Earning a Living

Vo l u m e I

The Sheffield Branch of the WEA (Workersʼ Educational Association) is very pleased to endorse this publication; surely none of us who live in Sheffield can fail to find pleasure and fascination in reading it.

The dedication and enthusiasm of the “Memories of Work Group” is an example to all of us who aim to enrich lives through learning in communities.

John Wills

Chairman, Sheffield Branch ISBN: 978-0-900823-85-5 Workersʼ Educational Association Yorkshire & Humber Region 3 Vicarage Road, Attercliffe, Sheffield S9 3RH Tel: 0114 242 3609 www.wea.org.uk/yh

The Workers' Educational Association (WEA) is a charity registered in England and Wales (number 1112775) and in Scotland (number SC039239) and a company limited by guarantee registered in England and Wales (number 2806910).

Foreword by Joe Ashton

All real history needs to be recorded by those who actually lived it.

Otherwise there would have been no real Dickens in the workhouse, Mayhewʼs London, or Hogarth prints. No ʻRagged Trousered

Philanthropistsʼ, no ʻGrapes of Wrathʼ, no ʻOh what a Lovely Warʼ, with the haunting voices of the trenches.

All of which I devoured as a fifteen year old apprentice skiving in the bog, or riding on the 6 am morning tram from Attercliffe and Brightside.

I am so glad that the fuel of poverty wages, bad housing, no hot water, and emptying a poe every day of my life turned me into a

Labour MP, journalist and playwright, simply by writing down the wit, ribaldry, warmth and tricks of the shop floor artful dodgers earning their daily Woodbines.

ʻEarning a Livingʼ will become one of the cornerstones of Sheffield history long after the TV soap operas are forgotten, because it captures the real bread and dripping of industry.

The Memories of Work group have produced a warm, accurate and intense account of the way we worked, which is a joy to read.

Earning a Living

Introduction

A hundred and twenty three tales of working life in and around Sheffield.

“Left School Friday, Started Work Monday”

The stories in this book are told by all kinds of people, who relate their life experiences at work. They include wages clerks, hammer drivers, dinner ladies, train drivers, drop stampers, hospital cleaners, post women, joiners, hod carriers, window dressers, crane drivers, electroplaters, teachers, library staff, the list goes on. Many of the stories have been written by the contributors themselves.

One of the contributors, Ann Udall says, “They say ʻHistory is now, isnʼt it?ʼ but we were living through a period a lot of people will never know about. All round Broad Lane, Solly Street, Garden Street, there were little forges and cutlery works. This was in the 1950s and 60s. I couldnʼt imagine that one day none of them would be there.” (chapter 11)

Making sure these memories are preserved is the reason for this book. Sheffield, has gone through an extraordinary period of change since the 1940s, from being a major world centre of cutlery and hand tool manufacture, a city where thousands of men and women, many of them highly skilled, if without paper qualifications, were employed by the steel and heavy engineering industry, to what? Weʼre not sure yet.

As a manufacturing city, Sheffield is a particularly sharp example of the changes taking place in the British economy, and in the kinds of jobs our children will go into.

Other workplaces have also changed enormously, none more so than newspaper production, telecommunications or retail sales, and this book includes these stories as well.

1

Earning a Living

How did we find these stories?

We asked friends, neighbours, colleagues, and relatives to write or tell us their memoirs. We advertised in libraries, doctors始 surgeries, in sheltered accommodation for the elderly, at the Sheffield Pensioners始 Action Group, on Radio Sheffield, in The Sheffield Star, for people to tell us about their memories of their working lives. We also visited the Black Elders始 lunch club, and the Yemeni Community Association.

Of course there are gaps. We would have liked to hear from workers at the large bakeries, in the Civil Service, the emergency services, the markets, from the surgical instrument industry, or from painters and decorators. So this is not a full picture, nor a carefully balanced picture, but it is a very wide picture. About half the stories are from women, which is unusual for a book about work. All kinds of people got in touch with us, and we were fascinated by their tales.

To our surprise most people had had a variety of jobs, many finishing their working lives in a job totally different from their first one. After a lot of discussion, we decided to keep each person始s story all together in one place, and then fit each one into a chapter that described at least part of their working life. It has been thought provoking to read about engineers who became teachers or youth workers, waitresses who went into engineering, or train drivers who later worked for the library service.

At the out set we devised a very long list of questions to ask, which we soon abandoned, but at least it gave us a framework for asking people to tell us about details of their work that they took for granted.

We also worried that we would never find enough people willing to share their memories with us to make an interesting book. However we have so much material, that this is volume I of a two volume book. We intend to publish volume II in about six months time.

2

Earning a Living

We are extremely grateful to all the contributors for sharing their memories and their reflections with us. The workplace can be a very secretive place, and we tend to forget that what we take for granted as a daily routine, makes up a fascinating patchwork picture of the changes at work we have all seen in Sheffield in the last 60 years or so. We thank you for helping to create this record of a passing way of life.

Finally, the best words come from the narrators themselves.

“I didn't really have any choice in the matter. I had to work, it was the first job offered to me: I took it. It was as simple as that.”

“With the uniform of a pair of wooden clogs, and a sweat towel, I was ready to face the future in steel.”

“The training for the job was ʻwatch me and learnʼ.”

“Most firms along the Don valley, from Stocksbridge, down Penistone Road, Neepsend Lane, all the way to Tinsley had vacancy boards for cog backers, hammer drivers, foundry workers, buffers, labourers.”

“In the 1960s in Sheffield there were 60,000 people who started work before 6am.”

”Originally we had huge numbers of staff. There would be maybe thirty switchboards in a line, and perhaps sixty boards in use during the day”.

“In general wages got better after the war, but not for me.” “very few lady accountants in those days”

“Three rows of twelve women, all with sad faces, sat at long tables.”

“The foreman in our department would do anything to save money for the firm.”

“Now all the big firms have shut down, Brown Bayleys, etc. I have five sons, but none of them work in the steel industry.”

”When I think back to the time the steel firms were closing, and many of us were made redundant, I feel deeply depressed, and angry at the lies they told us, and the abuse we got.”

“The wards were big, long, Victorian wards, with 30 or more beds.

3

Earning a Living

Those wards were clean! We would start by carbolizing beds on Monday morning. The cleaners were there at all times, when you needed them, but we were short staffed all the time. Right up to me retiring after 36 years we were short staffed.”

“The noise, the heat, and the grime in the Melting Shop were unbelievable, but what a kick you got out of it.”

“On my own working on football pitches in the fresh moorland wind, or repairing cricket wickets in the hot summer sun.”

“Maybe Iʼll settle down one day, but not yet.”

“The bricks in the mixer was the best time of day – finishing time.”

The Memories of Work Group, August 2008

Naomi Brent, Ralph Basford, Carl Middleton, Tony Allen, John Nettleship and Irene Davy.

4

Earning a Living

The Memories of Work Group

We started meeting in September 2005 as a WEA (Workers始 Educational Association) study group, some people joined the group later, and others dropped out. We spent until December 2007 collecting stories, and since then three of us have been arranging this material into the eighteen chapters we now have.

It has been interesting and enjoyable work. We have met all kinds of people, and learnt about all kinds of trades and professions, from waitressing to foundry work, from delivering the post to spectacle lens grinding.

We have been reminded of the optimism of the great efforts made to rebuild the city of Sheffield not only from the ravages of the war, but also from the terrible effects of the economic depression of the 1930s. Many of the stories paint a picture of a level of poverty our children will find hard to believe. But these are stories of survival and fun in spite of hardship and some very harsh working conditions.

Acknowledgements

With many, many thanks to Sheffield Occupational Health Advisory Service for their friendly support, both for their interest, and in a most practical way, by providing a meeting room, address, email, storage space and the use of a computer for three years. SOHAS have also donated money raised for them by the Workers始 Beer Company to help with production costs.

We are most grateful to The Co-operative Community Fund who have donated funds for the printing costs.

We also thank David Pittaway of the WEA, who has prepared the book for printing, and has also given much appreciated advice, information, and moral support.

Sheffield City Library Service have been very welcoming, and helped us arrange meetings at Firth Park, Highfield, Jordanthorpe, Woodseats and Ecclesall Libraries, as well as including us in their 驶Off the Shelf始 events.

5

Earning a Living

Douglas Hindmarch and his colleagues at the Local Studies Library have been helpful in answering all kinds of questions from us with great patience.

Photos of the renovation of Abbeydale Hamlet, and of Mrs Surr, courtesy of Sheffield Newspapers, Ltd.

Photo (S21109) of groundsmen repairing a sports pitch, at the end of Chapter 9, courtesy of 驶Picture Sheffield始, Sheffield Local Studies library.

Thanks go to Active 8 Magazine for Anne White始s story, and for Dennis Lee始s story which they published first.

6

Earning a Living

Contents Volume I

1. The Steelworks The heavy trades

Page 10

2. Nine to five Officework

Page 70

3. Bricks and mortar Building and allied trades

Page 93

Terry Cooper, Dennis Mirfin, Dave Marshall, Lillian Nawrocki, John Allchurch, Ray Greaves, Mr Asker, Mr B, Saleh Alfata Mulfalhi, Trevor Brown, John Gilbert, Dennis Pring, Anthony Bacon, Philip Rowley, Sharif Din, Alan Codlington.

Betty, Ann Stringer, Nan Cantrell, Margaret Crawshaw, Joan Frith, Mrs Finbow, Janet Haydon Spears, Irene Beal, Jean Tranter, Anne White, Glennys Walker.

Trevor Barker, Mr 驶C始, Harry Barratt, Louis Hobson, Harry Arthur Woodcock Stevenson, Harry Lavill, Albert Cockayne, Arthur Wright, Peter Davy, Reg and Mavis Darby, Alan Ball, Sam Davy.

4. Timber, furnace bricks and unions

Page 131

5. Clocking in Nine very different factories

Page 157

6. Behind the counter Shops and sales

Page 171

Albert Russell, Dennis Lee, Herbert Rouse, Edward Bagshaw. 驶V.T始, William Burgin, Brian Parkin, Angela Oglesbee.

Marjorie McCourt, Daisy Hunt, Marjorie Swallow, Mary Hobson, Lyn Howsam, Des Hazleton, Don Allott, Jack Simmonite, Dennis Aldred, Mr and Mrs Surr.

7

Earning a Living

7. Blackboards to whiteboards Teaching and training, 1950-2007

Page 198

8. Switch boards and mailbags Changes at the Post Office

Page 224

9. Flowers and mowers Working for Sheffield Parks Department

Page 240

Glossary and Timeline

Page 251

John Nettleship, ʻRʼ, ʻSʼ, Pam Jamieson, Shirley Basset, ʻBʼ.

Kay Paterson, Jim OʼBrien, Valerie Salim, Christine Connelly.

John Harris, Steve Paige.

8

Earning a Living

Volume II (still to come) 10.

Getting to work on time Buses, trams and trains

Mirza Salim, Barrie Sheedy MBE, Ralph Basford, Beety Smith, Ernest Squires, ʻKraigʼ, Leslie Middleton, Roy Barker, Bill Quinn.

11.

Working with metal The light trades

12.

A cup of tea and a slice of cake Canteens and silver service

13.

14.

Edna Allen, Iris Guest, Gladys Macioce, Mary Judge, Carl Middleton, Kenneth Hawley, Stuart Mitchell, Sydney Morton, John Nettleship, Ann Udall, Margaret Wilkinson, Shirley Vallance, ʻAGʼ, Eric Finbow, Taher Ali, Terry Rodgers, Trevor Slingsby, Sid Wetherill, ʻKBʼ.

Ada Lorriman, Phyllis Hoole, Christabel Cameron, Marian Chapman.

Coal mining and after

Fred Haddington, Clive Hoyle, Ken Frost.

An old fashioned Bobby

Charles Harrod, Barry Sorsby.

15.

Safety pins and paper clips Hospitals and social work

16.

Alphabet and typeset Signs, newspapers and stained glass

17.

18.

Eleanor Hickinson, Mrs ʻCʼ, Esmee Haywood, Sheila Gilbert, Sylvia Graham, Felicity Hampton, Mrs Jeffrey, Ellen Davis, Nellie Hicks, Carol Hill, Christine Deakin, Anne, Carole Jackson.

Jack Morris, Ken Nixon, Jeffrey Nettleship, Cecil Higgins.

Borrowers and lenders Libraries

Irene Davy and colleagues.

Twenty first century work

Anita Guy

9

The Steelworks

The Steelworks The heavy trades

This book is about the changes in working life in the Sheffield area over the last 60 years. By far the greatest change has been in the numbers of workers employed in steel making, closely followed by heavy engineering, the so called ʻheavy tradesʼ, and cutlery and hand tool production, the ʻlight tradesʼ.

In this chapter we hear from the men and women who lived through this extraordinary upheaval in Sheffieldʼs steelworks.

Some like Dave Marshall have memories of the 50s when, “most firms along the Don valley, from Stocksbridge, down Penistone Road, Neepsend Lane, all the way to Tinsley had vacancy boards for cog backers, hammer drivers, foundry workers, buffers, labourers.”

On the other hand Philip Rowley says, ”When I think back to the time the steel firms were closing, and many of us were made redundant, I feel deeply depressed, and angry at the lies they told us, and the abuse we got.”

Anthony Bacon writes, “The closure of the company (Hadfieldʼs Foundry) where I had worked for 26 years, in 1980, was a traumatic event not just for myself but for hundreds of others. This, along with other large companies in Sheffield which closed in the 1980s caused misery to thousands of workers in the steel and engineering trades in the region. Followed by the loss of jobs in coal mining it spelt out personal tragedy for many thousands of families, the effect of which can still be seen today more than 20 years later.” “Now it all lies beneath Meadowhall shopping centre (employs 7,000 workers). We have gone from exporting products to the world, to importing goods for consumption. From full time employment to part time and temporary jobs.”

M. Asker says, “Now all the big firms have shut down, Brown Bayleys, etc. I have five sons, but none of them work in the steel industry.”

10

Hadfield始s melting shop 1954

11

The Steelworks

John Gilbert sums up for a lot of steelworkers, “The noise, the heat, and the grime in the Melting Shop were unbelievable, but what a kick you got out of it.”

There are records of steel making cementation furnaces in the Sheffield area since the seventeenth century, though the last one still standing in central Sheffield was last heated in 1951. This ʻblisterʼ steel was produced for the local cutlery and hand tool trade.

Because of its variable quality it was over taken in the eighteenth century by crucible steel. Benjamin Huntsman, a clock maker who required high quality special steel for his watch springs, set up his first crucible steel furnace in Handsworth in 1742. Crucible steel was made in Sheffield until the 1960s.

Our first story, told by Terry Cooper links modern steel making to a long way back in time.

Crucible steel making during the war.

My father worked in crucible steel making as a lad.

In 1942, aged fifteen, I started as a” cellar lad” for the crucible steel furnaces, at Balfourʼs, on Greenland Road. I worked there till I was 17 years old, when the crucible furnaces were closed.

I had already been working since I was fourteen, at Hamptonʼs in the machine shop, where I lasted three days, for a builder refurbishing war damaged houses, I didnʼt enjoy the heights when we were slating, and for a year as an office boy at Hadfieldʼs, which at that time employed 12,000 people.

As a cellar lad I was paid a wage of £1 a week, which was double what I got at Hadfields.

We worked down in the cellar, there was no daylight, just electric light. There were two pot (crucible) makers, they were daggers drawn, each had his own cellar, where he prepared his own clay.

The cellar lads made the lids for the pots, from gannister clay, which we had to tread in bare feet. The other two cellar lads were already there when I started. They were bigger and stronger than me, they taught me the job.

12

There were three crucible furnaces, each one had twelve holes, and each hole took two pots. We were making high speed steels for cutting tools.

Each pot would have a “mix” weighed out, and made up in a pan, of the constituents for the steel. The finished ingots weighed about 60 lbs., so the pans weighed more. Each cellar lad had to fetch 24 filled pans on barrows, with steel tyres. We pushed these out onto the cobbled road outside, to take them to the crucible furnace. We could get two, three, or four pans on a barrow, the biggest lad would get six on.

The pots had to go into an annealing furnace next to the crucible furnace ready for the next day. This furnace would be piled with coke and left burning all night. The hot coke from the annealing furnace would then be used to start up the crucible steel furnace. The crucible steel furnace had twenty four holes to hold twenty four pots.

First red hot coke from the annealing furnace would be dropped into the holes, then the hot empty pots would go in, then the pots would be fed with the weighed out steel in the pans, which we let drop through a chute. The holes would then be covered with red hot coke from the annealing furnace, with a special square shovel, to get the steel up to white heat, about 3000°C, the chimney on the crucible furnace would create a draught to achieve this temperature.

Each furnace had itʼs own team of a teemer, two pullers out, two cokers, an oddman, and a cellar lad. Each team had itʼs own style of teeming, and there was rivalry between them.

At teeming time, when the steel was ready, the saying was, “get your rags on.” The teemer and the two pullers out would wrap themselves in rags and then sacks, including the full length of their legs and arms, and soak themselves in water from a water bosh. We called this a right “sack up”. We all had clean sack aprons, made from the sacks all the deliveries came in. Everybody wore clogs, which we got from a shop on Attercliffe Common. We wore rags inside the clogs.

Everybody had their place to sit when the pots were pulled. One of the pullers out had had a pot broke, and burnt his legs. When a pot leaks, this was called a “runner”, the steel runs into the cellar and the cellar lad would have to shout up to the top of the furnace. The 13

The Steelworks

“runner” would go as scrap, we also searched for scrap among the coke ash. The pots lasted one day, that is, for two heats, then weʼd throw them away, they were chucked onto the heap and taken in a lorry that came several times a week.

The ingots were taken to the grinding shop, then taken to be rolled elsewhere.

When I had been there six months the oddman in our team, who must have been in his fifties, had some time off, and I was asked to be oddman. So at the age of sixteen I was being paid £5 a week, twice what my dad was getting.

We started work at 6am and worked until we got two heats out, weʼd be lucky to finish by 2pm. I was never late, never had time off. We didnʼt have managers, nobody bothered us. They weighed the steel which was produced, and I would imagine the teemer discussed the price for the job with the overseer, and then sorted the money out with the team.

We would take a “mashing”, tea, sugar, and thick condensed milk wrapped in a square of newspaper, which we put in a mashing can held over the top of the furnace, with a pie warming on the furnace.

There were no set times for breaks, I used to love them, we got dried egg sandwiches for a bit of a treat, lucky if you got cheese. I used to fetch beer from the pub across the road, every day, each man had his own bottle.

It was warm in winter, very warm in summer. It was a rough, heavy job, a rough environment, all the work was by hand, it was heavy, no cranes.

When I was seventeen Balfourʼs closed down, and I went as an apprentice in the blacksmithʼs shop at Brown Baileyʼs. I drove a steam hammer on a big anvil. In 1945, aged eighteen, I was called up for the Army.

I worked at GEC from 1950 till 1984, when Mrs Thatcher closed down a big part of the manufacturing base of this country, and we were thrown onto the industrial scrap heap. I finished as chief inspector. I was one of the last four out when it closed. I was 57 when I was made redundant. GEC was a good place to work, I liked the comradeship there, without a doubt.

14

Dennis Mirfin

Trained as an apprentice in heavy engineering. He writes,

1947 : one of the worst winters of the century.

My twin brother Ron and I started work at Thomas Firth and John Brown on the 6th of January, our 14th birthday.

What a birthday present! Straight from school into the works as apprentices. No prior information what to expect. In at the very deep end.

The first day was the longest of my life. We started in number 2 heavy machine shop, 38 gate Saville Street.

My brother was office lad, I was stores lad.

Every Monday morning pot bellied coke stoves were lit. No weekend heating at all. There were no flues to the outside to take the smoke away, so half the shop disappeared from view. Once the stoves got going there was no smoke. They were kept alight all week, as there was a night shift working. The stores man, George, was a very nice man. He made us feel at home. Sometimes at dinner time we had a visit from a mouse. George would put some bread at the side of his boot for the mouse. We would keep quiet and still and out it came.

At the beginning of the year, a reduction in hours was implemented.

Saturday morning no longer counted as part of the working week. It was overtime if worked.

I was there for a few months before going to the apprentice training shop, to be trained as a turner, which involved working on a lathe.

From there I went to Number 1 light machine shop, learning fitting.

At 16-17 years of age I, and my brother went to number 3 heavy machine shop. We, Harry O始Neil and Harry Brown were the first apprentices to learn heavy engineering. Management couldn始t get skilled men to stop. Some would come, have a look around and not bother stopping. It was very daunting, the size of the forgings, up to 90 tons and the machines. My brother and I relished the challenge, and did very well.

