Chicken Sheds, Monster Munches and Chip Sticks!Wednesday 29th August 1979I don't remember waking up, just finding myself contemplating the day's agenda, something quite exciting. I had never tried getting a job before, I had no choice now, and I either went home or started earning some money. I had about 30 quid in the account and not even enough cash for the bus to the nearest bank in Swansea to get it out. That was 11 miles away right across the Gower. Hitching was easier than I expected most of the traffic being cars stuffed full of families and I knew from experience how few of those stopped. One felt sorry for me and it was all I needed. It didn't occur to me to try the job centre, instead I decided that shops might be a good start, so I found a long street and started down one side. It wasn't enjoyable, but I didn't need to go back into them again if they said no, which the first 10 did. After another dozen I found a new street and after that realized I needed to review my approach. It wasn't that I wasn't getting anywhere - which I wasn't, but it didn't look like I was, and the shops looked just like those in Brighton - boring. Three shops had tactfully suggested I tried the Job centre, it had seemed the easy way out at the time but only half an hour later it seemed more appealing. Except for the clientele it seemed to resemble a public library but I didn't really know what to expect. I looked through the racks of cards without concentrating; far more interested the activity of others. Most of the jobs needed some skill and didn't really help me make up my mind what I wanted to do. After a while and thinking I had sussed the system, I approached one of the manned help desks quoting a card reference number and I asked for more details. Opposite me was a young-middle aged woman who, to my surprise, seemed genuinely interested in me and soon had me packed of to a pet shop. The job was taken but the experience was far less embarrassing than my next visit, a furniture shop. The clean suited manager bored expression lost all concentration when I mentioned living in a tent! The spotty assistant showed me the door, wearing his first genuine smile of the day, well at least I'd given somebody a laugh. The job centre said that was it couldn't help and to try the industrial job centre round the corner. That sounded much more fun and I was not disappointed, the word FACTORY on most of the cards seemed more appealing than SHOP. "Not much here is there?" I turned round. He looked about fifty and everything about him was grey and depressing and I realized his statement was meant for me. His hands were in the pockets of an old tweed jacket that stretched that open revealing a beer belly under dark shirt with no tie. The hair was greasy, plentiful and wild and his eyes didn't look up. "Yes." I replied not knowing what else to say. In the thick local ascent he continued, pleased that somebody was giving him his attention. This might have been all exiting fun for me but it wasn't to the regulars. We soon parted company and continued looking through the cards, I found one under the temp's section and went to the desk to find my friend already talking to the assistant. Her monotone questions were receiving a pathetic embarrassed whisper. Yes he was registered, yes he was claiming and yes he had been out of work for more than two years. The job was an assistant baker 6am to 4pm 6 days a week, the pay forty pounds. My God! How could anybody live on that with a family, six months ago, I would have nothing to show for twelve pounds a week from a paper-round and Saturday job! She phoned the bakers and he stooped off for the interview. I sat down and passed her the card and she read through it out loud which at the time I thought was unnecessary. The job was only for three days but it would buy he time for a real job. I give here my card; the factory wanted ten people to start tomorrow at 6 am. Without digesting its significance I said that was ok and she phoned to arrange the interview. She looked confused for a second when I said I would walk there only because I wanted to save the fare. An hour later I stood in front of a large old building, it looked old, but the white paint was bright and it was alive with lots of assorted noises and busy people. It the centre of the building was a tower with a clock telling the wrong time and the company logo. When they had said 'Smiths' I didn't realize they mean crisps! The receptionist made a phone call and gave me directions to a room. The door was open and standing by one of the room's big windows, was a man. He wore a white coat and a red safety hat. "Hello" I said with a smile. His face didn't even change expression and I noticed a scar down his face - the only time I had seen one like that before, was on my action man! If he had been dirty, I would have thought he was a coal miner. His arm moved and pointed to a table on which was a form and another cheap biro which seemed to be everywhere today. It took ages to complete the form and as with the one at the job centre the qualification box wasn't designed for multiple O and A levels. He only said three things while I was