furnaces of the two huge boilers; the old engine room in which is the pioneer engine that at one time used to drive all the machines, and which is now exerting all its horse power in pumping water to the elevated tanks; through the tinsmiths shop, now silent because the tin makers are well ahead with their work and have no cause to work overtime, and on into the shed where tins of raw fruit in one continuous chain euter a long trough of boiling water and emerge to be hermetically sealed. Further on we pass the huge circular tanks of boiling water into which the sealed cans are placed for fixed times to complete the cooking process. Next we enter the fruit court. Here is opened before us a scene long to be remembered. It is impossible in cold type to do justice to the picture. The court is 130 ft long by 39ft wide. Electric lamps in profusion everywhere make it as light as day. The scene is full of animation. Along one side are eight tables placed at right angles'with the wall and extending past the middle of the court, and at each are standing ten girls wearing light blue cap 3 and with blue and while aprons, They are young girls and elderly girls. Here. and there are Maori maids, the soft dark features giving striking contrast to tlie Pakeha's clear skin. Occasionally one notices i elderly women; one of these we are j told is over sixty years ot age. But | all are bright and cheerful, giving | evidence that their industrious hours I are happy hours. There are over ' eighty of tham earning extra money by working overtime. Before them on the tables lie huge piles of halved peaches, and the girls, with sharp knifes in their deft fingers, are pairing the thin skins from the lusciois frnit. Others are carefully packing the pared fruit into tins which are I trucked away into the next court. At ! the far end of the court and thrown ' out on to canvas sheeting is a huge • pile of Petit d'Argent prunes around which is a crowd of men and boys : busily engaged picking off the stems i and sorting the fruit. To give some ; idea of the amount of work the girla get through in the day we may state that two thousand cases of peaches was the average number received at ihe factory that week. Besides this there were of course enormous quantities of pears, prunes and other fruits coming in daily. It was with regret that we left the bright scene of industrial life. We crossed another courtyard to the large store sheds. Entering the door we could hear the click, click, click, as Mr Jones turned on the el?ctric switches, and immediately the two large courts were ablaze with light. It is in these courts where the canned fruit is stored, and where the labelling is done. Terrace after terrace of 21b tins ot peaches stretch away from end to end, and one vast pile, the size of which appeared small owing to the magnitude of the surroundings, was no less than neven thousand tins. In other parts of the courts were 4gal. tins of fruit infoalls reaching

from fldo," to \v.i]l pi . tr. Lo.ikirg at the accumulating stocks in these rooms one realises that the Frimley brand of fruit has won by its ex- | cellence a big market. At the end of last season the courts were full, but to-day hardly a tin ot last year's j fruit remains. Each year the supply increases, and with it the demand grows, and will continue to grow until the Galitornian tinned fruits, now too much seen in the shop windows in the cities and towns of New Zealand, will give way to home product bearing the weil-known Frimley label. As we concluded our brief inspection of the factory, we had to stand aside to [allow the juyous throng of employees to pass as they came singing and racing through the doors like children leaving school. At the gates were four-horse brakes waiting to take them to the railway station and t'j their homes, and on these they clambered in a manner which showed that they were! not the least exhausted by their, long day's work. We cnnnot conclude this short impression without commenting on the excellent discipline and cleanliness which is always I observed at the factory. One would almost expect at this busy time, and | in virtue of the industry, to find evidence of fruit juice on the floors, machines and benches. But we found the woodwork scrubbed white and the metal work as bright as a looking glass. For cleanliness the Frimley Factory rivals a British man-of-war, and this is saying a deal. —"Hastings Standard."