At 18 we went on shiftwork, nights and days as was the norm. At Firth Brown始s about 10,000 worked there. It was full of life. At age 14 the wage was 17 shillings and sixpence (old money). Mother had 10 15

The Steelworks

shillings and we had five shillings and sixpence but we had to save two shillings and sixpence. We saved for about a year and bought a Hercules Falcon cycle for about £12. It was our pride and joy for a few years.

Dave Marshall

had six jobs before he went in the Air Force at 18.

The Careers Service interview at school was my first brush with authority, I remember it well. My mother went with me, fathers couldnʼt go, they were working.

“What would you like to do?” “I want to be a mechanic.” “You donʼt want to do that! Hereʼs a job in stores” “How do you know what I want to do?”

For those of us who failed the eleven plus, which was the majority, although they kept us on till fifteen, no one ever talked to us about further education. There were 25 in my class, weʼd all got jobs to go to when we left school.

My father said, “Youʼre leaving school on Friday, youʼve got to be at work on Monday.”

My father got jobs for my two elder brothers at Tyzackʼs, where he worked, making ploughs, scythes, sickles, and sheep shears. They talked about nothing but work when they got home, and I didnʼt want that. The noise in the forge was terrible, they all used lip reading and sign language. But the firm had several football teams, cricket teams, and there were fishing matches. Every year there was a family sports day, everybody joined in.

When I left school, I remember walking on Nursery Street, the number of forges and rolling mills, and each one with a vacancy board outside. In fact most firms along the Don valley, from Stocksbridge, down Penistone Road, Neepsend Lane, all the way to Tinsley had vacancy boards for cog backers, hammer drivers, foundry workers, buffers, labourers.

First I went to Fletcherʼs as a van lad, then I went to Beeley forge as a hammer driver for a lot more money. I remember taking a short cut through the womenʼs swing grinding shop, they were lovely ladies, 16

but the language! Little Arthur was a bit cheeky with them, so they stood him on a bench and made him sing. Even the foreman, as he came through, said “Sing you idiot.”

At sixteen I was working nights.

In 1956 I started as an apprentice in plumbing and sheet metal work, for thirty eight shillings a week, and I got an extra three shillings for going to night school three nights a week.

But my father was ill, my mother didnʼt have any money, so I went into the sheet rolling mill, on three shifts, for £5 a week.

I moved to William Kenyonʼs, working days regular, for more money, working with 30 men for three sets of rolls.

There were three Kenyonʼs, William, Charles, and Kenyon Brothers, three different rolling mills, in Loxley Valley. T hey were in competition, and they didnʼt speak, but you could swap between them. Kenyon Brothers was the last one to close. They were eventually bought by Barworth Flockton. The other two are now all closed down and houses have been built on the sites.

In rolling mills there are no set tea breaks, we would roll a furnacefull, recharge the furnace, then go for a cup of tea. In rod and bar mills we would start with a thick bar, cog it, then put it back in the furnace and have a break. At William Kenyonʼs there was one small sink in the corner with a tap, and a kettle for making tea, and six toilets, which were middens (thunderboxes) for 30 men.

The roller would set the guides, a chalk mark, which we worked to.

For a little bloke like me thereʼs a knack to rolling, you let the rolls lift the billet. We were cogging 80-100 pound billets to make bars, which were cut to length mainly for making files. We were paid a bonus, so if the rolls broke you wanted to get them changed quick to get the bonus. The older men would look after the lads if you werenʼt cheeky. If you were youʼd get a clip, especially if you did something daft or dangerous. Burns were regular, and Shemeld lost his leg. He was backing, catching the bar, and he missed it. He tripped and the bar went straight through his thigh.

17

The Steelworks

All we had for ventilation were sky lights, there were no ear defenders. At William Kenyonʼs we rolled cobalt magnets for valves for aircraft engines. When the steel was at white heat, our tongs would get a kind of white fur on them, and after a while we would get a sore throat.

Most lads were waiting to do National Service, all I wanted was to go into the RAF, I wanted to get away. National Service was coming to an end, and they only took everybody who was born up till April 1940. I was born in May, so I signed up for nine years. I didnʼt miss the rolling mills, I had left a trade because we needed the money, and the mills were the quickest way to earn it.

I was 27 when I came out of the RAF with a recognized training as a Class 1 fitter, proud of my green card. In the RAF I had lived with my family in married quarters, so I was told the Council would house us, but I had to have wages to prove I could pay the rent. So I took a job as a maintenance fitter at British Steel, in the spring department at Tinsley Park, working 13 and a half hour shifts and Sundays. It was soul destroying. Someone said “Iʼve been doing this job 20 years, stood at this same machine.” I thought I canʼt stand this, itʼs like a prison sentence, and I left after nine months.

I went to work for AG Wild, mining engineers, in Charlotte Road, a great firm towork for, as a test inspector for valves and hydraulics, for nine shillings an hour, better than at BSC. But in 1968 the Labour Government were closing a pit a month, AG Wild merged with Fletcherʼs at Derby, and Richard Sutcliffe at Wakefield. In 1970, in spite of having a full order book, 300 men and women at Wildʼs were made redundant, two days after we had got a written promise that our jobs were secure, after a meeting with our MP. Iʼll never forget it, we all went to a meeting in Transport House with George Caborn, the AEU Regional Secretary, who negotiated the best redundancy he could for us. I didnʼt get a penny, Iʼd been there two weeks short of two years.

So I went out on the road, as a maintenance engineer, installing and servicing compressors. I was offered a job by Broom and Wade, and worked as a sales engineer, first in the York area, then all over Yorkshire and Humberside, and eventually as far as Newcastle, 18

selling pneumatic tools. Iʼd never been to work in a suit before, and we had our first brand new car.

Did I enjoy it? I did and I didnʼt. I was interested in the specialist tools, and I called on lots of different companies, British Aerospace, Humber Graving Dock, engineering firms, furniture factories, a caravan factory. But I didnʼt like the targets, which went up every year. I was forever chasing a dangling carrot.

At the same time I was involved in the local tenants association and I was a volunteer youth worker. So in 1977 I went into youth work full time. I went to Durham University for two years to train. I enjoyed studying and I would have liked to carry on after I had qualified, but it was a financial struggle with three kids.

From 1979 to 1992 I had my favourite job, working as a Youth and Community worker at Woodthorpe Centre. Thereʼs always something that makes you smile.

The job included working four evenings a week, work with schools, taking kids away who normally didnʼt go on holiday, and on Sundays there was football.

I liked interaction with people and seeing something develop. When I got there, there was nothing, but then the local mothers who had raised money for an adventure playground, the Tentown Project, which had closed down, used the left over money to convert a disused part of Woodthorpe School into a Youth and Community centre.

Most of the work for that centre was done by volunteers, and young people. I didnʼt work with young people in isolation, but with their families, even their grandmas. When I started most school leavers would get a job straight away, and their fathers were working as steel workers and miners. In my final years, after all the closures, most kids went into schemes, or they worked in jobs they hadnʼt wanted. It was like the time when I did youth work placements in the North East, where closures of the big firms came earlier than they did in Sheffield. I was working with the families who got the worst of it.

19

The Steelworks

Women have always worked in the metal industries in Sheffield.

During the War many women went to work in the steelworks, and some continued to work there until the 1980s. Like many women Lilly worked in all kinds of jobs, and her favourite job was as a cook in the catering department at Granville College of Further Education. One of her best paid jobs was at English Steel, where because she was paid piecework, she could earn more than her husband. This is her story as she tells it.

Lillian Nawrocki

Capstan lathe turner

I始ve had some right good jobs.

Auntie Jessie got me my first job, in a pawn shop.

The front half of the shop was a drapers shop. My wages were five bob a week, except the first two weeks, instead of wages I took home a list of things which had been laid away, sheets and curtains for my mother to choose from. I loved the white silk stockings they had in boxes, old stock from the 1920s, I used to love to feel them, pure silk.

From Tuesdays to Thursdays there was nothing to do. People would bring things in to pawn on a Monday and fetch them on Friday. They would only give them so many days, charged three pence a week for the first week, or six pence a week for longer. I would write the notes out.

Then I went to Littlewoods on Attercliffe working upstairs in the stockroom for the Christmas rush. They sold everything, clothes, shoes. I thought I始d got a job for life. I bought lots of bits and pieces out of me wages for presents, and then in Christmas week they stopped us, anyway I walked out.

I got a job at Gallons at the bottom of Staniforth Road, slicing bacon, patting butter into half pound and quarter pound packs. Rationing was on. We used to go across the road to the bakery to fetch ginger buns for the shop. There was not much sweet stuff about at that time, so I used to take two buns home for me mother every day.

From there I went to work in the canteen at Firth Brown始s in 1942. I really, really loved it there. In our dinner hour we learnt to dance, and 20

at weekends weʼd be out dancing. There were thirty people working in the canteen. The canteen was also open for the night shift, with night staff, but I worked days. The canteen did close for Works Weeks, the last week of July, and the first week of August, when there was just a low staff for maintenance. There was a workmenʼs canteen, and a staff canteen, which had ENSA concerts. There were easily 4 to 5 thousand people working at Firth Brownʼs then.

We made beautiful food, good wholesome food, stews, meat and potato pies, fish and chips nearly every day, two or three sweets, suet pudding, sponge pudding, and fruit pies. In the plum season I was sent to the fruit market at the bottom of Dixon Lane with a note for so many boxes of plums, and then Iʼd get a lift back in the lorry, I loved that! I got our Edith on at work, well I used to call for her, but she was never up, which made me late. We were reprimanded and we lost our holiday pay over it.

I worked there till the end of the war, for 12 shillings and sixpence a week, and me dinner.

From there I went to work on Transport. I started on the trams as a conductress, but that only lasted 6 or 7 weeks, then I went on the buses. I had to get up at 3 in the morning, so I paid a man five shillings a week to knock on the window. Iʼd walk down at that time in the morning to Leadmill garage. I was only eighteen, but I was never scared.

In 1949 I went to work up Pagoda Street making dog combs and grooming combs for dogs. It was piecework and I was earning the highest money, more than the others. They told me I couldnʼt turn out that much work, so I had to start with my bench clear to prove how much work I had done, by the end of the day.

I got a job at English Steel for four years as a capstan lathe turner, making torsion bars for motor cars like Jaguar, Jowitt, Austin. It was piecework, and I could make £12 a week on days, £15 on nights.

That were a lot then. On days weʼd try to make so many bars in front, so that when we worked nights we could finish at about 2.30, instead of at half past six in the morning, so we could get a sleep in the canteen. It was the best paid womenʼs work. Every time Iʼve 21

The Steelworks

worked piecework, Iʼve made me money, and you got a bonus on top. Piecework paid better than ordinary wages now. But if you were poorly you had to stand to it, you didnʼt get paid.

I would get so much a week stopped for the bank, I nearly had enough to buy a house, but my husband wouldnʼt buy a house so I got an English Steel house in my name, with two rooms downstairs, and two bedrooms, at Christmas 1951, and in 1952 we got married.

You see with Harry being Polish he was always afraid of being laid off. During the war Harry was in the Polish Navy, he was taken from Poland to the other end of Russia to near Japan. From there he was taken to Jerusalem and was put in the British Navy.

After the war he started down the pit in Wales, then he moved to Nunnery colliery in Sheffield, working on top. At English Steel he worked with my mam and Sheilaʼs mam, and a lot of other Polish men, as a labourer in the spring shop making railway springs for only £4 and ten shillings a week, a lot less than I earned. He used to come home and his fingers would be black blistered from drawing steel out of the furnaces. He wore asbestos gloves but they hadnʼt protected him. He were a good worker, he never lost time, but I always think he were tret like a dog.

I left English Steel to have my first child, but when my husband was on short time I went back to work as a capstan lathe turner in 1960 on evening shift at John Bedfordʼs on Mowbray Street, making socket sets. Again I was on piecework, and again they didnʼt believe how much work I could get through, so I had to get them to clear away all the work, fetch me new boxes for my work to leave at the managerʼs office to prove how much I had done.

Then I worked at a firm making stainless steel jewellery in Walkley, as a supervisor over thirty people. On Thursdays I would work out their piecework wages, as I knew all the prices of all the jobs. The wages were better than anything Iʼd earned before, £40 a week, but the whole lot went, I let it all go through my fingers, my lads were at college.

Then in 1975 I got the loveliest job you could ever imagine, at 22

Granville College, as a back up cook working for the chefs when they were teaching a lesson. Whatever they cooked they gave us to take home and weʼd have it for our tea. Sadly I had to leave when I had a heart attack.

Harry worked at English Steel till he was made redundant in 1981. I was pleased because he had had enough. While he was out on strike from January to April, the priest kept coming for his money.

Harry had none, so he said I must have some for him. I gave him £2, but next time he came I said I hadnʼt any money, anyway we never saw him again.

My last job was at Northern General Hospital for five years as a housekeeper for three childrenʼs wards.

Samuel Fox installed a Bessemer converter at the steelworks in Stocksbridge in 1862, which could make much higher volumes of steel than crucibles. In 1870 William Siemens developed the open hearth process for steel production in South Wales. The large Sheffield steel makers were the first to adopt the process as it produced more reliable engineering steels, although it was slower.

The first electric arc furnaces were introduced for making tool steel during the first world war and have become the main way special steels are made nowadays. John describes the first electric arc furnace installed at Samuel Fox in Stocksbridge.

John Allchurch

Welder/melting shop

In 1955/6 I was working as a welder at Millspaugh, Ailsing Road, Wincobank in the Fabrication Shop. The firm got a contract from British Steel Stocksbridge to build a 50 ton electric furnace. When the fabricated steel furnace was completed it was loaded on to a Pickfordʼs heavy trailer with a police escort. Before the load entered the road, one of the platers wrote on it, much to everyoneʼs amusement (Press included) 23

The Steelworks

“As Stocksbridge is in Yorkshire weʼve done the best we could To build this tub big enough for mixing Yorkshire Pud”.

Around 1960 I was working at the steel works of Hadfields, East Hecla Works, Vulcan Road Tinsley, in the Melting Shop.

It had 24 toilets, 12 down one side and 12 directly opposite.

When you went through the door to the toilets a man who was disabled by an accident at work was given the easy job in the toilets.

As you passed him he gave out three pieces of paper and he also wrote down your name and the time you entered.

You were allowed 7 minutes only. If you took longer he would come shouting and bang on the door. The workers in those days did not possess watches so we had to believe him. He was a very vindictive person, probably because of the accident. He loved to report us and we believed he was responsible for all the doors being removed to stop us reading the paper.

Around 1970 I worked for Firth Brown Tools Ltd, Saville Street.

Football followers in those days were very loyal. Wednesday supporters would not eat bacon because of the red and white stripes. Even the toilet doors were painted red and blue alternately, 12 in all. My mate was a United supporter and one day I saw him going through a blue door. I shouted ʻWhat are you doingʼ. He shouted back ʻIʼm going to s…t on them – and he meant it. Happy days.

Ray Greaves tells us open hearth furnaces were still in use at Samuel Fox until 1967. As he says, “It was very demanding work.”

Ray Greaves

The melting shop

I lived on Stannington Road, and went to Oughtibridge School.

My father Harry was the Shunt Driver at Samuel Fox steelworks, Stocksbridge. My mother Emma also worked there during the 'war effort'.

24

When I left school at the age of 14, I answered an advertised job, placed in the local paper by the Royal Typewriter Company of Norfolk Street, Sheffield and got the job as apprentice typewriter mechanic at the weekly wage of 12 shillings and sixpence (62 p now!).

From February 1949 until August 1950 (eighteen months) I did my conscripted service with R.E.M.E. in the army. In this time I was made corporal. After my six weeks' basic training I was sent to Arborfield R.E.M.E. H.Q. for job suitability. There I was made "Instrument mechanic".

In the August of 1950 I started work in Open Hearth Melting Shop at Samuel Fox Steelworks at Stocksbridge, and worked there until 1967, when the Open Hearth melting shop was closed down. Then Electric Arc furnaces took their place. Samuel Fox at one time employed over 8,000 work people

There were five open hearth furnaces, but only four were used at one time. They were known as number-one melting shop, there was Number 2 melting shop with two electric arc furnaces, later two more were commissioned when number-one shop closed down.

The working week was over 19 shifts and as there was a 驶mating始 system, you could not leave a job until taken off. Saturday finish was after tapping and fettling. Furnace capacity was 80 tonnes.

To start at 6 am Sunday, furnaces were lit up at midnight with one operator. This was called a "watching shift".

Working unsociable hours shifts was very hard on family life. Wages were paid on tonnes produced. This was arrived at by what was known as the 'Brown Book Agreement始 (1929), very out of date.

Furnace crews were three men: first, second and third hand melters, and two stage hands who weighed and delivered alloys to furnaces.

They also fetched the liquid refreshments (beer) from the Victory Club for the furnace men.

We also had one shift manager and one sample passer. The passer determined on test results when the furnace would be tapped.

25

The Steelworks

Furnaces were fed scrap and additions were made by charger crane from pans brought into the melting shop on rail bogies.

There were no set times for meal breaks and tea breaks. They were governed by furnace refining and tapping times.

Our mess room, washing and shower facilities, and locker rooms were adequate but not the Ritz. There was a works canteen but it was too far away and meals could only be had at certain times of the day.

We worked all bank holidays with the exception of Christmas Day and Boxing Day, when there was a two weeks shut down holiday, the reason for not closing furnaces down was the cost of reheating and the damage to brickwork.

United Steels was nationalised as British Steel.

The Union was recognised, and it met with management at the Joint Consulting Committee. The four day week was guaranteed, and pay was 拢3 and one shilling a day.

I went to British Steel's / United Steel's (Training) at Brookfield Manor (Hathersage), at Dalnair College (Drymen Scotland), at Rotherham Works Training Centre (Templeborough), and at ASW Training (Cardiff).

Training staff also came and gave on-the-spot tuition i.e. crane driving, lifting techniques, and were very keen on safety.

British Steel started making redundancies in 1967.

It was then I decided to move to McCall's Reinforcement Services as a 'Straightener' until 1972, when I realised I wasn't getting any younger and I didn始t know how much longer I could carry on doing such a demanding work. So I became a foreman and then in 1978 I became a senior foreman until I retired in 1991.

During the 1950s and the 1960s there was such a shortage of labour in the steel works that many workers were recruited from the Yemen, Jamaica, Bangladesh and Pakistan.

During the 1960s there were about 8,000 Yemenis living in Sheffield, 26

all of them men, most of them working in the steelworks and foundries, sending money home to their families in the Yemen. By the 1980s, after the redundancies in the steelworks, the majority left Sheffield, most of them to go home. By the 1990s the men who were left were joined by their wives and families.

Mr M. Asker

Rolling mill/drop stamper

I came to Sheffield from the Yemen early in 1960, at the age of 17, because my brother had already been in Sheffield for two years.

Some Yemenis came as early as 1956 to work in the Steel Industry.

They needed our labour because the industry was booming, and there were not enough Englishmen to do this work. It was easy to get jobs - you could walk out of a job at lunchtime and sign on with another firm straight away.

Language was a big problem at first. There were no foreigners in Sheffield at that time, everyone was white, and people would stare at us. When I went to the shops I had to point at things and use sign language, which was sometimes misunderstood. One day at the greengrocers I asked for 2 bananas and was given a great bag with 2 pounds weight. Then I had to hand over the money and trust them to give me the right change – on the whole, people were very good.

When I got home my friend said “Youʼre crazy, what have you bought all this for?”

After paying for food, rent, cigarettes and sending some money back to our family in Yemen, there was only about £3 left for saving, to enable us to visit home or buy a house. Because the wages were poor, we could not afford to buy a house of our own, but I, and my four brothers bought a house between us and shared the costs.

You might get £1 a day, or £2 ten shillings for two days, maybe £7-11 pounds for a week, doing piecework, but of course goods were much cheaper then.

At first I worked for the Bass Charrington Brewery, but two years later I moved to Hallamshire Steel. For three years I worked on Heat Treatment, and with the furnaces, and then in the Rolling Mills. It 27

The Steelworks

was very hard work, but I was young and strong. We worked long hours, sometimes double shifts for three days. A week might be -

Monday 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Tuesday 8 hours Wednesday 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Thursday 8 hours Friday 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Saturday 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Sunday 6 a.m. – 2 p.m.

Then we might get two rest days.

On an 8-hour shift we might get a 10 minutes break to have breakfast. You needed ten men to a shift, two to three men for each hammer, and if someone was off ill or otherwise absent, the manager would ask someone to work an extra shift. They needed two or three spare men. Life was all factory, home, factory, with an occasional visit to the cinema or the swimming baths.

