My First Job
An engineering firm in the town needed an apprentice, and after an interview I started. Why engineering I don't know, as I would much rather have learnt carpentry, but the family said engineering and that was that. As far as helping the family exchequer went it was a bit of a horse laugh, as I started on the princely sum of five shillings a week. Four of these went to Mother, and the odd one was my pocket money. Pittance though it was, it was the first time in my life I had earned regularly, and I felt proud enough when I went home with my first week's wages.
I soon found out that to call me an engineering apprentice was wishful thinking. It was in the days before petrol pumps had arrived, and my days were filled with tea‑making, running errands and pushing a handcart all over Beccles loaded with cans of petrol for customers. First thing every morning I had to go to the town doctor's home and wash his car before he went out on his rounds. No protective clothing was provided, not even a pair of 'wellies'. I soon found out that it was an utter impossibility to hose down and wash a car without getting pretty well soaked. So when I reached our workshop I started each day with soaking feet and overalls. This wasn't so bad in the summer, but most uncomfortable when the weather was cold.
In the spring and summer petrol‑delivering had its compensations. I used to push the handcart loaded with cans down to the quay where, even in those days, there was a fair number of pleasure craft. There was always someone needing a fill‑up, and more often than not, when they paid me there was an extra 'tanner' for the boy. This was good business for me, and I never needed any urging to do the rounds on the quay. Coupled with the extra perks was the fact that no‑one could tell how long it took me to sell out, so I'm afraid my boss paid me for many a half hour browsing in the sunshine when I should have been back at work. Still, at five bob a week he couldn't really grumble.
Among other jobs for the boy was 'striking' for the blacksmith. When he had an extra thick piece of iron to shape he heated it up on the forge, with me working the bellows. Then he with his hand hammer, and me with the sledge hammer, would strike alternate blows on the iron held in the tongs on the anvil. It was all a matter of rhythm. When I first started I got in all sorts of muddles. I would hit at the same time he did, and the hot iron would fly out of the tongs: or maybe not hit it squarely, with the same result, all to the accompaniment of the most frightful language from Sam. But after a time I mastered it, and the old sledge hammer would whirl round my head and bang, bang, bang, with never a miss. It was hard work, but as one's muscles got acclimatised it was quite enjoyable to see the hot iron taking shape. Then a reheat would be necessary, which meant a few minutes rest for both of us.
Sam actually did two jobs, blacksmith and pipe fitter. The firm did almost everything, fitting, turning, work on the growing number of cars, plumbing and heating. When large heating installations were needed galvanised pipe, often up to two or three inches in diameter, was used. To cut threads on these large pipes was a two‑handed job, and this meant that I often went out with Sam. This meant escape from the workshop, with eternal engine‑cleaning, car‑washing and petrol‑delivering, and I was happy enough to get away. We used to do a lot of work at the old Shipmeadow Workhouse. Sam and I would load up what we wanted for the day, and set out with the handcart to walk the two or three miles, or if nothing much was needed we took our bikes.
Every day, when we got to the end of the town Sam would say "Carry on boy, I've just got to go and collect my dinner". So I carried on, and more often than not arrived at the workhouse a good half hour before Sam rolled up on his bike. And roll up was the operative word too, for Sam would be weaving a rather wobbly course. I soon found out that Sam's detour to collect his dinner meant getting as many pints down him as he could hold before coming along to work. Often there was no need for me to go to Beccles first, so I biked straight from home to Shipmeadow, getting there an hour or so before Sam arrived. All went well until Saturday morning. I got there at eight as usual, and messed around waiting for Sam. When ten o'clock arrived and no Sam, I didn't know what to do. I assumed, wrongly as it happened, that Sam had left the shop as usual, and then decided to go on the beer. The last thing I wanted to do was to go back to the workshop and find Sam had left as usual, with the certain prospect of landing him in a right old mess, with the boss thinking he was at work. So I left it till the last, and then decided I must go back as it was payday and I couldn't afford to miss that.
The business was run by two brothers. The younger one was all right, but the elder was a bit of a tough nut. I suppose he had to be to run the business, but I was always a bit scared of him. When I got back to the workshop I left my bike in a back street, and walked through the garden of an adjoining house. After a quick look round, I slipped into the office where the younger brother was doling out the wages; so I took my five bob. So far so good, but alas, as I was slipping out again to collect my bike the other brother came walking across the yard.
As he spotted me he roared "Where the bloody hell have you been to? Come here and I'll stick my foot up your backside!" which was wishful thinking on his part, for I was off like greased lightning, on to my bike and away with never a thought about Monday morning. When Monday arrived I stood waiting for Sam, quaking in my boots. The boss saw me of course and came walking across to me, but wonderful to relate, he had apparently forgotten all about Saturday morning, saying to me "Do you know you've been here a year, boy? Your wages are now seven and six". He handed me the extra half‑crown and said, with a little twinkle in his eye, "NOW try and bloody well earn it!"