there. Why had I not included a local address? I would need one if I stayed with them and be in the canteen at six am then next morning. Wow, I'd done it I got a job! I had great difficulty reflecting his serious and somber face, until I was out of the room, but any delight seemed inappropriate until I was outside again. It was gone 9pm when I returned to the factory and I was exhausted. I have bused back into Swansea, bought an alarm clock, bused out to the camp site, packed up, bused back to Swansea and then up to the factory, now I had to find somewhere to camp where I didn't have to far to walk in the morning. It had also occurred to me that I had forgotten to ask how much I was going to earn in my three days or what I would be doing, not that it mattered. The factory was the last building on a main road out of Swansea with fields beyond. On closer inspection, I lowered its status to waste ground. However the factory was surrounded with very long grass within the compound. I was told to wait and ask the night shift manager who started at 10 o'clock. He was German, sympathetic and pleasant, it was such a contrast to the scared Welshman. Once settled in the tent I soon got used to the new noises, the alarm clock and the hissing rhythms from the factory. It sounded like several steam-trains all running at different speeds. Thursday 30th August 1979The overalls seemed to fit OK and with the cloth white cap I was fit for the biscuit factory in Chigly, the nearest I had got to a factory before now. Several others were also new. We were all on the multi-pack line, their latest experiment. Four packs of Monster Munches, two pickled onion and two hunks of roast beef flavour in one big plastic bag for the supermarkets. We were starting in the middle of the main factory area, all manor of conveyor belts, and machinery around us, spinning, pumping, hissing all supervised by men in their white boiler suites. The women were confined to the packing line. They took a box stacked flat, folded into a box shape, packed it with 48 packets which they collected from one conveyor, then put the full box on another conveyor which took it through a box sealing machine and out into the depot. I didn't think it was that noisy until the foreman started talking. It was nearly impossible to hear him - even though he was shouting. My job was to go into the depot and retrieve some boxes, which had not been sealed and return them to the others. They were going to un-pack these and put them into the 'four-in-a-bunch Monster munch bags which would go into different boxes. I walked into the depot and picked up a box of pickled onion. There was a cheer from the other end of the depot and I looked up, there were four smiling faces looking at me holding a now empty box with packets all over the floor round my feet - the sealer hadn't sealed the top and bottom of the box! For the next hour, I carried in the boxes in robotic style. It was then I noticed that I could bring them in faster than the others could process them and the surplus boxes were blocking the walkways. Should I ask a foreman if I should stop, I thought he was meant to do the thinking? Break times were the only occasion where conversation could take place but it didn't. They just drank sweet tea and smoked. There was a student there and we chatted for a while, he was trying to reduce his over draft before returning to university. The day dragged towards the end, but it wasn't boring, it just seemed the clocks were moving slower. At 2pm we finished, but I was instructed to go the managers office. "What is that doing in the factory!" Scar face said pointing through the window in the direction of my tent. I explained and his assistant chipped in. Now introduced as Stuart, heavily involved in the local Scout group. There was a Scout campsite up the road, I was to try there, the local yobs would burn the tent where it was at present and wouldn't care if I was in it at the time! I packed up and started the walk but soon reckoned it was going to be a couple of miles, which was too far. At the end of the waste ground was an old hamlet, once miles from the city but now within sight of the encroaching industrial plants and a huge housing estate. Some kids were playing in a stream and I explained the problem. They showed me a lane by the last home and said it lead to a farm. The single-track dirt road was two hundred yards long and up hill all the way. I ignored the private notice but not the dog. An old alsatian had seen me and started to bark, so I waited some distance back from the farm hoping the noise would alert somebody. There was a small farmhouse, which was really only a cottage and four or five corrugated iron sheds, some very large. It wasn't long before what could only be the farmer, acknowledged the dog with a pat and walked towards me. He was old and in no particular hurry, his head was bald and his face looked a weather beaten red. He asked what I wanted in a manner that seemed both friendly and suspicious. "Just of a while, ay? And you said you are working at Smiths?" The accent was far far thicker than anybody else's I had heard. "Well you can't use any of the fields" "Oh