I worked at Hallamshire Steel till 1974, then at Totten & Blath, near Victoria Station and was there until 1983. This was with Drop Stamps and Hammer driving, again, very hard physical work, and you got very thirsty, always drinking water – youʼd get 5 minutes to have a drink of water. I joined the Union, and we stopped work many times, including the big steel strike.

In 1983 I was made redundant, but they kept asking me back after say five weeks, because they were short of drivers. I did 6-8 months temporary, and over two years I was always in and out of work.

Then I had to tell them I couldnʼt do this any more, because I had a wife and children and being in and out of work so often messed up my benefit claims.

In 1966 I returned to Yemen for about 7 months, but I came back because I liked my life in Sheffield. I visited Yemen in 1975 and then not until 1997 – 22 years. Three quarters or more of my life has been in Sheffield. In November 1993 I had to retire from work because of heart trouble. The Doctor told me I must not do such 28

hard work again, though I could have done something like sweeping the floors, and I didnʼt want that.

Now all the big firms have shut down, Brown Bayleys, Hadfields, etc.

I have five sons, but none of them work in the steel industry.

Mr ʻBʼ

Rolling mill

I came to England from Jamaica in 1955.

At first I worked for ten years in a brick yard making silica firebricks, at Oughtibridge. It was alright, just a bit dusty. When I was working there I was sent to a place down the Moor for chest x rays, and through me doctor, I left the brickworks.

I went to the Labour Office to see if there were any vacancies. I was sent to Firth Brown for a job as a millhand, at No. 2 Gate.

I started work on a Monday in 1973, rolling steel, backing. It was a cheap job, (money was bad).

But I could sleep at work, because it was ʻjob and doneʼ. I had a cushion car seat for sleeping. The slingers and crane drivers couldnʼt sleep.

We worked nights and days. The worst shift was afternoons, the job got so hot.

We had a cabin full of car seats for our tea breaks. It cost a shilling and a penny for our dinner in the canteen. I liked the company at work, it was alright.

I worked there till 1980 when I was made redundant, I did want the rest, but I did want the money and all.

29

The Steelworks

Saleh Alfata Mufalhi

overhead crane driver tells his story

I was born in Aden on the thirty first of December 1939.

When I was aged nearly 15, in 1955, I joined the British Army in Aden as a soldier. The Arab army was mixed with the British army, but all the officers were British. We spent some times on the border of South Yemen with North Yemen. I can still remember my army number, 7657 corporal. I was in the Army till the thirtieth of July 1967.

In August 1967 on a Tuesday afternoon I arrived in England from Aden, by air first to Kenya, then to Libya, and then to London. I had been saving money to come, and my uncle who was working for Gordon Tools in Sheffield sent me a visa to work at the firm, and some money for the journey. I was already married with four kids, they stayed in Yemen, only one daughter came to Sheffield for a visit in 1991.

I worked at Gordon Tools until December 1970, grinding knives at a grinding wheel. We made orders for India, of long knives for farmers.

When I started I was upset, it was hard work, I couldnʼt speak English, and I hadnʼt wanted to leave the Army. About five other Yemenis worked there. We worked six days a week from 4 am till 5 pm, and I would draw £12 a week. £12 wasnʼt much money and I would send home about £25 a month.

I moved to Hallamshire Steel where I worked on a machine that removed grease from the steel. I had to buy my own overalls, which I washed myself, and my own safety shoes. I worked two shifts, nights and mornings, for £16 a week.

30

One afternoon, I went to British Steel, River Don works, and got a job as a crane driver in South Machine shop. I was trained for three or four weeks, an inspector had to pass me. The slingers give the crane drivers signals what to do.

There were 18 cranes in South Machine shop, not many slingers and crane drivers were English, most were Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, and Jamaicans. I can remember two women crane drivers, Ida and a very old lady called Nellie who worked on the small crane in D bay.

I worked in A bay, which was a very busy bay where the heaviest work was done. Sometimes we had to use three cranes at once to lift very heavy machines, over 300 tons.

It was a better job, better money, £32.70 a week. I worked seven days a week, eight hour shifts, with two to three hours overtime. I stopped there for two years then I had my first holiday in Yemen.

It was after five years working in Sheffield that I had saved £600 to go home to see my family.

When I came back to Sheffield after six months in Yemen, I went to British Steel to ask for work, they said “welcome”, and I got my job back. After that I saved all my holidays, and went back to Yemen every two years for eight weeks. Sometimes I would work at Christmas, and all through the two weeks holidays in August if there was a big order.

We had half an hour for dinner, and fifteen minutes snap time, but we would work through and the foreman would give us time for prayers, and for breaking fast on the afternoon shifts during Ramadan.

I remember the strike in 1980, I was a member of the Transport Union. I got a little strike pay from the union, I remember picket duty in Attercliffe, it was winter, and we burned wood on a fire to keep warm. I have also always been a member of the Yemeni Workersʼ Union.

I learned to speak English at work, some English people are good, others donʼt want to speak to anybody.

31

The Steelworks

I tried for redundancy many times, but they always refused. I had had enough, for the last six years at work we had to do all the jobs, slinging, sweeping up, everything, as well as crane driving.

Sometimes we worked double shifts. On the 28 of May 1999 I was finally made redundant by Sheffield Forgemasters.

Trevor Brown

Foundry worker, wrote these two pieces for us.

Disability Towards the last few months at school our thoughts were what kind of job we would take. My choice was to be an apprentice electrician, so you can imagine my joy to be told by my father that an interview for a vacancy for an apprentice had been arranged for me at his employer, Steel Peech and Tozer. I turned up for the interview aptly dressed in collar and tie and shiny black shoes and breezed through the interview and was invited back the following week, I was delighted that in being asked to return it looked like I had landed my dream job.

I returned the following Monday and was asked to fill in a form relating to my personal details and to hand it to the personnel officer.

You can imagine my disappointment that on reading it he informed me that he could not employ me due to their policy of not employing persons with limited sight. My mistake it seems. I lost the sight in one of my eyes in an accident as a child and was to be penalised for the rest of my life. Nowadays this situation generally does not exist, but unfortunately a few employers still tend to have the same attitude. I went on to be employed in a totally different type of job where I stayed for almost 40 years. Excuse the pun but you could say I Never Looked Back.

Bangers and Mash When I started work I used to work in a foundry in the East End of Sheffield where food was consumed in the mess room, mess being the operative word. The conditions left a lot to be desired, even the waste bin had ulcers, food would be taken to work in the traditional 32

way (boring stale cheese or meat sandwiches) or Alice would go to the local sandwich shop, Monday Tuesday and Thursday or fish and chips Wednesday and Friday. The best meal at work came on Saturday morning when the gaffer was not there, when I as the apprentice would be sent out to the local shops for two pounds of beef sausages and half a dozen bread cakes, which were swiftly fried in a grubby old frying pan over one of the furnaces. Good job the factory inspector did not see, and then to the mess room where the tea had been stewing for half an hour in a brown stained mashing can. You young ʻuns donʼt know what youʼre missing.

John Gilbert

Production and personnel manager tells his story from his view point as a manager who saw a variety of steelworks and also worked in the hand tool industry. He is in a position to explain a lot of the changes of ownership of the steelworks and to describe the introduction of modern technology.

Born in Pontefract in 1944, the son of a bricklayer, I was the first of my family to go to University. In those days Hull University was known as ʻthe reddest of the red brick universitiesʼ, being very leftwing, and ʻfull of Commiesʼ as we said then. This is because Hull did not make an O-level foreign language an entry requirement, and so attracted mature students from Ruskin College, Oxford, trade unionists, with no O or A levels. I was in the Economics Department, still ʻwet about the earsʼ, and those men, in their forties, were worldly-wise, with families. They had made great sacrifices to study at University. One I remember had been a London taxi-driver - they were fantastic characters.

I left University in 1965 and had a choice of jobs. I knew I wanted to make things, and got an interview at the United Steel Companies in Sheffield. This involved an overnight stay, and I was put up at the brand-new Hallam Towers Hotel – what luxury after my grotty student existence. I had a great time, and decided “This is the place for me”. At that time the steel industry was in private hands, having 33

The Steelworks

been nationalised during the war, re-privatised afterwards and was to be re-nationalised later on.

The United Steel Company was forward-looking and profitable, manufacturing special steels. It consisted of four steel works, Steel, Peech & Tozer in Rotherham Samuel Fox at Stocksbridge Appleby Froddingham at Scunthorpe Workington Iron & Steel in Cumbria.

I was taken on a Graduate Training Programme for 9 months, with about 30 or 40 others from all walks of life, and we were trained in all aspects of the work, from the basics of how iron and steel were made, to sales, marketing, early computers and research. It was a very good company.

The company owned (up till nationalisation), various businesses, which produced the resources we needed, for instance Haematite mines in Cumbria, Limestone quarries, and coal mines. I spent time at each plant, working shifts on the shop-floor. Workington was my favourite place. They had two Bessemer furnaces, the last ones working in the country, one of which is now outside Kelham Island Museum. To look at that and think “Iʼve seen that blowing” – and it was spectacular. Molten metal was poured into the furnaces from the top, air blown through the bottom, and you got an enormous fireworks display. Iron has a high proportion of carbon which makes it brittle. Air burns off carbon and it becomes steel. Workington steel had nitrogen in it, from the air blown into it, which made it specially hard. It was used in railway rails, as it got work hardened as trains ran over it. They had a Rail Mill, which was a major world producer of railway lines. That plant is about to shut now. The Iron & Steel plant closed ages ago.

At the end of the course I opted for the Rail Mill at Workington, which I really enjoyed. Shift working was no problem being young and single, and my leisure time was spent walking the Lake District fells.

However, Higher Authority said ʻnoʼ, and sent me to Steel, Peech & Tozer at Rotherham, to work in the Cold Strip Mill at Brinsworth.

Steel, Peech & Tozer had the largest electric arc melting shop in the 34

world – six 120 ton furnaces melting steel scrap. The molten steel was poured into moulds where it solidified and later reheated and rolled down into bars, sections or strip. The Brinsworth plant rolled hot strip into coils up to half a ton in weight and subsequently rolled these coils in the cold mill down to a very thin strip for pressings in the engineering industry.

We worked two shifts in the Cold Mill, and in the Tandem Mill where there were 4 mills in line. The coil went in one end, and was rolled down till it got thinner and thinner, hardening as it went. On the shop-floor I saw how the menʼs minds worked. The management had allowed a crazy payment system to evolve. The men knew how much work they could do, but didnʼt tell management. They knew how many coils they could do to get paid and not one minute more would they work unless paid extra for it. This started my interest in payment systems.

Next I worked in the Bar Rolling Mills, where smaller bars were produced in sections. There were two sets of Hand Mills, a 10 inch mill and a 14 inch mill – an ancient process. Men picked up hot metal in tongs. There would be a team of 12 men pushing steel back and forth in rollers. It gets thinner and longer and can then be made into all sorts of shapes. It was tough work. I assisted the manager (being still a trainee), and was allowed to sit in his office and work out the accounts, but mainly I was getting the feel of how to run a production operation.

There was a special section with which Stanley Tools made hammerheads. That section of the bar to make a hammerhead was unique to them – they specified the high carbon steel required – interesting, since the story comes full circle as you will see later. The 10 and 14 inch mills were open-sided, by the river with a weir nearby. Conditions were dreadful. The lads drank a saline solution flavoured with orange juice to avoid de-hydration. It tasted foul and was known as ʻbloody jollopʼ. Facilities were awful. The Snap Cabin was a three-sided shed with rags in front, where they squatted down with their sandwiches. Round the back was the ʻPee Cornerʼ. For all that, the camaraderie was wonderful, as was the skill of the Roller and his assistants. It was a formative experience for me.

35

The Steelworks

In the middle of my time there, (still in the private sector), the company found a Swiss Rolling Mill with unique and revolutionary machinery, so the manager took me to Switzerland as they were thinking of buying this machine, and I would be commissioning it. It was unheard of in the 60ʼs to go abroad on business. We took a train from Sheffield Victoria Station to Manchester and flew to Zurich, then train to Lucerne, staying in a fabulous hotel with food very different from any Iʼd had before. I remember for instance, we had asparagus with cheese and mustard sauce – it seemed really exotic.

We got the Mill, and I commissioned it with another chap. Our electrical engineers had decided that because the huge Arc Furnaces on the same site caused a variation in the power supply to our mill, we needed DC (direct current) for a constant heating source. What they did not anticipate was the arcing the DC produced on the heating contacts. The whole process was a nightmare. The Single Pass Mill was a great concept and the principles fine, but top management were oblivious to the real problems and would not sanction a change to the system. Needless to say the Mill was sold to another company. I put the whole experience down as a good learning process.

My next job was back at the Brinsworth plant as the shift foreman on the Hot Mill. This department takes the red hot steel strip coils, stacks them to cool. It could be cut to length, straightened and chopped, depending on what it is for e.g. car or lorry chassis for the Midland car firms, who would specify size and width.

In Processing and Despatch, three teams of men worked 19 shifts out of 21 in the week. The only 2 shifts not worked were Saturday afternoons and Saturday night. That meant that on the morning shift you would work on all 7 days of the week, whilst working 6 per week on the afternoon and night shifts. The worst problem was ʻdoubling backʼ, changing shifts at the week-end which felt like you had never left the Works. You did get more free time on some shifts, and could go shopping or get your hair cut. It was the nearest thing to a jungle Iʼve ever been in, absolutely cut-throat. I was so glad I wasnʼt married, because it certainly interfered with your private life.

36

Nights were awful, the 9 hour shift seemed endless and the only good thing was the Break in the foremanʼs cabin, where wonderful discussions took place. Our foreman was as thick as two short planks, and we could pull his leg and he never knew. Snap (lunch) break – I usually brought a tin of sardines and a hunk of bread, but some of the married men brought a whole Spanish onion and cheese, because their wives wouldnʼt let them eat raw onion at home.

The Mill was so noisy that you had to use sign language, especially to the crane drivers. There were 4 cranes in our bay and they were vital. The first priority was to keep the Mill going, whilst clearing the coils off and stacking them. It was the ultimate crime to stop the Mill.

The pay structure was disruptive, as everyone was based on different payments. 30-50% of pay was bonus, depending on the output. Some were paid by the product of the Mill, and some based on whatever their priority was. On other machines e.g. Slitters and Cutters, the pay was based on their own production. The attitude was “ Get my mill going, and blow you”.

The crane drivers ruled supreme. There was no co-ordination, they were all fighting each other. As foreman you pulled your hair out trying to get things done. There were 5 crane drivers to 4 cranes, so there was always someone sauntering about and going for a cuppa and chatting to the other men. This was another formative experience. If you could survive that, you could survive anything.

I worked the New Yearʼs Eve shift for one of the last times (this is in the late 1960ʼs). The men got premium pay, probably double time.

Because it was a premium shift, everyone worked extra hard to get the bonuses. The next process before cold rolling was putting the coils through the Pickling Bath, and that night the Pickling Plant beat the record. They must have earned a fortune.

One area here was used as a dumping ground. It was a mess, full of rubbish, oil and various leftovers. I decided to clear it out, got a gang of 4 labourers and told them to clear it up, and then they could go home. I thought it would take them 2 shifts to clear it, but they were 37

The Steelworks

done half-way through the 1st shift. I had promised they could go when finished, so I signed them out and paid them for a full shift – this was known as ʻJob and finishʼ. Everyone else gave me an earful after that.

When the strip was rolled and coiled it was taken off by a conveyer belt. The red hot steel was lifted by a magnet crane and stacked as high as a house, all down the shop. Because this was a boom time, we didnʼt know where to stack it all, the place was full, and the stacks got higher and higher. One time the crane driver missed it, one stack toppled and there was a domino effect - thousands of tons of steel going over. I could hear it in the foremanʼs cabin, looked out along the side of the Mill and saw a 6 foot high brick wall being pushed out by the collapsing steel. They all fell on each other, hopelessly mixed up. The first thing was to ask - “Is anybody injured?” and to take a roll call. Two men were missing and my heart stopped – then they rolled in nonchalantly – they had gone for an early lunch.

That was one time the Mill did stop. It took days to clear up, but it sorted out the Sales Department and cleared up a lot of rubbish which had been there ages. We had more space after that. That was Brinsworth Strip Mill.

I was promoted to Section Manager Bar Processing, - the finishing end of the manufacture of round bars. I was there 2-3 years, which coincided with the end of the boom time. Recession began. I found the work repetitive and unchallenging, it was the same month after month, not exciting like the strip mill. I got bored.

Due to my interest in pay structures I got into the Industrial Relations Department. In training I had worked in the old Labour Department, but with the rise of the unions in the 1960ʼs and 70ʼs, I found myself dealing with people as well as pay, which was much more interesting, as I was negotiating pay structures, manning levels, recruitment and some redundancies.

At some point the steel industry was re-nationalised, and we became the Rotherham Works of British Steel, combined with the old 38

Parkgate Iron & Steel Works. I dealt with the latter, and a new section at the Aldewark Works. This was a massive plant shop, with rolling mills, two hand rolling mills, and two bar mills. There was some rationalisation. The government gave the go-ahead to build Thrybergh Bar Mill. It was massive, the biggest and best in the country, cost about £30 million, and took three years to build. We shut the old mills, and redeployed staff. I formed a link between the Steel Works and the Construction Team, negotiating a pay system.

This was in the early 1970ʼs. Once the building was over I was out of a job, so needed to move on.

I joined another British Steel section, Ring, Rolling and Railway products, which was linked with Trafford Park in Manchester. They made axles and railway wheels, but Rotherham made them also.

The link-up involved rationalisation.

I saw trouble coming, so I got a job at Edgar Allen & Balfour, a private steel firm, as Personnel Manager and Industrial Relations.

The firm was a combination of Edgar Allen and Balfour Darwin, so when they combined they had two of everything, so needed to rationalise. They made very special steels, high-value products. It became clear to me that the private sector was living on itʼs past in the 70ʼs, due to high inflation. They sat on stocks and re-valued them yearly so the profits seemed high, but really they were stagnating. From the managerial and technical point of view it was terrible. Iʼd never worked for a steel company which didnʼt make a profit, and realised it could only be the value of the stock due to high inflation which made it seem to be profitable.

My role was rationalising between the Mill and the Steel Works.

They sold off bits to South Africa and other places in the U.K. There were plants all over, dreadful working practices and pay structures.

Greenland Road was controlled by the Union, and men were only working half time.

Pay depended on output of the final process, which was grinding.

Most jobs were paid on the output of one man, so they took it in turns to be that man. Each one would work like stink so that they did one daysʼ work in five and got paid loads. It was a fiddle, and it was 39

The Steelworks

managementsʼ fault because they never challenged the union. I, and the production manager talked it over but agreed it was now too late to sort it out, so decided not to resist it.

Edgar Allens was taken over by Aurora, originally a small engineering firm used as a growth firm for acquisitions. They were asset strippers who wanted to get into the steel industry. Iʼd been there 9 months when the takeover happened, and I became very unhappy. With all the closures I could see that I was working myself out of a job.

I raised the subject as an issue and was invited to H.Q. at Ecclesfield to meet the Chairman, but the day before the meeting, the Personnel Director rang me up and said - “Have you still got your beard? The chairman is not happy with beards”. I thought ʻStuff youʼ and kept the beard. The chairmanʼs secretary was a real she-dragon, and kept us waiting in her office for a while before ushering us into a long room. On the right were a settee and two armchairs, and the office at the far end.

The chairman walked towards us, shook hands, and I was about to sit down, when he said “ You donʼt address the chairman with ʻHalloʼ, you address him as ʻSirʼ. The last time Iʼd called anybody ʻSirʼ was at school, and Iʼd no intention of doing so now. I wish I could recall what I replied, I know I didnʼt swear, but I refused. This is 1979.

This guy was ex-Royal Navy and tried to run the place like the Military. Everyone had to stand up when he entered the room, and he clearly had a problem with beards. He took an instant dislike to me and cut the meeting short, telling the Personnel Director to take me out of the room so I could come back and apologise. I walked out and started looking for another job.

Within weeks I had applied for a job at Moore & Wright (part of James Neill, Napier Street), at the corner of Handsworth Road and The Parkway, where ASDA is now. They were an old-established Sheffield company, which made micrometers and precision measuring instruments, with many highly skilled workers. I was the Personnel Manager and was on the Board. We turned it round from 40

loss to profit, and though it was part of James Neill, we ran pretty independently. I was there four years, and could see how a company is run, how to make profits, and working as a team to achieve objectives – it was a good time.

