Previous to the war very little of this waste found its way back to the domestic paper mills to be re-made. The percentage of waste blended with new pulp was very low, certainly not more than 2 per cent. Even this was almost entirely restricted to what is known as “broke,” that is the trimmings from the reels when repairing breakages in the continuous lengths running through the printing or paper-making machines.
Strange to relate, nearly the whole of the waste-paper recovered from the household, office and factory was exported, principally to the United States of America, until an American firm, discovering Britain to be a waste-paper mine, established itself in our midst to salvage an appreciable quantity of what we regarded as a nuisance. This refuse was utilized as raw material for the manufacture of paper-boards, the American analogue to our familiar strawboard, to form book covers, stout packing, and to meet other conditions where adequate protection to contents is demanded. This became a prosperous undertaking and afforded merely another instance of how the stranger within our gates has been able to reap material profit at our expense and through our folly.
Although this firm absorbed an enormous quantity of our waste-paper it could not cope with the avalanche of this refuse. Many additional thousands of tons were shipped annually to the New World to be worked up. It seems remarkable that the Americans should have found it profitable to collect our residue, to freight it across 3,000 miles of ocean, and to fabricate therefrom their particular range of goods, instead of turning the material available on their own side to such account. But the venture proved decidedly profitable as the results testified. Indeed, it was the enterprise of this pushing firm which first brought home to us the wealth capable of being derived from the commercial exploitation of waste-paper, and which led us to introduce a collecting system upon an organized basis.
When the authorities grasped the significance of the waste-paper issue they promptly took steps to retain the whole of the residue in these islands. Export was prohibited; it could only be returned to British mills. A country-wide appeal was made urging every trader and every private citizen to conserve his waste-paper, whether it were used envelopes, newspapers, postcards or fragments of brown paper. So urgent became the demand for this raw material that housewives were requested to ransack their cupboards and lumber-rooms for odds and ends of every description in the paper line—old novels, abandoned magazines and what not; business houses, workshops, and factories were invited to indulge in spring-cleanings to turn out musty files of old letters, receipts, memoranda, obsolete account books and other accumulations; paper hangings stripped from walls in course of redecoration, instead of being burned, were sedulously bagged; even hoardings were divested of their hard thick hides of superimposed posters to provide food for the paper mills. Municipal authorities were urged to participate in the round-up, since it was recognized that imposing quantities of paper evaded all other methods of recovery from inadvertent committal to the dust-bin. In another chapter I have indicated what was done in this direction.
The authorities stimulated the great national paper-chase by every possible artifice. Waste-paper organizers, to the number of thirty-five, were appointed to various parts of the country to foster and to supervise the collection of this refuse. Licences were granted to approved merchants authorizing them to deal in the article. Prices were fixed and graduated according to the quality of the waste, and upon a liberal basis to encourage one and all to conserve and to hand over their accumulations of what they considered to be sheer rubbish. In this way waste-paper was poured back into the British mills for remanufacture in a steady stream of 4,300 tons a week. For a time the volume was maintained, but then it gradually and persistently declined because as the founts became exhausted the quantity of paper put back into circulation suffered a steady decrease.
Despite the elaborate precautions observed, and the salvage organizations instituted, a vast quantity of the refuse escaped recovery. Paper is something like the elusive pin: where it goes no one appears to know. During the period when salvage was being pressed home with all vigour the British mills were turning out about 700,000 tons of paper a year. Of this aggregate approximately one-fifth—150,000 tons—went to the army in the field in France in some form or other. A further 150,000 tons could not be expected to be recovered as waste, being either retained or submitted to certain necessary applications such as filing, the lighting of fires, and so on. This left a balance of 400,000 tons which went into circulation, but of which only 200,000 tons were retrieved to be sent back to the mills to be repulped. What became of the outstanding 200,000 tons it was impossible to say: it simply disappeared. Probably much suffered destruction through ignorance, while no doubt much was lost through being soiled to such a degree as to be beyond redemption. But the fact remained that of the 700,000 tons produced at least 50 per cent., or 350,000 tons—including the 150,000 tons sent to France—were completely lost, whereas by the exercise of a little forethought, care and trouble the greater part thereof might have been retrieved. Through negligence or ignorance the nation was losing a round £3,350,000—$16,750,000—a year, because the paper was worth at least one penny—2 cents—a pound in the waste form.
From the magnitude of the absolute losses it is obvious that we could never have sustained ourselves for long upon the forthcoming supplies of waste-paper and the diminished foreign imports of pulp to serve as raw materials. Accordingly search was made for other potential raw materials of domestic origin, the governing principle of this mission being to place the country in such a position as to be quite independent of the foreigner in all matters pertaining to paper, not only during the war period, but after the cessation of hostilities.
Paper, in one respect, is a curious manufactured product. It can be made from almost any fibrous material with the exception of wool. The knowledge of this fact prompted members of the general public to advance the claims of divers and wondrous substances. As may be readily imagined, the majority of these suggestions erred somewhat upon the side of the fantastic and chimerical. The mere fact that paper can be made from almost anything does not necessarily imply that it is commercially practicable to exploit even the most obvious raw materials indiscriminately. There is a wide and deep gulf between the laboratory, the cradle of experiment, and the factory, the home of application. In the first-named the factor of cost of production does not count; in the last-named it constitutes the crux of the issue. Consequently the majority of the recommendations submitted by the uninitiated suffered from the disability of being perfectly feasible but hopelessly impracticable. Submission of a suggestion to the cold, unrelenting, unsympathetic manufacturing analysis and subsequent translation into pounds, shillings, and pence offered the incontestable reply to the inevitable question “Will it pay?”
One article of domestic origin, the spartina, or common couch grass, which thrives in abundance upon many stretches of our coastline, notably Hampshire, was responsible for an avalanche of letters containing inquiries as to why this material was not being turned to account. Apparently every individual who had visited the neighbourhood of the Solent, and had observed the density of this growth, assailed the authorities for their lethargy. Esparto grass was imported from Spain to make paper, and yet here we were ignoring a readily obtainable indigenous grass similar in every respect!
But the claims of spartina had been promptly investigated—to be found wanting. In the first place, when a new material appears to be promising the question as to whether sufficiently imposing supplies could be forthcoming must be considered carefully. The paper-making machines are insatiable and avaricious, devouring raw material not by the ton but by the thousands of tons. This in turn gives rise to the question as to the cost of securing the necessarily heavy supplies. One enthusiast, who had advanced the claims of the couch grass, was interrogated upon the subject because he had evolved a means of gathering the spartina. When he was asked the cost of his process he blandly replied that he could do it for £15—$75—per ton. He received a shock when he was told that there was another material, forthcoming in far greater quantities, and far more suitable for the purpose, which could be obtained and delivered to the mill for £4 10s.—$22.50—a ton! I may remark that spartina grass is being used for paper-making where the conditions favour its cheap collection and transport. Speaking generally, however, with prices at an artificial level, any material costing more than £5—$25—per ton delivered at the mill—this figure is inclusive of collecting, transport, and other charges—stands little chance of favourable consideration. Under normal trading conditions the prospect will be even less attractive.