A week or so later I had to go to the office, and found him surrounded by pieces of wood, the office upside down, swearing heartily. Apparently the carpenter who was doing some shelving for him had been taken ill. When he saw me he said "Well boy, your people are all carpenters aren't they? Are you any good at it?" I said I didn't mind having a go, but what about tools. "Oh, use old Fred's. His bag is up the corner". So he told me what he wanted done and I got cracking. He watched me for a time then left me to it. When I had finished he had a look round, grinned and said "Well boy, you're a damn sight better carpenter than an engineer". After that he was often finding up odd carpenter's jobs for me, both at the workshop and at his riverside home. No doubt it was cheap labour for him but I enjoyed it, for it was a vast improvement on car‑washing and petrol‑delivering.
For a long time now the workshops had proved inadequate because of the lack of room. The brothers finally decided to cover in the yard between the two workshops, which would add materially to the working space. The steelwork was made and fixed by their own men, and it was soon ready for the roof. To my surprise the older brother came along to where I was working and said "Now boy, do you think you can put this roof on?" It didn't look too complicated to me, so I got out a list of the timber required which was soon delivered, and I had a busy week cutting and bolting up the bits and pieces all ready to receive the boards. I was happily banging away nailing these down when up came the boss, hammer in hand, saying he might as well lend a hand. He carried on with one side of the roof while I did the other. I was well used to the job by now, and soon found out that I could fix two boards to his one without hurrying. This seemed to annoy him, and he kept trying to speed up and keep pace with me. Before long the inevitable happened. He brought the hammer down with an almighty wallop on his thumb. He dropped the hammer and hopped around holding his thumb in agony, with tears of pain running down his cheeks.
Now I don't know what it is that makes you want to laugh when you see someone else in trouble, but looking at him I felt the urge coming over me. In a few seconds I could hold it no longer, and burst out laughing. That did it! He went raving mad, picked up his hammer and came for shouting that he would knock my bloody head off. He looked quite capable of doing it too, so I made a run for the ladder and slid down out of harm's way. I noticed he didn't offer to help me any more, and I wasn't sorry.
Our first petrol pump had now arrived which was a benefit to me, saving many hours of pushing the barrow round the town. I still did the deliveries to the quay, but I didn't kind this because of the perks.
I soon found out that to call me an engineering apprentice was wishful thinking. It was in the days before petrol pumps had arrived, and my days were filled with tea‑making, running errands and pushing a handcart all over Beccles loaded with cans of petrol for customers. First thing every morning I had to go to the town doctor's home and wash his car before he went out on his rounds. No protective clothing was provided, not even a pair of 'wellies'. I soon found out that it was an utter impossibility to hose down and wash a car without getting pretty well soaked. So when I reached our workshop I started each day with soaking feet and overalls. This wasn't so bad in the summer, but most uncomfortable when the weather was cold.
In the spring and summer petrol‑delivering had its compensations. I used to push the handcart loaded with cans down to the quay where, even in those days, there was a fair number of pleasure craft. There was always someone needing a fill‑up, and more often than not, when they paid me there was an extra 'tanner' for the boy. This was good business for me, and I never needed any urging to do the rounds on the quay. Coupled with the extra perks was the fact that no‑one could tell how long it took me to sell out, so I'm afraid my boss paid me for many a half hour browsing in the sunshine when I should have been back at work. Still, at five bob a week he couldn't really grumble.
Among other jobs for the boy was 'striking' for the blacksmith. When he had an extra thick piece of iron to shape he heated it up on the forge, with me working the bellows. Then he with his hand hammer, and me with the sledge hammer, would strike alternate blows on the iron held in the tongs on the anvil. It was all a matter of rhythm. When I first started I got in all sorts of muddles. I would hit at the same time he did, and the hot iron would fly out of the tongs: or maybe not hit it squarely, with the same result, all to the accompaniment of the most frightful language from Sam. But after a time I mastered it, and the old sledge hammer would whirl round my head and bang, bang, bang, with never a miss. It was hard work, but as one's muscles got acclimatised it was quite enjoyable to see the hot iron taking shape. Then a reheat would be necessary, which meant a few minutes rest for both of us.