One evening I had a phone-call from a lady with a luscious voice and was invited to go to London, where I went to a Psycho-analyst for psychometric tests. I was more interested in the process than the results – I met the weirdest guys, who asked lots of silly questions.

Well, I got the job, and went to Stanley Tools as Personnel Director, where I was on the Board and reported to the Managing Director.

This was a much bigger firm with a £50-60 million turnover and about 1500 employees around the U.K. It was here I got my first Company Car, though I didnʼt get to choose it. I wanted a small one, but was given a big one. Quote from the managing director - “The Personnel Director at Stanley Tools does not drive a Mini”

Stanleys was an old-established, very conservative firm, with 24 people on the Board. I wondered how they made a profit, with all the competition from Japan and Taiwan. It was all down to excellent marketing and advertising. Stanley knives were a household name.

At every football match there was a big sign at the back of the goal for Stanley Tools. They also had a good development and engineering department and were always developing new products.

The name and products commanded a premium, thatʼs how they controlled the market.

My role was to change things. I had a Directorʼs Secretary whose sole job, apart from typing, was to make tea, which was quite a performance. I was on the ground floor, so she had to go up to the first floor to the Directorʼs Kitchen, and fetch down a tray with silver teapot and the best china. I thought, “Thatʼs got to go”, so I warned her to be looking for another job in about three months time. The previous guy never left his office, but I walked the shop-floor and met people. There were four levels of dining facilities, for directors, managers, staff and workmen, and little empires all over. The managers had a drinks cupboard, and the Christmas parties were amazing. All the directors were given cash at Christmas to buy 41

The Steelworks

drinks for the staff, and I had the key to the drinks cupboard. I made a lot of enemies in Management because I said, “Itʼs got to go”.

On the Union side there were six or eight unions, some of which only represented about five men, and at meetings they all had to be represented. The first meeting I attended there were three managers and fifteen shop stewards. We stopped recognising some unions and had one shop-floor union for the engineering workers and one, the ASTMS (Staff, technical & management) for some of the staff, who were less unionised.

The engineering union was strong. There had been a strike four years before I came. Neither side won, but it left a bitter taste and a lot of distrust – a lot of ʻthem and usʼ attitudes. There were 15 of them down one side of the table facing the three of us. The first thing was to break down the distrust. We got them to agree to a smaller negotiating body, with just six union reps, and I started having a flask of coffee brought in. We spent the first half hour of meetings drinking coffee, eating biscuits (brought by the union reps), and chatting about sport or politics. Thus trust was built up and we introduced a new bargaining system and pay structure.

The old system had led to restrictive practices, which meant that some jobs were easier than others, but the pay did not reflect this.

Sex discrimination was rife. The women worked harder than the men and got paid less. The attitude was - “ the men earn the money and the women the pin-money”. There were no women in top jobs, and it was length of service, not ability, that got you where you were.

As we turned things round, we were making more profits and the workers were earning more by operating more efficiently. I was there fourteen years.

Stanley Tools was an American-owned company. The American Stanley Works is the oldest independent company on the New York Stock Exchange, paying uninterrupted dividends since the 1850ʼs or 60ʼs. They bought a Sheffield company in 1936, based at the Rutland Road site, and brought in U.S.A.-designed products to make here in the post-war period. From then on the U.K. operation was run independently. So long as we met our targets and budgets we were left alone.

42

The European structure began to grow - France, Germany, Holland, Belgium and Italy, and we became more integrated with it. In the mid 1990ʼs the USA got more involved with us and tried to Americanise the whole European operation, but they didnʼt understand us. They could not comprehend how we made so much money - all the others were using our profits. With an American man in charge I could see things breaking down. We were fighting the Yanks more than doing the job.

We took over a number of companies during my time there, for instance a paint brush company in Leeds, called Moseley –Stone.

This was a useful add-on for the DIY market. The firm was run by two families, the Moseleys in Stockport and the Stones in Leeds.

Both owners were coming up to retirement, but neither had faith in the othersʼ sons who would be expected to take over, so they sold out to Stanley. This was a new area for Stanley but we made the right decision to leave other managers in place. It was a profitable concern. The bristle (pig hairs) for the paint brushes came from China, where pigs in the colder North had longer hair. We entered a new area, the DIY business, making decorators tools, scrapers etc.

The Yanks did not like it, but it was profitable. After all, Stanley made tools to last a lifetime, but paint brushes were bought new every year.

I believed we could still compete with China and make a profit, but the American owners wanted bigger profits. We could have bought the raw materials from China, and manufactured tools here. It was short-sighted. Now places like B & Q and Homebase can get tools, knives, etc made in China at half the price, but the men who use the tools know that the ones they buy now are inferior, and do not last as long. We were in danger of losing our Quality brand image, and itʼs the brand we lived on.

The shop-floor felt betrayed. The fun went out of it and I decided it was time to go. I put up with it for three or four years and then negotiated myself an exit package. That was in 1998.

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The Steelworks

Some Last Thoughts Nowadays I drive along past the firms where I worked and they just arenʼt there. Greenland Road has gone. Moore & Wright has gone.

Stanley is down from four factories to one at Hellaby Industrial Estate in Rotherham. The Rutland Road site is up for sale and the Ecclesfield site is being re-developed now.

Steel, Peech & Tozer, with the biggest electric arc furnace in the world, is now a Theme Park – Magna! That place was hell on earth.

Men became so de-hydrated they would send the bottom lad out with cans to supply them with beer – I am told that one pub in Templeborough was open 24 hours a day.

The noise, the heat and the grime in the Melting Shop were unbelievable – but what a kick you got out of it.

Wherever I worked in manufacturing it was the pride and ownership of the products by the workers which was most notable. This is perhaps the greatest loss with the demise of manufacturing industry in Sheffield.

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In 1872 Robert Hadfield, a brilliant metallurgist, discovered that the addition of manganese to steel caused the steel to harden with use.

This was used for armaments and rail tracks for the railways. His father had built a foundry at the Hecla works at Newhall Road in 1872, and Robert, needing more room opened the East Hecla Works in 1897 on Vulcan Road.

Dennis Pring

worked as a metallurgist for 35 years at Hadfieldʼs.

I was born in Sheffield in 1934, and have lived here ever since. The only prolonged absence was the two years when I was in the RAF doing my National Service. I lived in Attercliffe for the first 6 years, surrounded by steel works, and started my education at Maltby Street School. This was in 1939 and coincided with the outbreak of World War 2, and I remember having lessons in someoneʼs house.

My father worked at Brown Bayleyʼs Steelworks, which was very handy as we lived nearby. Early memories are of seeing Brown Bayleyʼs wonderful steam driven lorries on the roads outside the works. What a smashing sight!

Fortunately we were able to move from Attercliffe to a more modern house on the Manor Estate. It had a garden, a bathroom with hot water from a back boiler and the toilet was just outside the back door, instead of across the yard. It were like winning the pools! We were also further away from the Don Valley when the bombs began to fall.

I was educated at Standhouse Primary & Junior School, and then at High Storrs Grammar School. When I left school at 15 years old, I started my first wage-earning job at Hadfieldʼs Ltd, on Vulcan Road, as an apprentice laboratory technician. I think my starting salary was 28 shillings (£1.40) a week. There was, however, the benefit of a hot two-course meal every day at just 2 shillings (10p) per week.

I remained a laboratory assistant until I chose not to prolong my deferment for National Service and volunteered for an aircrew commission in the RAF. After 13 months I was rejected for aircrew and so completed my two yearsʼ National Service in 1954.

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The Steelworks

My job at Hadfieldʼs was kept open for me. I returned as laboratory assistant and was offered a job with improved prospects in the Technical Sales Section of the Steel Department. This was at a time when steel was being rationed, which meant that production and sales were paramount.

This department comprised a team of six, of which I was the junior, and each member dealt with the technical requirements of the various forms of steel product that Hadfieldʼs manufactured (Hardened Steel Rolls, Forgings, Castings, Rolled Billet and Bar, and Precision Castings). The department members were also the link on technical matters between Hadfieldʼs and the customer, both at the works and at the customer works. As many of the products were exported, the liaison with customers at times involved a considerable amount of travel.

During my 35 years at Hadfieldʼs, the ownership changed on a number of occasions. These changes at times saw a contraction of the company (Foundry sold to Osbornʼs and Forgings to Firth Brown), and sometimes an enlargement (acquisition of Brown Bayleyʼs). These changes were usually accompanied by changes in the management teams with resulting changes down the line.

In 1984 Hadfieldʼs ceased production and closed its doors, and I was made redundant at the age of 50. I realised I still had to work, so I studied at Stocksbridge College and trained in management skills.

After that I was employed as a labourer at Annealers Ltd until I was once more made redundant.

Finally I was employed to install a Quality Assurance System at Bramco Steel Services at Chapeltown and there I remained until I retired in 1996 at the age of 62

I was employed in the steel industry all my life with the exception of the two yearsʼ National Service and the two years after Hadfields closed down, when I was at Stocksbridge College for re-training.

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Anthony Bacon

Foundry moulder and shop steward, whose working life spanned this time of great changes in the steelworks wrote this piece.

Recording working history

There is a problem with recording events “in hindsight”, and it is not just about selective memory, which is to be expected, because we all suffer from that. It is, I believe, more to do with applying present day values to past times, and the events that took place all those years ago. This is made worse, when some who were not even present at that period in our working history, start making judgements and observations concerning those events and actions. There lies the danger! That is, not being able to understand the values of the past.

You need to try to do this, so that you may be able to grasp what happened, and why it happened. If you do this, that is, look at how working people lived on a day to day basis, their needs and aspirations, look at the basics of their daily lives, like paying the rent, feeding yourself and your family, for that was the order of the day for most working people. If you do this, then you just might be able to understand fully in historical terms the past and its relevance to the future. Do not apply modern political correctness to past events, to do so will lead to the reader misunderstanding the message and the stories in these pages.

Could I add, the stories related below are subject to my ability to remember things, as they were 40 or 50 years ago. Also the stories are not in any time order, apart from “starting work” and the closure of the company in 1980.

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Working life

The Steelworks

1954-1980 Hadfields / Osborn Hadfields / O.H. Steel founders, Vulcan Road, Sheffield.

Looking for a job

“The man who was never lost, never went very far” A legend of the Clarion Hiking Club.

Having left school (Owler Lane East Secondary Modern, not to be confused with Owler Lane West, which was a grammar school) in July 1954, although still aged 14 years old, my priority was to find a job and quickly. Visiting the Youth Employment Office in West Street (in the 1980s this building became the so called Centre for the Fight against Unemployment, this has now changed again to something like Job Plus), I was told, after relating my school qualifications (my school did not issue any qualifications on leaving), that a job in the cutlery trade or coal mines were the only ones open to me. I do remember not being very impressed by this offer. So I declined their invitation.

At that time the larger companies had their own employment offices, these you could visit, and ask whether there were any jobs going.

Sometimes they had boards outside advertising jobs. At the time there did not seem to be any shortage of general work in the steel and engineering industries. For myself, I had the idea that an apprenticeship was the best course of action. This was a popular concept at the time. It was difficult visiting these places and being rejected, it was not a nice experience. At one interview I was asked what is the answer to 13 multiplied by 13. As we had only done up to the twelve times table at school, I was unable to answer, I did not get the job.

Eventually I was offered a job at Hadfieldʼs (the factory now lies buried beneath Meadowhall shopping Centre). There were two choices, one was as an apprentice blacksmith, the other as an apprentice moulder. At that time I had no idea what a moulder was, the blacksmith I thought was connected with shoeing horses. I chose Moulder.

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Why the haste to find employment? Well there were very good reasons, my father had recently died from cancer leaving my mother with four mouths to feed, so some income had to be brought into the family, one pound seventeen shillings and sixpence made a contribution towards the rent. This drove me to make the choice I made, for other jobs offered as little as one pound and five shillings.

The foundry

The first thing that struck me was the smell. Although I lived in the East end of Sheffield, literally among the “Works”, the smell of burnt sand is unique, and even now, when I pass a foundry, the smell causes feelings of recognition.

Hadfield (East Hecla) Works employed over seven thousand workers and covered what seemed a vast area in the east end of Sheffield.

Although I worked in the foundry in the early years there was time to explore the whole factory, with its rolling mills, forges, machine shops and melting operations. They looked after the older workers, and there were many 51 year service men. Young workers were also looked after, things like subsidised canteen meals and apprenticesʼ trips, and paid day release at night school.

The whole factory was self contained with its own ambulance service, medical centre with a nurse and a visiting doctor, and its own fire engine. It even produced its own gas, all this was a product of the war years.

A way of life, a way of work Foundry work was above all a very physically demanding job for the workers, this foundry was a very large one, a quarter of a mile long.

It goes without saying it could be very hot and dusty, depending on the job you were doing.

This, along with the smoke and fumes, and the cold, meant, that by todayʼs standards, it would be an unacceptable way of earning a weekʼs wage. Nevertheless, as for other industries such as coal mining and construction work, it was a way of life. So much so that when on occasions trade was slack, and miners or construction workers sought work in the foundry, they never stopped long, as 49

The Steelworks

soon as they could, they would leave to return to their old trades. It was also true that, although having left foundry work it was rare to return, yet foundry work retained many 51 year men. These trades became a way of life and a way of work. Maybe you can get used to anything, despite the harsh conditions.

Can anybody be prepared for work in a foundry? I suppose the answer has to be no. Some young men are more physically well built and able to do what was very demanding work, much more than some others. I include myself in the latter, I was never cut out for that sort of work, and I was not on my own in that predicament. So I always took the opportunity to escape on the company始s day release scheme. I did not have an aptitude for foundry work, but in my defence I did the work.

Foundry stories The first story I wish to tell, relates to the older men. There were many workers in the foundry over 60 years of age. Some of these

50

men worked on what was called the “crossing section”. They produced moulds for tramway and railway crossings. I noticed that they covered the moulds with hessian sacks as they worked along the length of the moulds, this seemed to be standard practice. Was it to keep the moulds free from dust or to guard the way they assembled the cores that made the crossing shape? I prefer the latter reason. Remember, these men would have come through the depression of the 1930s, which created in men a survival instinct created by the fear of losing your job.

On this section there was a moulder, called Billy, a man who I recall was no taller than myself, remember I was only 15 or 16 at the time.

A man you could talk to. I say this because the younger workers “had to know their place”.

He told me he had been a soldier in the first world war 1914 to 1918.

Because I had been an avid reader of history, I understood about the terrible carnage that had taken place. So I asked him, was he called up to fight? He replied, no, and that he had volunteered. This seemed a strange thing to do to me, I was thinking of the stories about the horrors of trench warfare. He replied that he did not join on patriotic grounds, rather because of the times he lived in. In the army you received clothing and a good pair of boots, and they fed you. As

51

The Steelworks

this was a time of great poverty for some, it seemed the thing to do.

So there you have it, a real reason for volunteering, or was it just Billyʼs reason.

Coke fires Because of the size of the foundry, working in cold conditions was a problem in winter. Large open coke fires were lit, not to keep the workers warm, but to stop frost getting into the sand and the steel chains. These fires later became illegal due to the noxious fumes, coke fumes just took your breath. This leads me to a story about the workersʼ toilet blocks.

Ablution blocks These were dotted around the plant, a relic of the past even at that period, built like small bungalows, with a small room at the entrance where the attendant sat mainly. Strangely, I cannot remember the attendantsʼ faces, perhaps they never stirred from those small rooms.

The toilet blocks were known as the ʻseven minutesʼ. Why? Because I was told that in the past, on entering the toilet block, you gave the attendant your clock number, which he chalked up on a board. After seven minutes he called out your name, in other words, your time was up.

Apart from being always in a poor state of repair and cleanliness, the main problem was that every winter, they just froze up. This caused the water to freeze solid so you could not flush the toilet. Hence the introduction of coke fires one winter, in order to unfreeze the water.

They did not do the job, and they poisoned the air even more. A visit to the toilet became an ordeal.

We did try and get the Factory Inspector interested in this problem, I took him around the toilets and urinals to show him the state of things. He was not interested, he just repeated the Factories Act, which states the number of toilets there should be for the number of people employed.

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Visit by the Duke The only time anything did happen about the toilets was when there was a visit by the Duke of Edinburgh to the company, they proceeded to paint everything, I mean everything!

Not only did they paint the toilet blocks, they then decided to block them off from view by using wooden boards, so they could not be seen by the Duke and his party, these were also painted.

They also boarded up the mashing kettles and sinks. For a whole week the factory was swept clean, and painted so much that in the end it did not look like a place of work at all. The reasons for this should be left for the reader to think about.

Divisions between the Staff and the Workforce There was the Management and Office Workers, and then there was the Factory Workers. I make no comment, other than it gave one a sense of place.

Clocking on “First rule of work, turn up, preferably on time.” (Anthony Baconʼs seven rules of work).

The first division to occur was clocking on. This, for those that do not know, is simply placing a card into a specially designed clock, which then registered a time in print onto the card.

The staff had a separate works entrance, those staff that had to ʻclock onʼ, mainly office staff, clocked on at that point. Other staff just walked through.

The workers however, having gone through a separate entrance had to walk to one of the many clocking stations dotted around the company before clocking on for work. Because in many cases they had a fair distance to walk, they were allowed three minutes to get to the clocking on points. It became a source of pride that your clock card registered 7.33 every morning.

So from the very start of the day there was division, those that could be trusted, and those that could not be.

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The Steelworks

Eating arrangements There was the workersʼ canteen. Can I say at this point that the subsidised meals, especially for apprentices, were excellent, proper cooked food. For many workers it was the main meal of the day with three courses.

Then there was the office staff canteen, the difference, apart from being a different place, was that staff had water on the tables.

Then, the supervisorsʼ canteen, I could never understand why they were separated from the office staff, but they were.

The managers had a separate canteen. And the Directors had yet another separate canteen with a free drinks cabinet.

On a lighter note there was division in the toilet rolls provided, soft paper for the staff, Izal paper for the workers, (older readers may remember this type of paper). So you see the division was complete.

Paternalism The word was not in common use, at that period, by working people, although I now recognise that our company, along with others, practised it to some extent. In his address through the annual “Hadfields Company Book” 1955, Lord Dudley-Gordon, the company chairman, talks about the Hadfields family and its proud traditions.

One being, every year introducing to the company many young workers, this was to ensure the continuity and the future prosperity of the company. At the same time recognising the service of the older worker, and making a point of retaining them in the company family.

Older workers were not cast aside as in the present day, but retained even if it meant making special provision for them. When things were slack (no work), rather than sack the workers, we always worked a shorter working week. The only time this did not happen, took place in the early 1960s. Because of no work in the foundry, many workers were transferred to other parts of the company.

Fifty one year men Also, until the end of the 1970s workers expected to work until retirement age. As a result there were many 51 year men at Hadfields, who until the merger with Osbornʼs in 1966, would have been made a presentation of a clock and a wallet with some money 54

in it, when they reached the age of 65. Osborn始s may have had a similar set up.

Characters and nicknames We often hear nowadays that there are no longer characters. Well in the foundry they had more than their fair share, they carried odd names, nicknames.

Bake-a-cake, Echo, Rang-a-tang, Togo, Wadsley Jack, Whispering Smith, Milk Bottle Ken, Kitty Watcher, Tired Hands, Fire Back Legs, Pongo, Spit and Cough (he was the blacksmith for the foundry, he was always singing songs from Gilbert and Sullivan operas, and he knew all the words).

These were the days of no political correctness, and so any physical or mental weakness was soon exploited by your workmates. This usually ended with a nickname, which then stuck with the individual for the rest of their working lives. Cruel, oh yes, but not always purposely so. For some they were descriptive and tags like Fat, Big, and Little were added to first names.

In the case of Togo, this was his real name. He had been christened Togo as his Christian name. Why Togo? Well, he was named after the Japanese Admiral Togo, hero of the Russian-Japanese conflict, which turned sour after Pearl Harbour. Such is fate.

Others made a statement, like Milk Bottle Ken. Because he did not trust the drinking water supplied from the foundry taps, he used to bring his own water to work in a milk bottle. The fact that it was a milk bottle had no significance, but he probably did have a point about the quality of the foundry water.

Bullying I suppose there has always been bullying at work, the strong have always had a better time of things, although this could be mitigated by quickness of tongue or wit. But, strangely, there was also a code of justice, about what was fair and what was not. So having knocked a man down, he would then be picked up.

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The Steelworks

Disability The factory was a very big employer, it needed bodies. In the 50s, 60s and 70s there was always a demand for labour. They employed people who in todayʼs employment climate would be seen as unemployable.

