It is now 1841. A thick cloud of smoke, dust, and deadly bacteria hangs in the room of dark hovel, stenching of filth and decay. Anne, now sixty, welcomes as best she can her great-grandchildren. Seeing their wretched condition she thinks back on her youth...
"Ah, listen. It wasn't always like this, you know. When I was young, the sky was as blue as finest china. Yes, we worked hard too, but in a lovely cottage looking out over the garden. My aunt Mary-- she used to compose poetry in her head as she spun the yarn. Can you imagine trying to do that with the din of the steam engine banging in your head, and the foreman there just looking for a reason to dock you; if he doesn't smack you too."
"Ah, now that was a life worth living. A life worth fighting for! Not like this sorry state of affairs that passes for a future. Back then, we worked together. A real family, like it's supposed to be. Nowadays, you hardly see the little ones, except when they come dragging back from that infernal place, filthy and pale as little bugs of the night. And rare it is they live to be twenty-one."
"Be still a minute, and let me sing you a song about it. Its about the old days, before the smoke, before the mills, before even old Ned Ludd had his day. Back in the Golden Past ."