In which I meet my "Fate" and a New Job

In the meantime, girls came and went pretty regularly, but inevitably I suppose, Miss Right eventually turned up. It was a bit of a laugh when we first met. I had just bought a fish and chip supper and was standing on the river bridge at Bungay eating when I saw the girl coming down the street toward me. I had seen her previously in the shop where she was working, and thought then what a pip of a girl she looked. I had no idea who she was, and when I saw her that Saturday evening I thought "Well, here's my chance!"

As she got closer, it dawned on me that I couldn't possibly intercept her with my hands full of fish and chips wrapped up in newspaper, so I rolled them up and dropped them into the river. Afterwards Vera told me how fond of fish and chips she was, and if I had kept them and offered her some I should have progressed much faster.

She was attractive enough to turn the head of any self‑respecting young man, and I was no exception. I had heard and read all about what I called 'codswallop' about falling in love, but I had to admit there was something totally different about this latest relationship. I felt somehow this was the real thing, and forty years of happily married life has borne out the truth of my thinking. I now had something more exciting to think about, and save for, than motor bikes. The trouble was that in my present job it would be a long, long time before I could accumulate any respectable amount. I used to buy a fifteen shilling savings certificate every week, but at this rate I shuddered to think how long it would be before thoughts of a new home could materialise. In those days it was the custom and a good one at that, not to have anything you couldn't pay for. Hire purchase was available of course, but it wasn't used one quarter as much as it is today. The modern motto seems to be ‑ get what you want now, and think about paying for it afterwards.

Prospects at work were altering as well. Charley's eldest boy had left school, and it was only natural for my brother to want his son to join the business and continue the long tradition of carpenters in the family. It was evident to me that although there was plenty of work for two, there certainly wasn't sufficient for three and I looked like being the odd one out. But here again, fate stepped in to my aid.

One of the local builders had got a contract to erect a wooden prefabricated bungalow. He had finished the brick base, and was stuck for carpenters to erect the wooden framework. Charley heard of this, went and saw the builder and we got the job. We completed the work satisfactorily, and thought no more about it until one day a traveller called who represented the Norwich firm of Boulton and Paul. They had supplied the prefab that we had just finished, and wanted to know if Charley would be interested in erecting a Sports Pavilion at Roydon, near Diss. We couldn't both go as there were urgent jobs to finish at home, so Charley asked me how I felt. I jumped at the chance, and Charley was pleased especially as he had his son to help him. I had my motor bike, so the twenty mile journey was no problem. This decision was one of the most important I ever made, as it was to alter my whole life. The work was interesting and the foreman from Norwich was a good‑natured chap, so we got on fine.

As there was a deadline for completion, we worked from eight in the morning to eight at night. I hadn't even enquired what wages they were paying, and I was only expecting the local rate. Imagine my surprise and pleasure when I found out I was to get the Norwich rate of one and sixpence. When I made out my time-sheet for the first week and found out I had sixty hours at one and six to come, I nearly went mad for it just about doubled what I had been getting previously. I was there a month, and when the last day came I thought to myself Alas ‑ it's back to earth with a bump now. But it wasn't the end after all, for the foreman had put in a good word for me with his boss. I was asked to give him a ring, and the upshot was that I had to go for an interview in Norwich the following Monday.

Boulton and Paul was a pretty vast concern even in those days, and all a bit awe‑inspiring to me, what with explaining at the gate what I wanted and getting instructions where to go. After losing myself several times I found the right department. On entering, and feeling a bit apprehensive at the sight of so many men and girls all busy at their desks, I was ushered into the manager's sanctum. I needn't have felt worried for he was then, and remained so for all the time I worked under him, a most kind and understanding man. We had a chat about what experience I had, and if accepted would I be prepared to go wherever necessary and take charge of the job. I soon said yes to all this. He then told me there was a Danish‑type piggery to erect just outside Chelmsford, and that I could start the following Monday.

When he showed me the plans they scared me stiff, as the building was, to me at least, a huge affair some hundred and fifty feet by thirty feet. It was all wood on a prepared brick base, an asbestos roof, all sub‑divided into feeding areas and dung passages, all very much double‑Dutch to me. Then when he told me that in this instance they were too busy in the works to make up the sections, and that the whole thing would have to be built from scratch, I nearly turned it all in. But I knew this was my chance and nothing venture, nothing win, so I said yes. The manager, affectionately known as Benny by all, said I could take a mate with me if I could find one. It was left that I must get organised and call at Norwich on the Friday to pick up the plans and tie up the loose ends. Charley was as pleased as I was, as it left the way clear for his son to join him.

My first job was to find a mate willing to go with me. The only chap I knew who might be interested was a young bricklayer's labourer who lived and worked in the next village. I went and saw him, and when he heard what the wages would be he couldn't give his notice in quick enough, especially as it gave him the opportunity to learn a new trade. I had a busy day or two making a new tool box, and buying tools for myself and George. By Thursday we were all ready, and sent off our tools and cases by rail.

I don't know what poor Mother thought of all this, to lose her 'baby boy' after all the years at home. It must have hit her hard, but I'm afraid I was thinking more about being parted from Vera than leaving Mother. But there was always the consoling thought that I was mobile, and could get home weekends on the Cotton. Benny had some more good news when I saw him on Friday, telling me that as foreman erector I would get extra money, plus subsistence pay, plus mileage for the motor bike. Vera and I had a good natter about my change in fortunes, and it was clear that with the money I would be earning it wouldn't take long to save enough to get married. This softened the blow of parting considerably, and we parted Sunday night with the promise that I would write every day and believe it or not, I kept that promise.