So every Monday morning there was a queue of new starters outside the personnel department.

Merger “When things get rough, men worry rats” (anon) In the 1960s two foundries came together, this was part of some government strategy at the time to rationalize the industry, another name for downsizing. The companies were Hadfield Foundry Division and Samuel Osbornʼs of Rutland Road, Sheffield. It meant that all the workforce at Samuel Osbornʼs would be transferred to the Vulcan Road site at Hadfieldʼs, with the Osborn management having the controlling interest.

This led to the sacking of nearly all the women coremakers employed by Hadfieldʼs, who were employed to make most of the smaller cores used in mould making. This was done in order to find jobs for the men coremakers employed by Osbornʼs. Was this just?

Well no! It was not. The women were let down by people who ought to know better. But thatʼs how things went. I do remember that we, as Hadfieldʼs workers, had no power over that decision. It always was the case that workers never did have the power, they just responded from time to time to decisions taken by the management.

This decision was certainly a sign of the times.

At this time there started an ʻus and themʼ attitude which lasted, as I remember, for at least 10 years after the merger. This you may find strange, as people had been doing the same work in the same conditions for roughly the same pay, working just a few miles apart.

But you have to remember these were old established companies with their own history and their own ways of working. Even now I think of ʻold Hadfieldʼs menʼ or ʻold Osbornʼs menʼ, when thinking of them.

Osbornʼs would have had a paternalistic system, similar, but not the 56

same as Hadfieldʼs. Nevertheless, we can say, that after that time paternalism died.

Eventually, the company known as Osborn-Hadfieldʼs was to be taken over by the Weir group of companies. The name became O.H. Steel Founders. The company closed in 1980, about six months after Thatcher was elected as Prime Minister. By then the numbers had been reduced to around 800 workers from about 2,500 in the 1960s.

The shop steward years Unlike some, I did not become a shop steward for what was then the Foundry Workersʼ Union, because of political ideals, but more to do with what I considered was fair and unfair treatment, dealt out by the management and the workers at the time.

It would have been in the early 1960s, I must have been 23 or 24 years of age at the time. The set up in the foundry was that there was more than one shop steward, this was because of the large size of the foundry and its various departments. The senior shop steward was a man called Arthur Vickers, who was to become my mentor for the next 20 years.

My favourite memory concerning Arthur was when he was called to ʻthe officeʼ over some matter, by management. His job at the time was working on the ʻsticky benchʼ. This is where they painted the cores in a white and sticky paint. Arthur always wore bib and braces overalls, a jacket, collar and tie, and a flat cap. You can well imagine the state of his clothes, especially his jacket, which was encrusted with this sticky white paint. Having received the call to go to ʻthe officeʼ, he immediately changed his jacket. He would take off this horrible encrusted jacket, go to his cupboard and take out another jacket. This jacket was even worse than the jacket he had taken off.

More paint and tears, and down both lapels a river of discarded snuff, for Arthur was a prince of snuff takers. I once questioned him why he did this, he only smiled and touched his nose.

The only time I was of any real help to Arthur in his time as shop steward before he made way for me, was when they decided to sack 57

The Steelworks

him. At that period we had a particularly vicious pair of managers running the foundry. They later left to run a foundry in Africa, perhaps they found it easier to bully workers there. They had given Arthur an ultimatum, that is, to move onto a particular job, which they knew he would not be able to do, hoping he would reject the move so they could dismiss him. On hearing this news I told him not to respond, and to leave it to me, and others to act for him. I had the joyful task of going into the office and telling these two, that if they proceeded to dismiss Arthur, then everyone would walk out. While before and after, on such occasions, we would and did bluff on such matters, this time it was not bluff!

Enough said, these two backed down.

I mention this episode because it was a clear cut example of working class solidarity, when men were prepared to strike to save, in this case, another man始s job. Also in this example, it was a unanimous decision taken at a shop meeting, which was not always the case.

Such was the confidence that workers felt in the period up to the 1980s, that we did not lose anyone we chose to represent in a dismissal case.

Shop meetings No decisions on various matters faced by the workers were taken without a shop meeting, by a show of hands. These meetings were always open to all trade union members, I can始t recall one person who worked in the foundry not being in a union. Staff were not included in these meetings, even when they were members of the Foundry Workers Union, such was the division between staff and workers.

Meetings without exception took place in what was called the dinner hour, which was really 40 minutes. Various managers tried to put a stop to this because they always over ran the dinner hour. They made the point that the place of work was their premises, and they had the right to stop them. Our reply was, OK, in that case we would all clock out and go over the road to the nearest pub to hold our meetings. They never succeeded in a ban on shop meetings.

The steward taking the meeting always stood on something, a table or a bench, or a barrel, anything that raised him above the rest, so he could see everyone present. Sometimes the meeting was just for 58

passing on information, if after some debate a decision was needed, it was always by a show of hands. If the result was close and it was not easy counting hands then people were divided into two groups and counted. The winning proposal only needed a majority of one.

This was not an ideal situation, a close decision would not in the long term stand the test.

Issues In the years 1954 to 1980 there was a move to reduce the working week. When I started the working week was 42.5 hours, it was then reduced to 40 hours. This stood for many years before the campaign for the 39 hour week. Workers contributed to a fighting fund, and only certain companies were targeted for action. The workers called upon to strike were compensated from the fighting fund. It proved successful, because in the end the 39 hour week was achieved.

Long before the government came up with the minimum wage idea, there was the Minimum Time Rate (MTR), a rate for skilled, semiskilled and unskilled work. This provided a minimum weekʼs pay.

Although this was not the wages people were actually paid, it was a true minimum. It also set overtime rates and holiday pay. It ended in the late 1970s.

“Another day off, is another day lived”.

When I started work we had these holidays: Christmas day, Boxing day, Easter Monday and Tuesday, Whit Monday and Tuesday, two weeks, which were called Works Weeks, traditionally the last week in July and the first week in August. By the 1980s holidays stood at two weeks summer holiday, Spring week to replace Whitsuntide, and for some strange reason people chose to take off two weeks at Christmas/New Year. Flexible hours were never an option, because of continuous melting processes. Everything and everybody started and stopped together. The last holiday gain was New Yearʼs day in the 1970s under Edward Heath. Thanks Heath! I do remember working on New Yearʼs Eve. There is no doubt that holidays were vastly improved in those confidence years, and in my opinion was something to support by direct action more so than wage increases.

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Pay, what is a job worth?

It is my opinion, based on my experience of representing people in pay negotiations over many years, that it is not the workers who have the most physical or dangerous jobs, or the most skilled workers, or even the workers who work the hardest who are paid the most! Pay has much more to do with the ability of workers to drift their earnings upwards over many years. Not as individuals but as a group. An individual could be obscenely overpaid, for reasons from favouritism to pure luck in being in the right place.

Closure The closure of the company, where I had worked for 26 years, in 1980, was a traumatic event not just for myself, but for hundreds of others.

A year before the closure I was sent for as convenor to a meeting with one of the directors. What was put to me was a proposal to invest in a new manufacturing process. This would all depend on the operatives not being the skilled workers employed at the time. It would have to be agreed that most of the skilled workers would be made redundant, to be replaced by semiskilled operatives. You have to remember that I was the representative for these skilled men. I remember I did not ask for time to think about it. It was strange to think they had the nerve to put such an idea to me. I told them I would not be party to such a sell out. It was a bitter blow to capitulate and throw so many men onto the scrap heap.

Now It all lies beneath what is now Meadowhall Shopping centre, along with Hadfield始s, Edgar Allen始s and other companies.

We have gone from exporting products to the world, to importing goods for consumption. We have also changed from full time employment to part time and temporary jobs.

Hard Times Having been made redundant, I felt cast adrift with no particular course to take. I just wandered up to the job centre at Firth Park and back.

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Job centres I never did feel comfortable visiting these places, but over the next eight years I was to go on many occasions, as well as attend the various job clubs in the city. None of these visits led to employment for me. You have more chance of securing employment by visiting your local pub, and asking friends. This goes for job clubs as well, so why go to them? For the most part it was out of sheer desperation.

The truth was there were not enough jobs to go round.

After eight months of unemployment, which drains you, physically and mentally, I got a job at the Aurora Steelworks at Ecclesfield. My elder brother told me there were jobs going there, in the rolling mill. I was told by the manager that my age was against me working in a rolling mill.

This job lasted from May to November 1981. During the Autumn break we heard on the radio that the factory was to close.

Working men in action I would like to relate an incident that shows that solidarity had not died in the early 1980s. It took place on the afternoon shift, 1pm to 9pm. One afternoon some men found their clock cards missing, and they were requested to go to the manager始s office. They had been seen leaving the factory early and yet their clock cards showed 9pm.

At the side of the factory ran a railway line, the men would go through a hole in the fence, along the railway line to a side road which led away from the factory.

The shop steward called a shop meeting, and said he could not defend what they had done, however he would go in and argue with management. His argument was that if it was a dismissal offence, then it should have applied to all the men who had left work early in the evening. In fact management had used the opportunity to weed out those they could do without. Such people like the head roller had been left alone. The outcome was that the individuals picked were suspended a day a week for six weeks without pay. In solidarity we all agreed to accept a money levy to make up their pay.

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The closure of the factory They did their best to save jobs, but the employer used European money to bribe the workers. There was money from the European Iron, Coal and Steel Commission, which could be used to pay redundant workers an extra £1000 on top of redundancy money, extra payments for the over 55s for two years, and also pay for full time approved training courses. This was part of a European plan to reduce production capacity, something that Thatcher embraced more willingly than the French and German governments.

Written on the factory wall, “Take your money and run.”

That is what they did and the convenor went through the same pain as I had at Hadfieldʼs.

For me, not having worked there for a year, there was a problem, I would not be entitled to training money, so I was prepared to do any work to extend my employment to over a year. One of the security guards wanted to leave early, so I was offered the job, which I took so long as I could leave after a time to go on a training course. The personnel officer agreed to this, and I worked on security for about a year. The drawbacks were the hours, (a 56 hour week) and the loneliness.

Sheffield Polytechnic In September 1982 I left to go on a training course at Sheffield Polytechnic for a year. It was difficult, especially at first, to go back into education.

Having succeeded in getting a Diploma, I then turned my back on it all and went back into the works, which in retrospect turned out to be wasted years for me. But it was work of a sort, and paid a wage, if low.

The big works Forgemasters, formerly the English Steel Company, employed me on a temporary basis, first in the foundry then the forge.

I worked in the foundry for six weeks, a soul destroying place, which while needing a job I was glad to leave.

The forge manger said there was a job crane driving in the burning section attached to the forge. Although I had never driven anything in my life before, I gave it a go, and stayed for the next three years. I was offered redundancy, for the third time in five years.

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Northern College Back again into education, at a loose end, I decide to find sanctuary on a residential course there. I stayed for a year, which I did not see as a wasted year, and I did at last get some formal education.

Having left college I was to enter the worst period for the next two to three years of my working life, although funnily enough for six months I did enjoy the job at Concord Park, based on the bowling greens, selling tickets mostly. The lowest ebb was working at the NCP car park, and going to Handsworth Training Centre.

The final and best years From 1989 till my sixty fifth birthday in 2004 I worked as an occupational health adviser in Sheffield and Rotherham.

Philip Rowley was proud of his work at British Steel, and felt he was “put on the scrapheap at 49.” He also, after some hard times, found a job he loved, with the library service, and was sorry to retire when he was 65.

Steelworks mechanic

When I first started work I went to see my Auntie and Uncle. Uncle was a surly man who rarely spoke, but when I told him I was going to be an apprentice fitter, he changed towards me and we got on like a house on fire. The advice he gave me was – “When you do anything, always leave a hallmark - that is - do a good job and be proud of it.” I took his advice.

Now, when I think back to the time the steel firms were closing, and many of us were made redundant, I feel deeply depressed, and angry at the lies which were told us, and the abuse we got. The newspapers said that Tinsley Park was closing, that 1,500 jobs would go, but that other jobs would be found for us.

I was a fully trained mechanic with British Steel, and had even been offered a job by Rolls Royce to open up a place in Australia, which Iʼd refused because my wife was reluctant to leave Rotherham, but the only job I was offered was ingot painting. I turned it down. I felt I had been put on the scrap heap at 49.

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Every two weeks I had to go and sign on, and was told I must go to the Job Club, to learn how to write letters of application for jobs and suchlike. When I refused, I had to see the supervisor, who threatened to cut off my unemployment benefit if I did not join. I explained that they couldnʼt do this, because they were not paying me any benefit. The rule was that if you had more than £3,000 savings, you got no benefit. I also said I was perfectly capable of writing the letters myself. After that, I was hounded from pillar to post.

A pal of mine worked in the District General Hospital and suggested I see if there were any jobs going there. I found my way to the library, where they were asking for volunteers to take books round the wards, and I offered my services. I enjoyed that, so when a paid job as Relief Assistant in the library cropped up, I applied and was given it. This was a local government appointment, despite being based at the hospital. Next a permanent part-time job came up and finally full-time.

The full-time post was to be Driver-Assistant on the new Bookability Service to Old Peoplesʼ Homes and Centres. The specially-adapted vehicle had a wheelchair lift so that we could get infirm people onto the bus to choose their own books. Iʼd enjoyed my time at British Steel, but I really loved this job, and was sorry to have to retire at 65.

In fact, I went down to the Town Hall to see if they would keep me on for a few more years, but they refused. The reason given was the difficulty of getting insurance cover for older staff. However, I could always stay on as a volunteer, which I refused to do. Strangely, there seemed to be no problem with insurance for voluntary workers.

I didnʼt stop working after I retired. A pal of mine ran a Newsagents shop, and I delivered papers for him for a few years, only stopping when I got ʻFlu last Christmas, which turned into Double Pneumonia, and has left some lingering after-effects.

My view about work is, that if you are swinging a 14 lb hammer all day and love it, itʼs not hard work, but if you are sitting at a desk, writing and hate it, then it is hard work. If I got up in a morning and dreaded going to work, I wouldnʼt do it.

We were very sad to hear that Philip Rowley died earlier in 2008.

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Another foundry worker who is now looking for work, Sharif Din, told us his story.

I came to Sheffield from Kashmir in 1966 when I was about 15 years old. My father was a farmer and a pottery worker. I was very happy, back home, I went to school, and learned English there. In the 1960s the Mangla dam was built in Kashmir, and our family land is now covered in water. I think most of the Pakistanis in Britain came because of the dam.

The people I came with charged a lot of money. I wasnʼt sure what I was going to do when I got here. I thought it was a terrible place, not like back home, no mountains. I wished I had never come.

I started working in Rotherham at the William Lee Foundry making baths. It was 2-3 years hard work, shovelling sand into moulds, for £3 for a six day week.

Then I worked for 14 years at Laycockʼs Engineering in the foundry, first in the core shop, then as an operator on a sand machine for 5 years. But there was more money in moulding, which is really heavy work, so I did that for 6-7 years, lifting mould boxes and putting them on a race track. We were making clutches for cars. They were colour prejudiced, workers and managers, all the same.

Then I went home and stayed there for a year, I didnʼt feel like coming back. I was penniless, as Iʼd blown all my wages when I was younger. I had to borrow money when I got married, and then I had to come back and find work. My wife stayed in Pakistan and had our first son. She came to Sheffield in 1984, with our little boy who was three and a half years old by then.

I had started working at Thomas Clarkʼs as a truck driver, inside the factory and on the roads, as it was closer to home. Thomas Clark was a gentleman, he was the best gaffer, but the money was rubbish, £2.98 an hour.

One night I thought I must get out of here, so in 1994 I got a job at Laycast Foundry at Swallownest, doing all sorts, grinding, fettling, inspection, packing, truck driving. I was made redundant in 2006, 65

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Laycast have now gone abroad, I donʼt know where.

In 1998 I had tried taxi driving, for two years, but I didnʼt like it, there is a lot of abuse.

Now Iʼm 57, looking for a job. Iʼve tried applying for fork lift truck driving, or grinding, but whenever they hear my name they donʼt call me back. They prefer the European workers who are coming in. To get a job you have to know someone there. When I got my job at Thomas Clarkʼs in 1982, it was easier, I just went to the factory and asked. I was asked if I could drive a fork lift truck, and told to come back in the morning.

Foundry work is very heavy, and you work 65 -70 hours a week, thatʼs not a life. I hated working nights or afternoons, the best shift is mornings, then you have more time with the family.

When I retire I want to go back to Pakistan.

The towns of Mirpur and Dudial in Pakistani Kashmir, and about 280 villages were submerged when the Mangla dam was built in the early 1960s. The dam, one of the worldʼs largest earth filled dams, was to provide a reliable flow of water to the Punjab, the most fertile agricultural land in Pakistan, as well as hydroelectric power. About 110,000 people were displaced, farmers lost their lands, and farm workers lost their livelihoods. Many people used the compensation money they received to help pay for their emigration to Britain.

We finish this chapter with Alanʼs story, which surprisingly spans 1981-2006. Redundancy is still as painful in the twenty first century as it was in the 1980s.

Alan Codlington Electrician

My dad got me a job when I was 17 at Forgemasters, at Weedon Street as an electrician in 1981. I went to college 2 days a week. I worked there until 2006, when I was made redundant. Iʼve still got the habit of getting up at 4.30, to go to work for 6 in the morning.

I remember when Hadfieldʼs was there, (Meadowhall now). In 1981 they started making redundancies, then there was the strike. There 66

was a lot of bother down at Hadfieldʼs, everybody had to run the gauntlet of the pickets. I was in the AEUW, I remember stopping the lorries going in.

Afterwards there were mass redundancies, I was lucky I escaped it. I was on edge all the time, because I was last in. The strike didnʼt achieve much. At work it was different after the strike, I felt for those forced to take voluntary redundancy. There wasnʼt the same closeness after the strike, the atmosphere was different, there was a lot of back biting.

My father was made redundant in 1985 after working there 45 years.

We worked side by side, so I had to get used to a new way over again.

I liked my job, I felt needed, when everybody was on holiday for example for Christmas, I was there for maintenance. I used to work Christmas night, Boxing night….

When I first went to work there were no guards on the machines, but we used to wear safety goggles, safety is a big thing especially with steel flying about.

In the early 90ʼs I remember we worked on the “big gun”. It were massive, getting it on a low loader were a job. “What are they going to do with this?” We were very surprised when it all came out.

The best thing about work was friends, our mess room was fairly clean, though all the men talked some right stuff. Iʼm not one for change, so now Iʼm not working, how to fill my days? “Itʼs nice to talk about it, else itʼs forgotten, a part of your life thatʼs gone”.

During the 1950s the steel industry in the Sheffield area was in full production. In 1960 about 3 million tons of ingots and castings were made. In 1964 the English Steel Corporation (ESC) employed 14,140 workers, Samuel Fox 7,679 workers, Firth Brown 7,500, Hadfieldʼs 4,000, and Osbornʼs 3,000 workers. Nearly all the national production of alloy steel in the UK came from Sheffield. In 1976 the Shepcote Lane site of British Steel Stainless was developed into the largest purpose built stainless steel plant in Europe.

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From 1945 till 1981 the unemployment level in Sheffield always fell below the national average. Then came the massive redundancies and wholesale closures of steel and engineering works. 60,000 workers were employed in the Sheffield and Rotherham steelworks in 1971, falling to 43,000 in 1979, 16,000 by 1987 and below 10,000 in the mid 1990s. Unemployment in Sheffield reached its highest point in 1987, with 47,500 people unemployed, 16.3% of the registered work force, about two thirds of them steelworkers. Some estimates add another 15,000 to these figures.

An era in the history of Sheffield was ending. Many of the old jobs were skilled and well paid, now the new jobs in the service industry are part time, and for lower wages.

But the steel industry in Sheffield is still important internationally.

Sheffield has some of the most advanced and productive steel melting plant in the world. Jobs have been destroyed by modern technology, but more steel is now made in Sheffield than during the 1940s.

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Nine to five

Nine to five Officework

Changing from one kind of job to quite a different one is a more common experience than we expected, when we started collecting stories for this book.

Women have always been even less likely to stay in the same kind of work than men. Their working life usually changed dramatically when they had their children. They often returned to part time work, which fitted in with the school day, and with school holidays, working as a school dinner lady or yard supervisor, or other part time work.

Office work has, like other work, changed, from high desks and farthings, Hollerith Punch Card machines, Burroughʼs Accounting machines, Gestetnerʼs, and “very few lady accountants in those days”, to computers and new pence. Ann, Margaret, Janet and Irene all worked as wages clerks in the steelworks, and Joan, also a wages clerk, describes the introduction of PAYE during the war.