I don't need a field just a bit of odd grass, like this." I pointed to a patch in front of one of the sheds. "Alright then boyo, you can stay there if you want for as long as you are working. I believe people should work see, I've had to all my life." I thanked him and he returned to the farm pointing out a standpipe. The grass wasn't very flat but the location was fantastic, it was peaceful and safely away from the factory and yet only ten minutes walk away. Mutli-pack was a success, Smiths required my services and three Friday's running I was asked if I wanted to work another week. On the last, I was told I could have a permanent job if I found somewhere to live. I couldn't see what difference it made, but Stuart as always, explained it. But understanding the problem didn't bring me any closer to a solution. It was 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning and I had two clear days of nothing, to try and work it out. Just to rub the salt in, if I had been a permanent member I could have been working weekend overtime. I crawled out of the tent and sat on one of the barrels I had bought back from the factory. There was one large and one small. They were made of thick cardboard and contained the pickled onion and hunks of roast beef flavourings for the monster munches. Now both contained all the walking gear to keep the tent clear. The smaller one was also good for sitting on and the large made an ideal table for the trangia cooker. I started some breakfast, really I should be sick of baked beans but until I did they would remain the core of my diet. For the first time since leaving home there was something that seemed out of reach, and beyond my control. "Jimmy, oh Jimmy well I never!" It was Tom, the farmer, walking down the lane with a big grin on his face. "Well I don't know Jimmy" he continued "Really settling in aren't we now, look even the postman knows you have moved in!" The smile developed into a laugh as he produced a letter. I had asked him for the address a week before, so Mum could forward some mail. I had to ask him three times and then got him to check it when it was written down, finding impossible to understand, let alone write down the Welsh names. Now he was laughing about it, I knew he didn't trust me, he had told me once he didn't trust anybody outside his family but it didn't stop him enjoying a joke. "Well then Jimmy how long are you going to be here?" I explained how they still wanted me to work but I really didn't know how long it would last. "Thing is see boyo, it must be very damp in that their tent and well, Mrs Jones was thinking you may like to use one the sheds instead you see, now don't feel you have to, but with the weather and all that see." He pointed at the shed by the tent, it had black corrugated walls and roof, may be 40 feet square, half of which was a normal hut shade with the other section a sort of lean-to after thought. He produced a key and stripped off the large padlock as he explained the building history. I had been a hen house, then when he went into semi-retirement he let it out to anybody who was willing to pay for its use. The last company made ice-cream and had used it for storing the packaging, they had gone bust and have just stopped coming up and more importantly paying the rent. My imagination was running wild with what I could do with all this free material. I asked about the electric light bulb hanging from the ceiling. With another smile Tom explained that the line to house had fallen down in a storm and he hadn't replaced it "I think that was in 1957." He added. Next I saw a water pipe, this was connected but alas there was no tap in the shed itself. We agreed a rent of two pounds a week. The whole weekend was spent exploring and arranging my premises. One roof section looked better than the rest so I piled up most of the pallets underneath this to make my bed. Another stack made a table and most of the other odd things I put in the back section. This included 4 beer barrels, 5 mile churns, an ice cream lolly modes, a large rack, boxes of candy floss sticks and labels, a butter maker, lots of plastic bucket empty raspberry ripple flavour drums, hose pipe, an old sink, the ice cream signs that stand outside newsagents, boxes of plastic cups plus loads of other boxes too buried at present to be opened. On Monday I explained to Stuart that Tom had given me an outhouse in which to stay with running water and electric lights. He bought the story it and two days later I was permanent member of staff. Now I was set up for the winter and earning enough to finance a continuation of my walk next summer, if I ever wanted to leave my own first home! 1st October 1979 (One month Later)By 8 o'clock I was bored of trying to get back to sleep and decided to get up. I was now sleeping in a hammock than Eppy had leant me; it had taken some getting used to but was far preferable to the pallets. What was so confusing was that every action and an opposite re- action. It had taken me a good minute to work out how to turn off the alarm clock the first time. Every time I reached across I was swung further away. I was on the late shift so I had until 