Sam actually did two jobs, blacksmith and pipe fitter. The firm did almost everything, fitting, turning, work on the growing number of cars, plumbing and heating. When large heating installations were needed galvanised pipe, often up to two or three inches in diameter, was used. To cut threads on these large pipes was a two‑handed job, and this meant that I often went out with Sam. This meant escape from the workshop, with eternal engine‑cleaning, car‑washing and petrol‑delivering, and I was happy enough to get away. We used to do a lot of work at the old Shipmeadow Workhouse. Sam and I would load up what we wanted for the day, and set out with the handcart to walk the two or three miles, or if nothing much was needed we took our bikes.
Every day, when we got to the end of the town Sam would say "Carry on boy, I've just got to go and collect my dinner". So I carried on, and more often than not arrived at the workhouse a good half hour before Sam rolled up on his bike. And roll up was the operative word too, for Sam would be weaving a rather wobbly course. I soon found out that Sam's detour to collect his dinner meant getting as many pints down him as he could hold before coming along to work. Often there was no need for me to go to Beccles first, so I biked straight from home to Shipmeadow, getting there an hour or so before Sam arrived. All went well until Saturday morning. I got there at eight as usual, and messed around waiting for Sam. When ten o'clock arrived and no Sam, I didn't know what to do. I assumed, wrongly as it happened, that Sam had left the shop as usual, and then decided to go on the beer. The last thing I wanted to do was to go back to the workshop and find Sam had left as usual, with the certain prospect of landing him in a right old mess, with the boss thinking he was at work. So I left it till the last, and then decided I must go back as it was payday and I couldn't afford to miss that.
The business was run by two brothers. The younger one was all right, but the elder was a bit of a tough nut. I suppose he had to be to run the business, but I was always a bit scared of him. When I got back to the workshop I left my bike in a back street, and walked through the garden of an adjoining house. After a quick look round, I slipped into the office where the younger brother was doling out the wages; so I took my five bob. So far so good, but alas, as I was slipping out again to collect my bike the other brother came walking across the yard.
As he spotted me he roared "Where the bloody hell have you been to? Come here and I'll stick my foot up your backside!" which was wishful thinking on his part, for I was off like greased lightning, on to my bike and away with never a thought about Monday morning. When Monday arrived I stood waiting for Sam, quaking in my boots. The boss saw me of course and came walking across to me, but wonderful to relate, he had apparently forgotten all about Saturday morning, saying to me "Do you know you've been here a year, boy? Your wages are now seven and six". He handed me the extra half‑crown and said, with a little twinkle in his eye, "NOW try and bloody well earn it!"
A week or so later I had to go to the office, and found him surrounded by pieces of wood, the office upside down, swearing heartily. Apparently the carpenter who was doing some shelving for him had been taken ill. When he saw me he said "Well boy, your people are all carpenters aren't they? Are you any good at it?" I said I didn't mind having a go, but what about tools. "Oh, use old Fred's. His bag is up the corner". So he told me what he wanted done and I got cracking. He watched me for a time then left me to it. When I had finished he had a look round, grinned and said "Well boy, you're a damn sight better carpenter than an engineer". After that he was often finding up odd carpenter's jobs for me, both at the workshop and at his riverside home. No doubt it was cheap labour for him but I enjoyed it, for it was a vast improvement on car‑washing and petrol‑delivering.
For a long time now the workshops had proved inadequate because of the lack of room. The brothers finally decided to cover in the yard between the two workshops, which would add materially to the working space. The steelwork was made and fixed by their own men, and it was soon ready for the roof. To my surprise the older brother came along to where I was working and said "Now boy, do you think you can put this roof on?" It didn't look too complicated to me, so I got out a list of the timber required which was soon delivered, and I had a busy week cutting and bolting up the bits and pieces all ready to receive the boards. I was happily banging away nailing these down when up came the boss, hammer in hand, saying he might as well lend a hand. He carried on with one side of the roof while I did the other. I was well used to the job by now, and soon found out that I could fix two boards to his one without hurrying. This seemed to annoy him, and he kept trying to speed up and keep pace with me. Before long the inevitable happened. He brought the hammer down with an almighty wallop on his thumb. He dropped the hammer and hopped around holding his thumb in agony, with tears of pain running down his cheeks.
Now I don't know what it is that makes you want to laugh when you see someone else in trouble, but looking at him I felt the urge coming over me. In a few seconds I could hold it no longer, and burst out laughing. That did it! He went raving mad, picked up his hammer and came for shouting that he would knock my bloody head off. He looked quite capable of doing it too, so I made a run for the ladder and slid down out of harm's way. I noticed he didn't offer to help me any more, and I wasn't sorry.
Our first petrol pump had now arrived which was a benefit to me, saving many hours of pushing the barrow round the town. I still did the deliveries to the quay, but I didn't kind this because of the perks.
posted by curlybonce | 2:34 pm
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