Offices during the 1940s are described as dark, cold, and with strict rules of behaviour. As Betty writes,” It was just like working in Dickensʼ time”.

When I left school in 1940, aged 14, someone from the Education Welfare Office told me about a job in a solicitorʼs office, where an office girl was wanted. My mother went along with me for an interview and I eventually started work there. As part of my job as office girl, I had to take the local letters to the various offices first thing in the morning. At first, that was quite difficult because I didnʼt know where any of the addresses were. I wasnʼt too keen on that part of the job, but I had it to do.

The office in which I worked was very dark, reminiscent of Dickensʼ time. Heating was provided by a tiny black fireplace set in one wall.

All the furniture was very dark wood and the desks were very high.

There were high stools to match. The male clerk stood at his desk to do his work, including using his typewriter.

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There was another thing I didnʼt like, that was I had to wear an overall - dark green. I felt like a cleaner. I was issued with two or three, I canʼt remember just how many. These lasted three years.

Then one day, I plucked up courage and went to work without wearing one because they were worn out. Well, I might have been committing a crime. “You canʼt be without an overall, you will be showing your bare arms”, said the boss. Howʼs that for an attitude, I ask you? None of the other workers in the office were forced to wear any sort of uniform, they were free to choose their own work clothes so long as they were not judged to be offensive to clients.

One day, an office boy who was younger than me was sent back home to change. He had turned up for work wearing sports clothes, another terrible crime. Sporting outfits were only allowed on Saturdays when an employee might be going straight off to play in a match after work.

After a year or so at the office, I went to Whiteleyʼs Business College in Surrey Street to learn shorthand and typing. Then I became the Junior Partnerʼs secretary - more like a slave. Although this was a more responsible position, I was not given any extra pay. I used to get to work at 8.30 for 9.00 am, no time for a mid morning drink, work right through the one and a half hour lunch time and finish at 5.30.

One day, my boss dictated about forty letters and with these, I had to type leases, draft Wills and sometimes copy plans. The Managing Clerk then asked me to do something for him and I said I would if I had time. His answer was “You must find time.”

You couldnʼt really talk. I once had a bad cough and the senior partner shouted from upstairs “Go and get a drink of water”. I was taking dictation at the time, but was allowed to go and get a drink.

My daughter has been a legal secretary for many years, and from what she says, she is kept busy but is happier in her work than I was.

When I left after five and a half years, they wouldnʼt even let me serve my notice. I was told “Collect your cards and next weekʼs money and go immediately.” I was told later by the Chief Clerk, that 71

Nine to five

they could not find anyone else to do my job. The people they engaged only stayed a week and then left. I wonder why?

Many years later when I was married and planning to buy a house, I returned to that office as a client. It was still run by the same partners who immediately recognised me. They said how delighted they were to see me again and how they had fond memories of me working for them. I didnʼt believe a word of it!

Ann Stringer worked in steelworks offices, as a Co-op laundry ledger clerk, a school yard lady, and lastly as a voluntary hospital library assistant.

I was born in Pitsmoor in the year 1929, and went to Pye Bank School until I was 6 years of age. Then we moved to Shiregreen where I attended Hatfield House School. In the Sheffield Blitz I was taught in this cold bedroom.

Left school on the Friday, started work on the Monday at the ripe old age of 14. But before I left school I applied for this job at the Co-op Laundry. Got the interview. The manager asked me to write 1-10 down on a piece of paper, then add them up. I got the answer right.

The manager then told me that I was office material. By this time I was very excited that I may get the job, but in the next breath he told me – “No vacancies”. What a disappointment for a 14 year old

Then I got this interview for the Post Office, which I didnʼt want, and another interview at Jessop-Saville at Brightside, working in the offices. I could have had either of the jobs, but my mum made my mind up for me. Seeing as Jessop-Savilleʼs were paying 1s.6d extra due to the war effort - “This is the job for you my girl” – was mumʼs expression.

I had to catch the tramcar to Jessop-Savilles, starting time 8.30 a.m. and finishing at 6.00 p.m. One weeksʼ annual holiday and bank holidays, all this for 22 shillings a week.

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The forge workers got a liquid allowance. That means when the workers went to the Bridge Public House, they got a tab. Then on return to work the men would hand it back to the man on the Gate.

Then on the following morning it was my job to collect all the tabs from the different gates. What an eye-opener for a 14 year-old girl.

The heat and having to walk on gantries with sparks flying, hammers banging. After a while I got moved to the transport office, where I would be sent to the Wicker Arches for cargo licences for steel to be sent abroad.

On one occasion I caught the tram at Brightside down to the Wicker for the cargo licences. By the time I got out of the Licence Office to catch the tram back to Brightside the streets were empty. No traffic, no people. This man shouted – “Where do you want to get to?” I shouted back – “Brightside”. His reply was – “No chance. VE Day has been declared and everyoneʼs gone home to celebrate”. So I walked all the way back to Brightside, then all the way home to Shiregreen.

Whilst at Jessop-Savilles I attended night school. For each subject you studied you got an extra one shilling and sixpence per month.

Mum was chuffed at my three shillings a month. While at JessopSavilles I met my husband-to-be. We got engaged when I was 18 and a half years of age and got married at 21.

By the way, do you remember when I applied for the job at the Co-op laundry as I was leaving school? Well, they wrote back to me to let me know they had a vacancy for a ledger clerk. I took the job. This was dealing with customersʼ bed linen, curtains etc. I remember we would put an example together of items customers could put for the wash, which was ʻ12 items for two shillings and sixpence (12 and a half new pence) e.g. 1 sheet, 2 shirts, 2 pillowcases, 2 towels and various other items adding up to 12. This lady came in and asked if she could buy the example at half price. “Sorry madam, the price is for cleaning”.

Another lady requested for her sheets not to be hung out on the line in windy conditions. She must have thought the laundry had got miles and miles of drying lines outside in the yard.

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I can始t remember what I got for my five and a half day week, but you didn始t get full pay until the age of 25 (office staff), and 21 for shop floor workers.

At the age of 26 I had my first child. We had to live at my mum始s.

We stayed there for a year, then we got our first council house in 1956, although I had had my name down on the Housing List for 8 and a half years. When I was 32 I had my second child. Denis, my husband, who was a boilersmith at Jessop - Savilles, decided he wanted me at home with the children, so I didn始t work from 1956.

Hatfield House Lane School (Infant & Junior), had a mysterious fire, and the scholars were transferred to Woolley Wood as they had some spare classrooms. Seeing that my youngest was attending there, I offered my services. Mr Smillie, the Headmaster, asked if I minded helping them out for a while as Voluntary Schoolyard Lady, but after a couple of days I was offered the job on a regular basis and getting paid nineteen shillings and sixpence per week!

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Denis passed away in 1975, and in 1984 I retired from being a School Yard Lady, through ill -health. A couple of years after leaving the school job I decided that I wanted to ʻgive something backʼ to the Northern General Hospital, so I applied to the WRVS and worked as a volunteer at the sandwich bar for a few weeks, but I did not really enjoy that work, so I went across to the Patients Library office, which was almost opposite. I knocked on the door and the full-time librarian more or less interviewed me there and then. Iʼd already had the Medical, which is required for volunteers, so I started the following Tuesday taking books to the wards with the trolley. I stayed there for about 6 years as a one day a week Library Volunteer.

Nan Cantrell also spent some time as a school dinner lady when

her children started school. She then returned to office work for sixteen years until her retirement.

I was born in 1927, in the village of Westbury on Severn, Gloucester.

My fatherʼs name was John Hill, he was a farmer and my mumʼs name was Dorothy, she also helped with the farm.

My family came to Sheffield in the year of 1932 when I was 5 years of age, due to bereavement.

I attended the little village school at Bradway until I was 8 years of age. Then I went to Abbey Lane School, after Abbey Lane I attended City Grammar School until I was 16.

I entered Commercial College on Melbourne Road for only a few months, before my father got me a job at the National Westminster Bank, High Street.

This is where I met my future husband, Jeffrey, him one side of the table, me the other, talking about borrowing records (the playing type). I stayed at the bank until 1952, when I got married. I didnʼt work until 1961 due to bringing up two children, and went back to work as a dinner lady at the local school until 1970. I didnʼt like it, and in 1971 I got a job at the Guardian Royal Exchange Insurance and after 18 months as part-time I was asked to go full time.

Then in 1987 I retired.

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Margaret Crawshaw worked as a punch card machine operator (very early computer systems) with “new-fangled strip lighting”, and as a dinner lady.

At the end of the Second World War, I was sent a card from the government, thanking me for my effort during the war. I thought this was hilarious because I had been a schoolgirl at that time and had only been working a matter of weeks when the card arrived. My father was a labourer and I was expected to do something better with my life.

My first job was at Edgar Allenʼs as a Hollerith Punch Card Machine operator, preparing wage records. I had been told that my wage would be £1 and sixpence and I was planning what I could buy myself with that sort of money. Imagine my disappointment when my first wage packet only contained 19 shillings and seven pence. When I complained that I had been paid short, it was pointed out that everyone had stoppages for National Insurance etc. We in the wages Department were quite jealous of the electricians on the shop floor who were earning so much more.

Our office had been refurbished after the war and had the newfangled strip lighting installed. Someone had wrongly calculated the amount of glare which these lights gave off and several of us had to complain that our eyes were being made sore as a result. A temporary solution was to remove some of the strips.

At morning break time, a trolley would be brought into the office and we could buy ourselves a drink. Our favourite was hot chocolate.

Once a week, we would send out to the local pastry shop and treat ourselves to a Viennese Whirl.

The work was just a regular routine, but occasionally, things could go wrong. On one occasion, someone accidentally rolled up all the Time Cards in an old Worksheet and threw them away in the salvage collection, which resulted in a great panic. We spent a long time sorting through great piles of rubbish in order to find them again.

Social life was quite good. One of the highlights was the annual works dance held at the City Hall. Our parents allowed us to go on 76

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condition that we caught the 10p.m. tram back home. Dad would be waiting at our tram stop to walk me home. Some of us office girls formed a hiking group and would go out walking in the countryside at weekends. One of the girls once turned out in her Air Raid Wardens uniform after doing a night duty. One colleague from the office married an American serviceman and went with him to live in the U.S.A. She sent me a box of watercolour paints, something we could not buy in this country at the time.

I met my husband through work. My wedding dress came from a little shop on Attercliffe Road and cost me seven shillings and sixpence.

When I collected it, it was made from a different material because they had run out of that which I had chosen. (Everything was still in short supply and we seemed to accept that things like that could happen). Dolcis shoes and big “Hollywood Hats” were luxurious accessories for weddings. I left work at age 21 to have a baby.

A few years later, in order to encourage my daughter to eat, I took a job as a Dinner Lady at Beck Road School. I finished up staying there for the next 15 years.

Joan Frith worked for thirty five years as an accountancy clerk

I was born in 1925 and obtained my first job in September 1939, though I did not start work until 2nd October, the day after my 14th birthday. Thirteen-year-olds were only allowed to work with special permission.

I was employed at a high-class gown shop called Price of Broomhill, as a student buyer at 6 shillings for a 48-hour week. My role was really a sort of general dogsbody and involved tidying drawers after customers had disarranged them, and making tea for both customers and staff. Anyone who bought goods in the shop was entitled to a cup of tea, which involved me going down steep steps to the cellar, where brewing up took place. They were a pretty snooty lot, our customers, and sometimes made me cross, so I didnʼt stay there very long.

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In January 1940 I got a job at 11 shillings per week in the General Office at the Sheffield & Ecclesall Co-op Arcade at the bottom of Ecclesall Road and London Road. I was seated at a table with three other girls and our work consisted of taking in and handing out Share Books, preparing and stamping envelopes and delivering mail around the various other departments. We also delivered mail to the Archer Road site, which comprised Transport, Milk and a Grocery Warehouse.

After the night of the Blitz I walked from Crookes to see if there was a chance of working, but although the premises were not hit, the windows were shattered and we were sent home. I walked up the Moor amid the horror of it all, back home, very upset and weeping.

I attended Night School to learn typing and book-keeping and by the age of 16 had worked my way from the bottom of the table to the top.

This was despite an escapade which nearly cost me the job. At only fifteen, I, and another girl plus two lads, went in the Goods Lift and stopped it half way down, so that the lads could teach us to smoke.

Unfortunately someone wanted the lift and was alarmed to see smoke coming up through the roof. We got into terrible trouble, and the other girl (who was also a bad timekeeper), got the sack. I was sick all afternoon and I始ve never smoked since!

At 16 I took a job in the Wages Office, and was sent to fetch around 拢1,000 in a Gladstone bag, from the bank on the corner, by myself each week. At 17 I was sent out to pay the dividends, in cash, of course. I particularly enjoyed going to Hathersage to pay out dividends there, because my boss took me and the cash in his car, and it made a day out.

While I was there the PAYE (Pay as you Earn) scheme came in. We were taught to use a new machine, and during this time I fell off my bike and broke my right arm, which meant my arm was in a sling for three months. Nevertheless I hated being off work and managed to use my left hand, which was difficult, but better than being stuck alone at home, for by this time my dad and brother had been called up and my mother was also out to work.

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We did all the wages calculations in our heads with tax instructions, and then fed the cards into the new machine. Everyone had different wages as our rises were given on our birthdays. I had always been very shy and found it difficult talking to older people but this job helped me get over that, as I had to give people their cards.

I really wanted to join the Land Army at 18 years, but could not because doing PAYE was a reserved occupation.

By the time I left the job at the age of 21, my wages had gone up to £3 a week. I married at 19 but did not leave until I had my first baby at 21. This was unusual because of the war. Before then no married women were allowed to work there.

In 1957, when my second daughter was 7 years old, I decided to return to work part-time, and signed on with a Staff Bureau, who sent me all over Sheffield as an accountancy clerk, doing book-keeping work for different firms.

One place I worked at was the Reliance Motor Factors on Ecclesall Road, where we started using a new piece of technology called a Burroughs Accounting Machine. Burroughsʼ Rep took me in his car to their warehouse so I could see the machine and decide if it was suitable. I remember he had a tiny car called a Messerschmidt, which was more like a covered bike, and when we got amongst the heavy traffic, buses and lorries, it was quite scary. Anyway, we bought the machine and I transferred all the work onto it. I also had a ʻsmallʼ calculator on my desk – it measured about 1 foot by 15 inches!

At the age of 39 I left the agency to work for a firm of accountants on Norfolk Row. Originally I got the job through the Agency, but the boss asked me if I would work for him permanently, doing 16 hours per week. I really enjoyed helping small firms sort out their financial problems. For instance, we had a little old man who collected broken glass for re-cycling. He was practically illiterate, and would bring me all his receipts to deal with. Another barely-literate customer was a fairground man, who owned two rides and a stall.

He too brought all his books to me so we could sort out the tax etc.

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Eventually a new boss took over and we moved to Devonshire Street. Then we got a computer, and one girl was sent on a course to learn how to use it and then teach the rest of the staff, but that didnʼt happen. Then the boss decided he didnʼt want part-time staff so gave me my cards.

Altogether I worked part-time till I was 60, when my husband, who was older than me, retired, and I retired too to keep him company.

Even now, at 81, I still work, but as a volunteer, doing one session per week at the Oxfam shop in town. I have been there since I was 70 when my husband died.

Mrs B. Finbow worked in a typing pool at the old Hillsborough

Barracks.

My first job 55 years ago (1952) was at Burdalls (famous for making gravy salt), situated in the old Hillsborough Barracks. There was a large room with about forty clerks and typewriters. This was known as the ʻTyping Poolʼ. In the centre was a platform on which the manager sat, watching over us. When we needed to go to the toilet we had to raise our hand and wait for the nod from him. He always checked his watch to see how long we had been away from our desk. We were only allowed to leave our desk at break times, which were signalled with a hooter. No chatting, just typing.

Janet Haydon-Spears was born in 1942 and formerly lived at Godric Road, Shiregreen. These memories, sent from her present home at Castleford, are dated 14/6/06.

When I left school in December 1957 aged 15, it was into a world of self-survival, thrown out into the adult arena of industry and expected to get on with the job in hand and use your commonsense.

My job in the steel industry, set in the East End of Sheffield, seemed daunting and at times terrifying as the machine shops spewed out the millions of tons of steel day and night. I was a ʼjunior clerkʼ and had the job of delivering post to the offices situated above those noisy, dark and smelly workshops. In those days no thought was 80

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given to the health and safety aspect of me passing by furnaces and huge industrial machines.

Later I moved on to become a ʻPunch Card Operatorʼ the forerunners of our present computer systems. The job was very interesting and considered a skilled and well paid occupation. My female spinster boss was very strict and treated me in a disdainful manner regarding my appearance and today it would be classed as discrimination and harassment, all because I had very long hair, used make-up and wore high heels. I didnʼt succumb to her constant demands to ʻtone downʼ my appearance and this led to many dressing down instances in front of my colleagues.

I was only a Sheffield employee for 6 yrs as marriage took me away to another location but I remember my working days in the city of my birth with affection in spite of strict rules and a “get on with it” spirit, which has stood me in good stead all my life.

Irene Beal, also worked in the offices at a steelworks, but preferred the shop floor to office work, where, “we could have a good laugh and a joke.”

I started work in 1959 at the age of 15. My first job was at Firth Brown Tools, which is no longer there. I had to be at work for 7.30 a.m. and finished at 4 p.m. I worked in a section of the shop floor in a small office, and had to write down the piece work which the men and women had done on the machines. Then I sent it to the Accounts in the main offices and they sorted their wages out. I got £2 a week, £2 ten shillings if I worked Saturday morning. If the main office were short-staffed I used to go and help them. They asked if I wanted to work for them permanently as a 9 to 5 job, but it was too posh for me. I liked to be on the big shop floor. It was more relaxed and with so many people together we could have a good laugh and joke.

After 4 years I left and tried different jobs. One was in another steel firm – Sheffield Twist Drill at Hillsborough - but I missed my friends at Firth Brown Tools, so I went back, but went on to the shop floor on the machines, which I liked a lot more than working in offices. My 81

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mum and dad worked at Firth Browns and I met my husband there, but then I left to have my first baby. After that it wasn始t long before the steel firms started closing. I still think of the good time I had and the friends I made.

Jean Tranter worked in accounts, becoming an accountant for

forty years. She carried on after her official retirement, and learnt to use a computer in her late sixties.

I left school at 16 and went to Commercial College to do a full-time diploma course. The course was on Melbourne Avenue and lasted for one year following on from school certificate

I liked maths and my ambition was to do book-keeping, but there were very few lady accountants in those days and I was unable to find a position.

I went for the next best thing and became a typist for a chartered accountant where I stayed for two years. The hours were 9 o'clock until 6 o'clock with one hour for lunch, but I often had to stay later than 6 o'clock to write up the boss's diary for the day. This meant that I had to wait until the boss had finished before I could start to write up and there was no extra pay for doing this.

Holidays were restricted to two weeks and had to include one of the 驶works weeks始 which would be either the last one in July or the first one in August. I had already booked one week's holiday before I started in the job so one extra Saturday morning had to be worked whether convenient or not, which meant that I had to lose one day of my holiday. On Saturdays we worked until 1 o'clock.

After two years, I moved to another accountant's office to fill a vacancy, which was left by one of my aunts who had been with the firm for 25 Years. My aunt stayed on for a little while longer just to introduce me into the job. It was only a small firm and I enjoyed working there very much, in fact I stayed there for 40 years.

One of the clients of this accountancy was the Hope and Anchor Brewery which own a lot of property around the lower Walkley area, 82

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and my first job was to go round their properties collecting rents. The properties were mainly back to back and very small, and the rent was worked out to the nearest farthing. Because we did not work with farthings, the rents had to be rounded up one week and down the next. Where the rent was eight shillings, three pence and one farthing, I would collect eight shillings and three pence on the cheap week and eight shillings and three and a half pence on the expensive week.

I remember one “Little Mester” in Bolsover Street who rented a small shed in a backyard where he made items in wrought iron. His rent was just two shillings and sixpence per month. This was just after the war.

I soon began to know my regular clients quite well and often I would be offered refreshments whilst on my rounds. This was not always enjoyable. One lady asked me if I would like cup of tea and when I replied, “yes please”, she took a teapot out of the hot oven and from it she poured a thick black liquid which had been stewing in there.

She then added a spoonful of condensed milk. Out of politeness I managed to force it down, but in future I always found an excuse never to accept another cup of tea from that particular house.

Another of my clients who lived alone could not afford any furniture.