When Monday arrived I picked George up at seven, then goodbye to Mother and we were off. We arrived safely, albeit a bit saddle‑sore, and found that all our gear had been delivered safely. The dwarf walls and floor had been built by a local contractor, but when I saw the piles of window frames, doors and the huge lump of loose timber, I wondered if we should ever complete the job. The farmer for whom we were building the piggery had arranged lodgings for us near and handy, so we dropped off our luggage, changed into working gear and made a start sorting out all the materials ready for the next day. It was very much a case of feeling one's way along. I got into all sorts of muddles and out of them, but as it was largely repetition work, I had no real problems.

We were blessed with marvellous weather, and in about a fortnight had the building up and roofed in. The inside work was a bit involved, with special floor insulation to avoid the need for using litter. The design was very advanced for its time, with everything being done to cut down on labour. Feeding was semi‑automatic, and even the cleaning out was easy as the pigs could be shut in their pens, leaving the dung passage empty for easy cleaning. They proved to be very popular and were being erected all over the country. When we had finished and the certificate of satisfaction had been signed by the customer, we felt proud of our first effort.

We had travelled home each weekend, but the second trip back to work was a terror. It rained heavens hard all the way, and we were both soaked to the skin. I had some good gear, but it was a near impossibility to keep dry on a motor bike. Our landlady was kindness itself, and we soon stripped off and got into some dry clothes and went back to work. This journey started me thinking. I had a good look round some motor showrooms in Chelmsford, and one of them had a Raleigh three‑wheeler for sale. It was a smart little job, black and cream with a permanent saloon body, and powered by an air‑cooled JAP twin engine. The firm was asking sixty pounds for it, and after a bit of haggling they took the Cotton in part‑exchange with the balance on HP. As my wages were now eight pounds a week ‑ a lot of money for the mid‑thirties ‑ I could manage this comfortably and still save. I never regretted the deal as it meant dry and comfortable travel for us, and better still, could transport all our clothes and tools.

I had never driven a car before, and when we set off for home on the next Saturday I must have been a menace on the road. I held a full licence, and of course driving tests hadn't been thought of. However, after one or two 'hairy' incidents in the first few miles I soon gained confidence, and eventually rolled up at my girl's feeling as proud as a peacock. Mother was pleased too, as she was always worried about the motor bike journeys.

My next assignment was another much larger piggery not far from Salisbury. I had to take on additional local labour for this one, but I knew the drill now and was gaining confidence all the time. Over the next few years I travelled many thousands of miles doing a variety of jobs. Boulton and Paul turned out all sorts of prefabricated buildings, so there was no chance of getting fed up with my job. There were bungalows, sports pavilions, horse boxes, and a great variety of glasshouses and conservatories; you name it, they made it.

If I was anywhere within a hundred miles or so of home, I went home each weekend. What a magnet a girlfriend could be, especially with the prospect of marriage getting closer. Quite often I was too far away to get home. When this happened we worked Sundays as
well, which all helped to swell the wage packet. There was no bonus for early completion, but the firm set a time limit which, if met, meant they would get their desired profit margin. We didn't know what the time limit was, but I heard from other erectors that if you consistently overstepped the limit you would soon be on the carpet. It was very much a case of being taken on trust, as sometimes it would be months between visits from a travelling supervisor, or runner, as we called him. When he did come and we had been working to eight, he would roll up about ten to eight for obvious reasons; if he found the site deserted there was big trouble, and we had a couple of hours 'docked' from each for the whole week. I was most particular about working to time as I certainly didn't want to lose a good job. The worst part was that if you were caught out, you were never really trusted again.

I remember George and I were doing a piggery near Whittlesea, miles from the road in the middle of the fens. It was midwinter, but we had been working till eight with the aid of a couple of big petrol‑gas lanterns. We were just clearing up our gear about five to eight when we saw a car's headlights approaching down the wet and muddy lane. It was one of the runners, wondering no doubt how we were managing to work so late in the pitch dark. But we were there, so all was well. I don't wonder the firm took these steps, as I had heard that some of the erector foremen would do almost anything to get extra money. They would 'flog' anything they thought they would get away with ‑ ladders, scaffolding, even the site huts, and then report them missing, believed stolen.

It was hard luck when, as sometimes happened on isolated sites, plant was actually stolen. This happened to me once; we had just completed the job, and had all the gear laid out ready for the lorry to collect in the morning. When we arrived all the scaffolding planks had disappeared, as well as some of our tools. I reported the theft to the local police and rang Head Office to let them know. I got a cool reception at that, for no doubt the plant manager wondered if I had found out the racket and had a go myself. I felt rather badly about this, as I had up to now walked the straight and narrow, and I didn't like the feeling of being under suspicion.

It was around six months after this that I had a letter from Bonny asking me to hold myself ready for a court action, as the planks had been found and the thief charged. It turned out to be the farmer himself. The local copper had visited a remote part of the farm on other business and, bright lad that he was, had noticed some sheep pens made up of similar planks to those reported missing by me. He had a good look round them, and the B & P stencil had been erased from all but two, obviously overlooked. I was delighted at the outcome, as it cleared me of all suspicion when he pleaded guilty.

Another racket on the bigger jobs was for the foreman to send in time-sheets and requests for National Health stamps for non‑existent men, and then stick to the money when the wages arrived. I found this out when filling in an odd week on a big job where there were some thirty locals on the books under another foreman. In the middle of the morning a supervisor called, no doubt having a good idea what was afoot. He whistled up all of us, and when we had assembled at the site office, he got out the time-sheets for the previous week and called out each name. We stood aside as he called our names until he had gone through the lot, and still had a couple of sheets left with no men to account for them. So that was that, and we never saw that particular foreman again.