My Third Job
When Reg got too ill to work, Charley couldn't cope with all the work single‑handed. He got a man to help him, but although he was a good tradesman, he never really settled in the job. Charley evidently did a bit of thinking and eventually put it to me that if I agreed to leave my job at the printing works, he would teach me the trade properly and in the meantime he would pay me the same wage as I was getting. This was a very fair offer as although I was handy with carpenters tools, it would still be some time before I could really earn my money. I never had a second thought as I had always hoped I could learn the trade, and took up his offer straight away, a decision I never regretted. In fact, the untimely death of Reg was to alter the whole course of my life.
I arranged an interview with the Personnel Officer at the works and explained the situation to him. I felt a bit guilty about wanting to leave, as I had got the job in the first place rather against the odds. However, he was very nice and understanding and agreed to let me go, and wished me luck in my new venture, and the second phase of my working life was over.
I started with Charley about a month before Reg died. Charley and one of my uncles made the coffin, and I was sent to Beccles for the day to do what I could on my own in a house being built. I guess it was as much to get me out of the way as anything else. They took the coffin to Ipswich, and had to come past where I was working. When they returned I happened to look out of the window just as they came past. It really hit me then, as I was looking out of a window Reg had made, standing on a floor he had laid, and using the tools he had treasured.
Of the funeral I can remember very little. Usually these occasions tend to stick in one's memory, but for some reason or other this one didn't. Mother seldom mentioned it. In fact she couldn't really talk about it without shedding a tear for a long time, as I suppose Reg's death hit her hardest of all the recent bereavements.
I soon settled down in my new job and I took to woodwork like a duck to water, enjoying every minute. It was a ideal grounding into the trade, for we did everything you could think of. We got the odd new house, making all the joinery, putting the roofs on, and then all the painting and decorating. There was still a lot of wheelwrighting as well; new farm tumbrils, milk floats, wheels and the multitude of repair work to self‑binders, threshing tackle, farm buildings, fences and gates. You name it, we did it! The only machinery we had was a motor‑driven circular saw and an old hand morticer, otherwise it was all hand work. I loved it all, and even today there is to me no sweeter smell than the fragrance of newly‑worked timber.
We did quite a lot of undertaking too. When we made a coffin, it meant a journey to Beccles to fetch a coffin set, as it was called. Wide rough boards in elm or oak, which all had to be sawn to size, planed and scraped. Cutting the pinions, as it was described, was the tricky part. A series of saw cuts about one inch apart penetrating to within an eighth of an inch of the outside were made, and this allowed the side to be bent. Then the inside was padded out and lined with a white material, and finally the outside was polished. It all amounted to a good day's work for the two of us.
Charley let me 'off the hook' for a time as far as actually helping with the body was concerned. He had a chap in the village who did this, but at last he said it was time I did this too. It so happened that the next coffin was for an old lady in the village, and I knew her well. We loaded the coffin on to the sidecar box and arrived at the house. I was pretty well scared, and when I saw the sheet‑covered body I felt like running outside. I can see the poor old lady now and always will, being the first of many. I soon got pretty well hardened to it, but I never really liked the job.
Reg, who had been a good hand at lettering, had always lettered the coffin plates, so Charley said why didn't I have a go. So I got a book on lettering, and after a bit of practice I got on quite well, eventually doing them all, and in addition I also did shop fronts and pub signs. We often had farm wagons to paint up. It was the custom to do these in bright colours, the gaudier the better. I liked doing these especially as there was a lot of lining out to do, which demanded a steady hand. The best job of all was when we made a new milk float which the farmer wanted finished in black and lined out in gold. When the final coat of varnish had dried, it really did look good.
Of course labour was no particular object in those days. It didn't matter much how long a job took, provided the finished article came up to expectations. We had a laugh one day when a farmer called and asked us to repair a bedroom ceiling in his house. When we went up to have a look, the whole ceiling looked like a colander with scores of little holes all over it. What had happened was that his schoolboy son was keen on shooting, and had got the bright idea of lying in bed and shooting at flies on the ceiling. I guess when his father got our bill he soon put a stop to that lark.
I arranged an interview with the Personnel Officer at the works and explained the situation to him. I felt a bit guilty about wanting to leave, as I had got the job in the first place rather against the odds. However, he was very nice and understanding and agreed to let me go, and wished me luck in my new venture, and the second phase of my working life was over.
I started with Charley about a month before Reg died. Charley and one of my uncles made the coffin, and I was sent to Beccles for the day to do what I could on my own in a house being built. I guess it was as much to get me out of the way as anything else. They took the coffin to Ipswich, and had to come past where I was working. When they returned I happened to look out of the window just as they came past. It really hit me then, as I was looking out of a window Reg had made, standing on a floor he had laid, and using the tools he had treasured.
Of the funeral I can remember very little. Usually these occasions tend to stick in one's memory, but for some reason or other this one didn't. Mother seldom mentioned it. In fact she couldn't really talk about it without shedding a tear for a long time, as I suppose Reg's death hit her hardest of all the recent bereavements.
I soon settled down in my new job and I took to woodwork like a duck to water, enjoying every minute. It was a ideal grounding into the trade, for we did everything you could think of. We got the odd new house, making all the joinery, putting the roofs on, and then all the painting and decorating. There was still a lot of wheelwrighting as well; new farm tumbrils, milk floats, wheels and the multitude of repair work to self‑binders, threshing tackle, farm buildings, fences and gates. You name it, we did it! The only machinery we had was a motor‑driven circular saw and an old hand morticer, otherwise it was all hand work. I loved it all, and even today there is to me no sweeter smell than the fragrance of newly‑worked timber.
We did quite a lot of undertaking too. When we made a coffin, it meant a journey to Beccles to fetch a coffin set, as it was called. Wide rough boards in elm or oak, which all had to be sawn to size, planed and scraped. Cutting the pinions, as it was described, was the tricky part. A series of saw cuts about one inch apart penetrating to within an eighth of an inch of the outside were made, and this allowed the side to be bent. Then the inside was padded out and lined with a white material, and finally the outside was polished. It all amounted to a good day's work for the two of us.
Charley let me 'off the hook' for a time as far as actually helping with the body was concerned. He had a chap in the village who did this, but at last he said it was time I did this too. It so happened that the next coffin was for an old lady in the village, and I knew her well. We loaded the coffin on to the sidecar box and arrived at the house. I was pretty well scared, and when I saw the sheet‑covered body I felt like running outside. I can see the poor old lady now and always will, being the first of many. I soon got pretty well hardened to it, but I never really liked the job.
Reg, who had been a good hand at lettering, had always lettered the coffin plates, so Charley said why didn't I have a go. So I got a book on lettering, and after a bit of practice I got on quite well, eventually doing them all, and in addition I also did shop fronts and pub signs. We often had farm wagons to paint up. It was the custom to do these in bright colours, the gaudier the better. I liked doing these especially as there was a lot of lining out to do, which demanded a steady hand. The best job of all was when we made a new milk float which the farmer wanted finished in black and lined out in gold. When the final coat of varnish had dried, it really did look good.
Of course labour was no particular object in those days. It didn't matter much how long a job took, provided the finished article came up to expectations. We had a laugh one day when a farmer called and asked us to repair a bedroom ceiling in his house. When we went up to have a look, the whole ceiling looked like a colander with scores of little holes all over it. What had happened was that his schoolboy son was keen on shooting, and had got the bright idea of lying in bed and shooting at flies on the ceiling. I guess when his father got our bill he soon put a stop to that lark.
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