Her living room contained beer crates across which she had laid rough wooden planks. This was her seating arrangement. The planks were all scrubbed immaculately clean.

One year whilst I was on holiday, the new office boy was sent round to collect the rents and he returned to the office much earlier than I would have done. Consequently, when I returned from holiday I was in trouble for taking too long on the rent round. The difference was of course that the new boy didn't stop to gossip whereas my regular clients always enjoyed seeing their familiar visitor and always wanted to talk and to report repairs, which needed doing.

Later on, I was promoted to do accountancy. I couldn't become a chartered accountant because that would have meant leaving the office and paying for a course.

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Eventually, about 1968, traffic in the city centre became so difficult that clients began complaining that they could never park near to the office and consequently, we moved further away from the city centre into Broom Grove Road. Soon after this the family firm amalgamated with two more firms to form a much larger concern. My work now meant making an occasional visit out to a client one of whom was a ʻMaster of Houndsʼ, which surprisingly, turned out to be a female. In order to be able to carry out these duties, I passed the driving test in 1973 and continued working until 1986 when I finally retired.

I then decided that I needed to do some voluntary work in order to make good use of my time. I went to work part-time at the “Harvest” shop, a coffee shop run by St Thomas's Church, and although this was very enjoyable, I found it very hard work because it meant standing all day. I had been used to a sitting down job.

Later I became part time book-keeper and accountant at Tapton Holme Care Home, and also did some part-time accounting work for a local doctor. This meant learning the use of computers and I carried on doing this until the age of 72.

Anne White writes here about her first job.

It was 1956, and I was just 14 years of age. I lived at Totley in the cottage where I had been born. The previous year my brother and sister had both married in the March and tragically my mother died the following Autumn, which left just my dad and myself at home.

Dad was ill and had to leave work, we knew that he had terminal cancer and had only a few months to live. I was attending school, but due to coping with the housework and trying to look after dad, my education suffered.

I was a country girl at heart and loved all things rural, so I would have preferred to work with dogs or horses, or become a florist.

Most girls at that time learnt shorthand and typing, but I wanted to try something different. However, I couldnʼt find employment in any of my chosen careers.

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I was offered a job at Laycock始s in the stationery office. I left school in July and had to wait until my 15th birthday in August before I could start work. How well I remember that first day!

The main office building was large and austere, from the pavement there was an impressive main entrance but we used a side entrance.

There was a lift, which was operated by an elderly man who sat on a stool and spent his entire working day going up and down! The stationery office was a few floors up and it had frosted windows, which faced the corridor and a little hatch with a shuttered window.

Inside the office there were tall fittings with shelves to hold the various stationery items and at the end of each fitting was a narrow window, which was reinforced with mesh wire so it was impossible to see outside.

I didn始t like the feeling of being shut in, but I was young and enthusiastic and eager to learn about the grown up world of working life. I was so surprised to find that for almost an hour the two girls I was to work with did nothing but read old newspapers! I lost my enthusiasm very quickly! Around 10 a.m. an employee knocked on the hatch door to give us a stationery order and our working day began.

The stationery was printed on the premises: there was another room adjacent to our office, which contained about three Gestetner printing machines. These turned out to be a nightmare for me! The room was much brighter than our office because it had clear glass windows and was illuminated by long fluorescent tube lighting. The noise when the machines were in use was deafening.

We used thin metal plates with the writing indented on them: these were wrapped around a roller and picked up ink as they rotated. At one end was a suction tube, which lifted up a sheet of paper, printed it and sent it to a collecting tray at the other end. Sometimes we would have to connect either a numbering device or a perforating wheel at the end where the papers collected. I could never seem to adjust these properly. Often the suction tube would 驶play up始 and while I was trying to sort the problem out, the numbering device would have jammed and I would have printed several sheets of 85

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paper with the same number, or the perforating wheel would have gone ʻoff lineʼ and made holes wherever it wanted!

We used very strong chemicals and wads of cotton wool to clean the printing plates at an old pot sink. It wasnʼt very long before my clothes and hands were stained with printing ink and splattered with bleach marks.

The combination of fumes from the chemicals, noise from the machines, flickering from the fluorescent lighting and constantly having to lean over the machines to peer at the printing, caused me to suffer from regular heavy nose bleeds. I would hold a huge piece of cotton wool up to my nose to try and stem the flow, while the machines whirred on regardless.

The ʻlift manʼ would see my dilemma and rush out of his lift collecting the large key from the printing room door on his way. He would push the key down the back of my dress, the theory being that the shock of the cold metal coming into contact with my skin would stop the nosebleed. I canʼt recall it ever working, but anything was worth a try!

Across the corridor from our office was the typing pool. Some of the girls there were audio typists and they used headphones and typed dictated letters from a special machine.

When they had finished their typing they would bring part of the machine to our office and it was one of my tasks to prepare it for them to use again. It was a long black cylindrical tube with ridges etched into it similar to an old gramophone record. I would place the tube horizontally on a special machine that had a very fine needle attached to it. As the cylinder rotated it ʻshaved offʼ a very thin layer of plastic and gradually erased all the dictated words leaving it free to be reused. I wonder if there are any of these machines left, or if anyone else remembers them and can describe them more accurately?

My wage for the week was £1 19 shillings and sixpence. It was company policy that an employee had to work a full year before they were entitled to any holidays other than the statutory Bank Holidays, and I remember that I worked on New Years Day and never had a day off ill during my time of employment.

Occasionally, I would be sent on an errand into the engineering 86

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workshops. I was painfully shy and lacking in confidence and I would enter the noisy buildings as timid as a little rabbit. The workmen would shout and cheer when they saw me, but as far as I can remember, they were never rude or crude, just pleased to have a little feminine distraction from the monotony of their work.

I always looked forward to Friday lunchtime when a young girl from the typing pool and myself would walk to Abbeydale Road to collect pre-ordered fish and chip lunches from the fish and chip shop in the row of shops near the Robin Hood pub. We usually ate our own packed lunches in the stationery office, sometimes we would go across the road to a little wooden shack close to the social centre.

Sweets and chocolate were sold from the shack and it was a rare treat to be able to buy some.

I find it difficult to remember the names of some of the people that I worked with. One girl was called Gladys, she lived in Dronfield.

Another girl was Pam, who lived in Woodseats. I do recall a very handsome young man who was a clerical worker on our floor. He was intelligent and confident and I think he sent a few hearts fluttering. One day, he stopped to have a chat with me as we were passing each other in the corridor. He told me he loved football and his ambition was to play for Sheffield United. It seemed a very glamorous and fanciful ambition to me but he achieved it. His name was John Fantham!

Another name I remember was Mrs Chapman, I never knew her christian name as I was younger than her and very respectful.

She worked in the typing pool and lived at Totley like myself. We would walk together from Laycocks, past Pickford & Hollands brickworks, which was on the corner of Archer Road, and over the bridge to the bus stop near Millhouses Park.

Very often the bus was full and we had to wait for the next one, and sometimes the one after that. We discovered that if we caught the train from Millhouses Station, got off at Dore & Totley Station and walked to the bus stop there, we would be able to catch the first bus as it would be half empty by then. There was only one problem with this plan; the train was due at the station at the same time that we 87

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were due to leave work. I would meet Mrs Chapman in the corridor, relieve her of all her bags etc, and hurtle off down the stairs and out of the building as fast as I could go.

She would stand in the queue to ʻclock offʼ and would get my card stamped for me (something we were not supposed to do!) In the meantime I would rush down the steep station steps hoping that the train was running late. If it was already standing at the station I would hold a carriage door open and stand on the platform waiting for Mrs Chapman to arrive, much to the annoyance of the guard! I had to carry my packed lunch tucked under my arm, as I didnʼt possess a bag (no carrier bags in those days!) Just before Christmas, Mrs Chapman gave me a brand new brown leather ʻbucket bagʼ. I was thrilled by her generosity; she said it was to thank me for my help. It had an oval base and a sturdy handle, which slipped over my arm (Mrs Thatcher style) and proved to be very useful.

Life was very difficult for me during the first few months of 1957. My father was in Firvale Hospital (now the Northern General), having been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and had only a few months to live, and I was visiting him 2 or 3 evenings a week and every Sunday afternoon. My sister Audrey, and brother Ken had both married in March 1955 and my mother died in August 1955, so I was living in our cottage alone. My step-gran lived nearby and made sure I had a cooked tea to come home to, and Audrey and I did the weekly wash together. Other than that, I was responsible for taking care of myself and making my own decisions. Between us we ensured that our dad had visitors every night, but it was a long journey across town for me, either from work or from home at Totley, by bus and tram.

My duties in the stationery office at Laycocks were very boring and repetitive. It was quite a solitary job, as most of the other girls were based in the typing pool, so it was difficult to make friends. They would gather in the toilets to have a quick cigarette and to gossip.

They chatted about clothes and make-up, the latest hit records and last nightʼs T.V. programmes. I was trying to come to terms with my fatherʼs illness and his imminent death, coping with housework and a 88

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chronic shortage of money. I didnʼt smoke and couldnʼt join in their conversation because my life was so very different to theirs. I never confided in any of my work colleagues, so nobody knew what was happening in my life. Iʼm sure that they would have been very concerned and considerate towards me if they had known, but I didnʼt want to be ʻdifferentʼ to them. It made me feel like an outsider.

Because I was so unhappy at Laycockʼs I had decided to take matters into my own hands and make some changes. It was my own fault that I was in a dead-end job as I had told the job centre people that I wanted an unusual job. So, swallowing my pride, I visited the Youth Employment Centre on West Street again and admitted that I needed a job with a future, one where I could go to night school and learn some office skills.

Iʼm sure that there will be several people who worked happily for Laycockʼs for years. For me, it was the wrong job in the wrong place. My dad firmly believed that you should give loyalty and commitment to the company you worked for, he had worked at Pickford & Hollandʼs Owler Bar works for 31 years. He would not have been happy about the fact that I was looking for another job.

One Friday in late May I had an interview at Boulter Advertising Agency in Nether Edge. It was a lovely sunny day and as I approached the large house with its big bay windows and pretty front garden I felt nervous but hopeful. There was a calm peaceful atmosphere, as I was interviewed the smell of flowers and the sound of birds singing drifted in through the open window. I was offered the job of office junior and the opportunity to go to night school for shorthand and typing lessons. Sadly, my dad died the following Sunday. I didnʼt have to work a weeks notice because of my circumstances. I called into the Laycockʼs office one day to collect my ʻcardsʼ and say my goodbyes.

I left Laycockʼs with some very fond memories but no regrets.

Glennys Walker worked in the offices of several small 89

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businesses when she was young, but she spent most of her working life as a secretary working for the Probation service and the Courts until her retirement in 2,000. As she says, ” I could fill a book.” Her tale ends with a ghost!

Glennys was born in Dronfield and started work in 1955 at the age of 15. Her first job was in the offices of a local family firm, William Prestwich & Sons, which made aggregates, tarmac etc. Each morning her first task was to make the coal fire (which had no fireguard), and afterwards the manager would inspect her hands to see if they were clean enough to go on to clerical work.

Her family were not well-off and she often had to borrow her motherʼs clothes, including shoes (which didnʼt fit), in which to go to work.

Office rules were very strict, timekeeping had to be exact and no talking was allowed. Glennysʼs job was to rub out pencil marks on the typed invoices, which had previously been costed on the comptometer. The highlight of her day was when, at lunchtime, she was allowed to stand in for the telephonist, operating the oldfashioned switchboard with ʻbulls eyesʼ, which dropped down to show the number. She couldnʼt wait for this exciting time and felt terribly important to be answering the phone.

The pay was 30 shillings per week (£1.50) and Glennys gave it all to her mum, who gave her back two shillings and sixpence (12.5p) pocket money. The Managing Directorʼs secretary was a man, which was most unusual. He was a brilliant typist. There was no canteen, you ate lunch wherever you could find a place.

Promotion finally came. She was appointed to the important task of folding the letters and inserting them in window envelopes.

After one year she left this job and went to work at another local firm, R.D. Nicholl & Co. (blenders of oil and grease), based at The Dragonfly Works, so-called because there was a pond nearby where you could see dragonflies. Her parents were furious about this, as it was known to be very dirty work there. However, Glennys worked for the Chief Chemist typing letters, as all this time, (3 years in total) she was attending College in Chesterfield three nights per week, to 90

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learn shorthand , typing and English for the RSA certificate.

After two years here, she got a job at Brayhead Electrical Components, a firm begun by a group of men from Sheffield who had been made redundant. They produced small parts for radios.

This was indeed promotion – Glennys was secretary to the Managing Director.

Marriage and family life intervened. Glennys gave up work before her son was born, and returned only to do ʻtempingʼ, which she enjoyed because she could work just when she wanted to, and have the school holidays off. Sadly the marriage ended, and as a single parent, she had to go to work full-time. When her son was only 6 years old, he went to school with the house-key round his neck.

During the course of her ʻtempingʼ, she worked for the Probation Service, and was offered a full-time job with them, taking shorthand notes at the Juvenile Court. These notes had to be passed on to whoever, or wherever the child was going on to, e.g. Approved School, Borstal etc.

The Juvenile Court in those days was in a very old building at Nursery Street, with no windows, and privacy rules in the courtroom were strict, with no-one allowed in except the necessary officials, to protect the identity of the children. Round the back of the Court was the Morgue, and they often saw corpses taken in and out.

Eventually she moved on to both the Magistrates Court and the Crown Court, and sometimes had to visit prisons as part of the job. ʻI could fill a bookʼ said Glennys, about her experiences in the courts.

Generally the big difference between the early and later days of her career was the type of person before the court, and their attitude. At first the pressure of work was not great, consisting of a few hardened criminals, who yet would never steal from ʼtheir ownʼ, i.e. the poor.

They only burgled big houses and robbed rich people. Their attitude was also more respectful and less defiant. The coming of drugrelated crime made a big difference, and by the time she retired the courts were kept very busy indeed.

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A few incidents…..

•

• •

Nine to five

The prisoner who jumped out of the Dock

The shock of seeing her uncle and cousin walk in to the special court for under-age drinkers. Glennys had to leave as she had a personal involvement in the matter.

The day they found water sloshing all over the floor. During recess the naughty lads had pulled the pipes out of the toilets causing a flood.

Ghost Story For much of her time at the Probation Service, Glennys worked in a building on West Bar, on the site of an old Music Hall. As staff worked flexi-time she was alone in the office and had lodged the door open when the handle went down, but no-one was there. She went out and saw a big woman dressed in white walking up the corridor, who then disappeared. She rang down to Reception to ask if they had sent anyone up, but the answer was ʻnoʼ. No-one had entered the building or gone upstairs.

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Building and allied trades During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Sheffieldʼs steel and cutlery industries were booming, and this prosperity coupled with civic pride, resulted in the erection of handsome public buildings, including a new Town Hall, offices, factories, big steelworks and large department stores. Both before and after the Second World War, vast council housing estates were also built, to replace the poor-quality terraced homes considered perfectly adequate for ʻthe workersʼ by earlier generations. Between1951 and 1991, 55,000 houses were demolished, and 100,900 new houses were built.

This provided plenty of work for the building trade, in addition to which came the unexpected, though unwelcome bonus, of rebuilding the ruined city after the Blitz. ʻBrickiesʼ, Hod-Carriers, Roofers, Joiners, Plumbers, Electricians – these were the men who did the job. They were tough jobs, and until very recently, men-only jobs.

For some this was a job for life, often with the same firm, starting with apprenticeships at 14 or 15 years of age, while for others it was a brief episode in a varied working life. Some worked independently or ran their own businesses, or came to the trade later in life.

Moving around the country was not unusual and ʻfamily firmsʼ were the norm.

The work was hard, pay and conditions poor, Health & Safety almost non-existent, but most took great pride in what they did.

Trevor Barker writes here of the roofing trade in the 1950ʼs and

60ʼs, when he started work in the trade in which three generations of his family had been involved

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Trevor Barker - Roofer & Tiler

I started work 1954, third generation into roofing, and landed my first job at Wm Proctors, Denby St. My first-ever roof to work on was the Holy Trinity Church, Nursery Street, Sheffield. My boss was my Uncle Ted - he was in charge. To get on the roof we had to climb up two pole ladders lashed together. No scaffold – 45ft high – not bad for my first job. I started slating the first day, it just came naturally to me, it was in my blood.

On the second day the boss came to visit and could not believe I was slating straight away, insisting I work on the ground. My Uncle Ted said otherwise, so the boss said I had to wear a rope and harness with the rope tied to the top of the roof. That was safety in the middle Fifties. There were no site cabins to have your snap in.

You had to eat it the best place you chose. Better still, no bloody toilets – you had to do it where you could. The slaters always carried a spare bucket – that was the Health & Safety.

When it rained you kept working. If it rained heavy you would tie a nail sack round your shoulders. These sacks were 1” thick. They could absorb half a gallon of water – what a weight! My starting rate was 9 pennies and 3 farthings per hour, plus 1 penny for working over 40 feet high. I was in the money.

Getting to work on time was vital. If it was 3 minutes after 8, you were stopped 15 minutesʼ pay. After 8.15 a.m. you were stopped 30 minutesʼ pay. If you persisted with this laziness you would lose your job. Being late was not tolerated.

Working on another job – St. Stephens Church, Crosspool. There was just me at 16 years old, and Mr Gillott. He was 75, and came to work dressed immaculate in a navy blue suit and waistcoat, black polished boots and traditional cloth cap. He was one of the last of the Victorian tradesmen, not forgetting his silver pocket watch. It was just him and me to slate the church!! Getting to work in them days was never a problem. I lived on the Wybourn estate and would catch the 10 past 7 to town, across Ponds St and catch the bus to Crosspool. The bus stop was 300 yards from the church gates. On running up to the gates, Mr Gillott would be there with his silver 94

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pocket watch in his hand. On approaching the gates I would say “Good morning”, and he would say – “Just made it”.

At just 16 I had to do all the donkey work, as it was called then (the hard work). Mr Gillott would sit on the roof in position ready to start, then I had to force his slate hammer into his right hand because he had gout (bad joints). I would take the slates up to him, put them in position for him, then he would take two nails out of his pouch and nail them! I was up and down like a monkey, as it was said in them days.

When it was dinner time I would have to go and knock on someoneʼs door to mash our tea cans. No cabins, no toilets, and no scaffolding.

Those were the days my friend. Not a second over for lunch and at the end of the day, 1 minute to 5, he would say to me – “Thatʼs it son, pack up the tools and letʼs get off”, checking his pocket watch.

It was good to work with a Victorian slater, but I went home knackered. Getting home and having tea, I would go to sleep for an hour – all in a daysʼ work then.

The work hours then were 8 to 5 (8 and a half hours), and 8 to 6 (9 and a half hours), Saturday morning 8 to 12 (4 hours). Sunday was paid double time, and a normal week was 40 hours. As a young apprentice on Saturday morning (paid time and a half), I would have to go to the employerʼs office to wash the bossesʼ cars. If I had any spare time I had to saw and chop wood for the bossesʼ fires.

While roofing, working for William Proctor, we had a saying if it was looking cloudy – ʻLooking black over Billʼs mothersʼ, meaning it looks like rain. Back to working practices. All our slates were delivered by rail to Queens Road Sidings opposite Queens Road Social Club.

We would take the lorry to the gate with documentation, then we had to find the correct wagon numbers out of hundreds. It would take all day to unload one wagon and take to our yard or job. Backbreaking work for nine pennies and three farthings per hour. Sometimes there would be three wagons. 90% of material was delivered this way. A lot of timber was delivered by barge on the Wharf, which is still there.

When we went to work on new houses on the outskirts of Sheffield there would be a scaffold, but not like today. It was wooden pine 95

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poles with iron pudlocks into the brickwork two and a half inches by half an inch pieces. The pudlocks would be tied to the pine poles with a rope and the battens only two wide – sheer luxury. These sites would have a wooden cabin to have your snap in, and even had a first aid box with some elastoplast dressings and for the more severe accidents, a small bottle of brandy in the box. I never saw a cabin with a full bottle of brandy – always empty. A small accident or a little fall etc – sit down, have a fag for ten minutes, then back to work.

Lots of people in the late Fifties and early Sixties could not afford to have any time off and took any overtime they could get their hands on. Money was tight for lots of people. There were no bonuses, just overtime. Everything on the building sites was lifted up by hand (term-hand bailing).

Most days I personally would carry four and a half tons of tiles etc on my head up the ladder onto the roof (graft), in a morning. It was very hard work in the building trade then for all concerned. On the big sites they would boil the water in a big copper with a fire underneath, smoke everywhere. The tea masher who was in charge of it would put bits of wood floating on top of the water. He said it would stop the water from tasting of smoke – it never did. The Irish navvies did most of the trench work for the drains etc. They would have a good breakfast of steak, chops etc cooked over the fire on their shovel!