2 pm to get something done; I would attack the end of the shed. First I dismantled two pallets for timber and nailed them together, to create a work surface in the middle of the wall. The ice cream lolly mould rack went down the side, leaving a two-foot gap for my new construction. I bridged this with two thick metal grids, one on top of the other. I was fed up with cooking on the trangia, now the burner would go on the bottom rack and the saucepans on the top. I would get a second meths burner when I was next in the city centre. The sink unit fitted into the lolly mould rack and the natural drainage of the floor would take any water coming out of the bottom. In the back section of the shed, I put the four milk churns onto the four barrels and a pallet on the very top. I had three rashy ripple flavour containers, which I filled with water and connected with short sections of hose ensuring they had no air bubbles in them. The rest of the hose was used to connect one of the containers with the tap on the basin. I had to cut the hose to make it fit but soon it seemed airtight. I wiped the tap and started to suck. I soon had a mouthful of water, which had a definite raspberry taste. The system worked, the raised platform gained enough head for the water to flow into the basin draining one container and bridging hoses would sython water across from the other two. As they were situated at the back of the shed, the hose on the standpipe outside would reach to refill them up. The sython in the linking pipes would reverse so you only had to feed one container. I left for work at 1:15 and found Eppy in the canteen with some tea. I spent a lot of time talking to her. She and her husband Simon had moved down to Swansea when they had finished their degrees because he had got an accounting job. She had just wanted some quick money before starting work at a solicitor's office in three months time. We were the only two middle class labourers. The class structure had meant nothing to me before now. Everybody thought I was getting my wicked way with her of course it was an immediate reaction if you were seen to be speaking to the same woman three times. It worked on the theory there was no other reason for talking to them. We finished lunch, which had become the first meal of the day, when I was on this shift and we clocked in. Multi-pack had finished for the week so I was given a broom and told to help Kenny. He was retarted and he either said nothing or the only two words I ever heard him say "Fuck off!" normally directed at other male labourers picking on easy prey. He picked the better broom with an air of seniority which he could seldom exercise. Every action of his was slow and simple and single stepped, I had to copy, it wasn't worth showing him up. It was soon wages time, one hundred pounds top line, that was with weekend work. The clearing up continued, this time cardboard but it included a bonus. The printers had used odd bits of cardboard to pack the boxes; these had other printing on them and would really brighten up the shed. I was carrying it to the changing rooms when I heard shouting from the depot. Blokes were all running for cover away from a forklift truck being showered which water. It was loaded with a pallet of maize, which had been lifted too high and had hit a sprinkler. I dropped the cardboard and ran to the changing room emerging with my cagall. The forklift was right in the centre of the stores area and water was covering dry material which must have been worth thousands. Without looking at the observers enjoying the incident I climbed up the forklift carrying an empty cardboard flavour barrel. The water had a ferocious power which was noisy and blinding. I reached the source and lifted the barrel up. The sound changed as the water beat against the barrel and ran out the hole I had made in the bottom. I could see again and noticed everybody laughing including the foreman. Nobody was impressed with my heroic action to save company product. The water was turned off and I disappeared back to the changing rooms to try and dry off. I felt an idiot and cheated. The time dragged to 10pm. I could see everybody looking at me and smiling the whole time. The only distraction was an assault on Eric. He was getting married the next day because his girl friend was pregnant. They had a collection as there always was on pay day for sometime and then pounced on him and covered him with after shaver, industrial cleaner and flavouring, it was a bit of a tradition! As was normal on pay day, we went across to the pub and I tried to get another fiver off Paul. I had leant him twenty-five pounds one night when two guys had threatened to beat him up if they did not get the money they were owned. All the others thought I was stupid and I was now finding out why. I walked back to the shed carrying the cardboard. It was a clear chilly night and as usual seemed colder in the shed than outside. I took off my coat and boots and eased into the hammock, the moon was shining through one of the sky lights onto my new kitchenette. The whole shed really did look quite good in the dark; you couldn't see how dirty everything was! |