Then back to work while six without any dinner – hard workers. Had to be fit to work in the building trade.

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Mr ʻCʼ, who began life as a joiner, ended up working on some major construction sites until he developed a fear of heights caused by the many accidents he witnessed, an example of the dangers inherent in building work. For him, the change from sunny Jamaica to Yorkshire and worse still, Scotland in winter, must have been hard to bear. Not so the cheerful banter which would probably be regarded nowadays as ʻracismʼ, but which he thoroughly enjoyed. ʻHe gave as good as he gotʼ.

Mr ʻCʼ - Joiner

I trained in Jamaica as a joiner and came to England in 1961 to join my brother in Sheffield. I worked all around Sheffield fixing houses.

Then I worked for McAlpines. In Scotland we were building a power house at Dunbar. The cold was terrible. That was a good job, lots of money, and a beautiful place to sleep, they changed the bedding every day. Once a week I came back to Sheffield to see my family.

I worked for Public Works for about three years, building big buildings like Norfolk Park flats (demolished now), and some big places on the Moor.

At that time they were building lots of new hospitals. For a long time I worked for Henry Boots, building the hospital in Derby. I spent four years working on the Hallamshire Hospital in Sheffield. I look at the hospital, especially when I get inside, and see work that I have done.

I started to become afraid of heights, because I saw a lot of accidents, people falling. There were more accidents on the big construction sites because the charge hands would be hasty, they wanted the job to be done. Work became harder, and Management ruthless, they wanted more and more. They were on your tail all the time. I donʼt miss bad management.

I enjoyed working with the blokes, we had plenty of fun, I say - “You white bastard”, he say -“You black bastard”. We had some good laughs. Sometimes I miss it.

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Harry Barratt, now aged 79, says – “Iʼve had forty different jobs since leaving school in 1942”,” In those days you could go from one job to another.”

I had a job at Kilnhurst Tar Distillery filling wooden barrels with boiling tar, putting in the cork, tapping it with a hammer, then rolling the barrel down rails onto wagons. It was a dirty job, not much for a wage in those days.

After coming out of the Army in 1948 I worked on a concrete cooling tower at Warmsworth near Doncaster. The tower had four floors. If you ever go to Doncaster, you will see the tower on your left hand side. The trench, being 15 feet deep, running from Conisborough to the tower had to have three wooden stages for the workers to shovel the clay and rock, till it got to the top, to be put on a lorry to be taken away.

There were no JCBs in those days, everything had to be done by hard work. Even the big engine had a winder that had to be turned by hand to start it to work the air picks. I remember the digging of the trench was done by Conisborough council, and the foreman saying - “Now lads, donʼt work too hard, we want this job to last.”

There was no bonus in them days.

Then in 1950 at Cadeby Pit there was bridge building over the River Don, taking the old bridge down, and putting a concrete one up in its place. Pile driving for cementation was a very dirty job, lots of sludge, as the twenty foot steel piles were driven into the ground, with a drop hammer, for construction on the riverbed of the River Don. The firm was Wellerman Brothers, Herries Road, Sheffield.

We made concrete by mixing three parts of gravel, more like pebbles, two parts of sand, and a bag of cement. We had a twowheeled barrow to push down the incline to put the concrete in between the shuttering, then we would use a small air gun to make the concrete mix go down between the steel fixtures.

One day the Clerk of Works was on the site, and a sample of every mix of concrete had to be put into a twelve inch square mould, the date written on, and left to set for three days, then drop the big hammer on it to see if the concrete block would shatter. If it did, the 98

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section of concrete would have to come down, it took one day to put the concrete in between the shutters using an air gun, and a week to demolish it. The clerk of works was very strict in those days.

Then I had to put three hundred panes of glass in the pit gantry. The glass had to be carried up the steep gantry, and the putty, and the wire clips to hold the glass in the metal frames. All to no avail, because Cadeby Pit was demolished, having been there since the shaft was sunk in 1894.

On the same site I was working, erecting a coal bunker. This was to put lumps of coal in, and a drum would revolve, washing the coal.

The steel erector foreman was a Cockney. I was forty feet up, and he shouted at me to come down, I swore at him, he dragged the steel rope and nearly pulled me off the steel rigging.

We finished building the bridge by putting in the railway lines. Lines were placed one on top of each other and greased with iron balls, being five inch round.

There were four men at each end, with a very powerful turfer (winch) with a handle to work up and down, pulling each section of concrete, 100 feet long. This was then lowered into place to fit direct over concrete pillars on either side of the river. Of course the rails had to be removed first! So we put in jacks that could lift 100 tons, then removed the rails, and put them back over the new concrete sections. What marvellous civil engineering 57 years ago!

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In 1954 I had to sit in a bosunʼs chair, and lower myself down a wooden quenching cooling tower, then two of us would be stood up in a wooden cradle, moving up and down, held by two and a half inch wire ropes at each end, a hundred foot up.

Then I remember working at a power station at Mexborough, scaffolding a concrete cooling tower, two hundred feet up. The twenty one foot scaffold tubes were made of alloy to bend easier. I was sixty foot up, and I had put the pudlock on the upright pole, and pulled the pole to fasten onto the next upright pole, when the pole sprung, and if I hadnʼt had my hand holding the upright pole, I would have fallen on spiked railings sixty feet down.

Itʼs all machinery now, tower cranes, bulldozers.

We got a penny an hour for every forty feet up we worked above ground level, and travelling expenses, otherwise there was no piece work or bonuses. There were no lodging allowances. Iʼve lodged in Moss Side in Manchester, and in Birkenhead, Merseyside, near Liverpool. I remember having to sleep in a bedroom in midwinter with no heating, and having to sleep fully clothed.

In 1961 I worked at International Harvesters making farm tractors.

Some of the ʻwhite coatsʼ, meaning office workers, were the American gaffers. They would watch every move the workers made. There was only 10 minutes for morning tea break, and if one was in the queue when the whistle blew, we had to go back to work without a break.

In 1964 I was working at Steel, Peach and Tozerʼs, digging a trench to lay surface drain pipes. My friend who was with me brought the clay pipes, and it was me that put them in the trench. But one pipe, I couldnʼt get the collar of the pipe to lay flat in line with the rest of the pipes. So what was stopping it? We came across a culvert that had stones, one upright at each side, and one laid on the top. The foreman came, then other officials, and the job was stopped, because it was a Roman drain.

Remembering other jobs that I have not mentioned. Working on concrete cooling towers, and a wooden quenching cooling tower for a Bradford firm in 1959 at St Helens in Liverpool, also at Workington in Cumberland.

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In 1960 working at Manvers Main near Rotherham, digging a culvert 25 feet deep, with just a crane and a big bucket to fill up with the spoil. It was strengthened by 5 foot by 7 inch by 2inch timbers and 12 inch by 12 inch beams for the width, then I concreted the culvert to carry water. Working under the railway lines, and on rail wagons with 16 tonnes of muck to throw in the holes, standing at each end of the wagon shovelling the muck.

Hours of work just to bring less than £20 home - a back breaking job.

Youngsters today donʼt know what hard work is.

In those days you could go from one job to another.

In 1967 I worked as an operating technician at Fulwood Annexe in Sheffield, for £22 a week. I had to clean the sluice room and two operating theatres, including the ceiling lights. The women cleaners had to scrub the floors in the corridors on their hands and knees, then shouted at people for walking on the floors. I remember one of them smoking a cigarette as she scrubbed.

Then working as a student nurse in 1970 in Lancaster in a hospital looking after mentally retarded children. And because of the Wars of the Roses hundreds of years ago, the nurses wouldnʼt speak to me because I was from Yorkshire, and they were Lancashire. When it was tea break in the morning, the nurses were all drinking tea upstairs in the rest room, and never told me. If Iʼd have stayed there I would have gone mental.

I also worked as a shotblaster at a firm in Milton Street in Sheffield. I was working on a machine that was square with a rubber round table to put the metal on to be shotblasted. I had to put my hands into rubber gloves to handle the metal of small sizes. The label at the back of the machine said all sand had to be changed every three weeks, but the shop foreman wouldnʼt let me change the sand. This caused dermatitis between my fingers. I went to the office to complain and demanded that the sand be replaced. I had joined the Union, and paid a shilling, so I tried to get compensation, but as I had only paid one shilling, I couldnʼt get any money, so I left the firm, that was in 1974.

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I also worked in an acid pickling shop, putting hundreds of one inch metal plates in wire baskets that were then dipped into hydrochloric acid, then into water, then every piece of metal had to be rubbed dry, and taken up to the spray shop. We worked over time, but the manager came into the aircraft metal engineers shop after 6 pm, and caught those who were doing other jobs like making toilet roll holders.

I was helping the man on the guillotine that takes a full length of stainless steel to cut to length. The foreman said “Harry, please clean the machine.” And I stopped the machine by lodging rags in the cogs of the machine. The foreman told me to get my cards.

Then I went to work as a gravedigger at Abbey Lane cemetery.

The foreman was very easy going, he said to a student who was asleep behind the privet hedge - “Now lad are you tired?”

“Yes” said the student and went back to sleep.

In 1978 the snow outside in the winter was three feet deep. I remember walking from Birley to Hutcliffe Wood because there was a bus strike. And it was so cold in the 1981 winter, minus 14 degrees at Norton cemetery, that the tarmac came up and petrol froze up.

There was just me and the foreman to do all the jobs. I cut grass every year, helped to fill graves up, and swept the paths. Norton cemetery was the best looking cemetery in South Yorkshire. I also worked at Hutcliffe Wood Crematorium in 1975. I was called to do two jobs, digging graves, and cremator operating while another man was learning the chapel attendant job.

I finished in 1989, and received a lump sum of £7000. The lads presented me with a clock.

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Louis Hobsonʼs working life proper began and ended in the building trade, though the fortunes of war (in the shape of the Ministry of Employment) took him on an interesting diversion into the Railways from 1940 – 46.

I was born in 1925 in Carver Street, city-centre of Sheffield. My name is Louis David Hobson, my father was called George and my mumʼs name was Gladys. My dad was a Tram Driver on £3 a week, and then worked as a Lathe Operator with Firth Brownʼs until he retired. Mum had the hardest job, being a housekeeper and making ends meet with children to bring up.

At the age of five I went to Pye Bank School for two years. Then I went to Meersbrook Bank School until I was 14. I always remember going to school with holes in my shoes. Dad would put thick cardboard in the bottom of my shoes and I would hope it wasnʼt going to rain. I wasnʼt the only school kid with well ventilated shoes.

At the age of 13 my father applied for a ʻPermit to Workʼ certificate so that I could work certain hours in the week. I worked Friday evening from 4.30 pm to 9pm, then Saturday morning 8:30am to finish. My job was to deliver groceries for Mr Cheethamʼs customers. His shop was on the corner of Norton Lees Road and Cockayne Place. The sum of two and sixpence for pushing and pulling that big wooden barrow all around the streets of Hollythorpe didnʼt seem very much, but when I took my wage home and my mum gave me a shilling, it seemed like the world.

My first job after leaving school came about through a family friend. I was 14 at the time, working for Colley and Robinson, builders on Warminster Road. Mr Colley set me on as a trainee bricklayer. They did say that Mr Robinson was the landlord of the ʻSportsmanʼ public house in Derbyshire Lane and was only a sleeping partner in the building business.

For my five-and-a-half days work, my wage would be £8, always paid on the Friday. Mum had her money and I had my spending money. It wasnʼt long before war broke out and we had the job of building air raid shelters on the Manor Estate, then reinforcing cellars 103

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in the houses around Broomhall. After 12 months, I had to leave due to Mr Colley being called up for conscription and his building company ceased.

In 1939, the Ministry of Employment brought out the ʻWorkʼs Essential Order Formʼ, which meant if you were not doing a job to help the war effort, you had to report to the Ministry of Employment for a choice between being a Furnace Bricklayer, which I wasnʼt too keen on, or a Passed Cleaner, so I went for the latter. This was a job cleaning the train engine. There was an exam you could take to better yourself, so I took the exam which meant knowing about how the engine works, and reading lots of books. I managed to pass the exam, which put me in line for the footplate firemanʼs job, which was to make sure the tender was stocked with coal and the engine firebox was fed.

To learn the job Iʼd start shunting in Heeley Goods Yard, then later the foreman would tell whether you would be doing the Heeley shunt or Leeds to Barnsley run. My big ambition was to work on the express trains. If you had a good express driver he would let you have a go whilst he would be the firemen. What a thrill to drive an express train at top speed!

I remember being a fireman on a troop train coming from Bristol stopping at New Street Birmingham for a meal break. Before carrying on to Sheffield, Harry Frakes who was the driver and myself, decided to have a fry-up. Harry wiped the coal shovel clean, laid the bacon and the eggs on it and straight in to the firebox.

On other runs, our trains were used as ambulance trains. These trains were like portable hospitals and were for soldiers badly injured in combat on the front line. We also had the job of transporting German Prisoners of War to Redmires prisoner-of-war camp, Lodge Moor.

I joined the Railways in 1940, and in 1942 I started paying my first weekʼs board. I stayed as a railway employee until 1946. You had no choice then due to the Essential Works Order. When the order was revoked, I left the job working on the railways. I had really enjoyed working with good drivers, they were very reliable. The reason for leaving was the unsociable hours like weekend work and bank 104

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holidays. My pay whilst working on the trains was £12 plus mileage allowance, but the shift work was no good.

In 1946 I went back into building work. I joined Meersbrook Concrete Company. This was a very good firm to work for, and always had bank holidays and two weeksʼ holiday a year. One happy memory was when some of the lads had to go to Mr Greavesʼs house to do a job. Mr Greaves was the gaffer. As soon as we got to the house, he put the kettle on and we all sat round the kitchen table with a cup and saucer in front of us. Mr Greaves poured his cup of tea into his saucer and drank out of the saucer. Needless to say we didnʼt. Well, what a lovely bloke to work for. My wages for five days was £12, but with ʻfiddle jobsʼ (money in the hand), I was comfortable.

Then in 1961, I had the chance of working for myself. The jobs in question were too big to do as ʻfiddle jobsʼ. After a few sleepless nights, I decided to go and speak to Eric Greaves, the son of Mr Greaves. By this time Eric had taken over the running of the company, and I told him I didnʼt want to let him down. I wanted the chance of working for myself. Eric told me that he preferred me to work for them, but if I felt thatʼs what I wanted, then to try it out and if it didnʼt work to come back. Then Mr Greaves called me over and gave me some sound advice. “Go it alone, never take on a business partner”. The 15 years working for the Greaves family were very happy and enjoyable, and everyone was treated with respect.

So I set off working for myself with workers through word of mouth, and the council would send lads on Youth Training Schemes (Y.T.S.) to learn the trades. The Council would pay half their wage and I would pay the other half. Greshams on Chesterfield Road allowed me to open an account for my supplies. My company name was L.D. Hobson, Builders. My first job was to build a bungalow and a house in Crimicar Lane. I also put tenders into the Council for Council grant work.

I made a very successful business due to good lads working for me.

My most loyal worker, Paul, was never late and never had a dayʼs absence - Thanks Paul. Iʼve always kept in touch with Mr Greaves and his four sons from Meersbrook Concrete Company from leaving 105

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to the present day. Iʼve had a sense of comradeship all through my full working life.

I finally retired at the age of 67 and Iʼve been enjoying life to the full ever since with the love of my life, my wife Mary.

For Harry Stevenson, working at Spear & Jacksons was a family tradition, but one which he broke away from, soon after doing his National Service.

Harry Arthur Woodcock Stevenson - Hod-Carrier

I was born in 1932 in Sharrowhead Nursing Home. Mum and Dadʼs home was in Marshall Street, Pitsmoor. I went to Pye Bank School at the age of 5. During the war in 1940 with the Sheffield Blitz, my school closed down, and all of the children where taken to different houses on the estate to be taught by our class teachers, for safety reasons. I think this happened all over Sheffield. Then I went to Burngreave School where I played for the First Representative Rugby Team and left school at the age of 14.

My dad worked 58 yrs for Spear & Jackson and during the war it was his job to test tank plates which were made there, by firing bullets at the plates to test for resistance. After his death in 1953 I drew his last wage packet. He worked only 3 days and received £17 and five shillings - a decent wage you may say, but by gum he had to work hard for it.

Working for Spear & Jackson was a family custom. My grand-father served 50 yrs, great grand-father 58 yrs and great-great Auntie Sarah, believe it or not 82 yrs. She started work at 12 yrs of age. I only lasted 8 yrs before I was called up for National Service, came out of the army at the age of 21, and went back to Spear & Jacksons from March to September. After leaving, I married Sybil. We had our honeymoon at Blackpool, visited the Winter Gardens to watch “Kiss me Kate” - what a treat! Sybil and me had two children. We had holidays at Beacholme Holiday Camp at Cleethorpes.

My first job was, of course, at Spear & Jacksons, as an Apprentice Saw-Smith. I got the job through my father. I worked 49 hours a 106

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week at 14, 51 hours a week over 16. My wage at this young age was 21 shillings. I had 2 shillings deducted from my wage for daily dinners. When theyʼd finished taking this and that, I finished up with 16 shillings and six pence. My mum had 10 shillings I had 6 shillings and six pence and felt like a millionaire. Little did I know mum was putting the 10 shillings in the old teapot on the shelf for my rainy day.

In time I was chosen as the best apprentice by Spear & Jacksons, to represent the company in the 1947 ʻSheffield Exhibitionʼ at the Cutlers Hall, which was called “Sheffield Can Make It.” I was issued with a navy blue boiler suit and a brown belt and we made a guard of honour of apprentices for Princess Margaret. Me being the shortest, I was given the honour of opening the door for Her Highness.

Unfortunately on the morning of the occasion, another apprentice was drafted in and guess what - he was shorter then me! That meant he got the job of door-opener for Her Highness.

After engineering I worked for the council as assistant paver on the Hackenthorpe estate but didnʼt last long.

I spoke to a couple of hod-carriers, and thought – ʻIʼll have a goʼ. I joined Rydalls of Cobden View Road at the age of 22. In 1958 I bought a house off Mr. Rydall with a deposit £86 and the total cost of £1675 and Iʼm still living in the same house today (2006). I left Mr Rydall after 8 yrs - “He was a gentleman”.

At the age of 31 I went self-employed as a hod–carrier. There was no job training to becoming a hod-carrier, it was - ʻListen and Learnʼ, and you must have the knack for it. My first job was working on a site on Spital Hill, building shops. I was hod-carrier to ʻBig Johnʼ for 26 yrs and ʻTommoʼ for 10 yrs. We worked hard and played hard. I still send Christmas cards to them and we meet up for the odd pint.

We worked for Mr Clover of North Anston. Every Friday afternoon was my drinking and betting time One afternoon I was in the Club, sat with the locals when this big bloke came in “mouthing off” about him working down pit, on coal face and having to get through 18” seams. He wouldnʼt shut-up, locals too scared to say owt, so I moved the chairs from around our table then clambered under the table without touching it, and there I stood face to face or better still, 107

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face to belly as he was over 6ft 3” and me 5ft 2”, then I let him have it! “If thars been squeezing through 18” seams, get under that table without touching it.” Guess what - ʻhe was all mouth and no trousersʼ!

When Mr Clover retired I decided to leave.

Then I started with Ackroyd-Abbott working at the back of the Derwent Hotel at Bamford. The year was 1981 and I remember watching the marriage of Princess Diana to Prince Charles and wishing them good health with a small whiskey.

I was paid the same wage as the brickies because I was good at my job and proud of it. Even down to the preparation of my mixer for the mortar ʻgobboʼ. The mixer was placed between two houses equal distance apart, and placed on bricks with wooden shoes over the wheels to stop the ʻgobboʼ setting on the wheels, and a channel from the mixer to an outlet, so that when the working day ended I would put bricks in the mixer with water and then tumble to get excess ʻgobboʼ ready to pour out of the mixer into the channel from my work area. The bricks in the mixer was the best time of day – finishing time.

On rainy days I would lay the sand, then lay empty cement bags on top of the sand from the mixer to the ladder. On good days I could shank ʻgobboʼ and 3,000 bricks from ground to boards. For over 35 years I kept bricklayers working and earning, and proud of it (the phrase “shank” or “shanking” is the technique of off-loading bricks from the box which is carried on the shoulder to the ground).

On retiring due to ill-health at the age of 56, I had double hip replacements, due to constant climbing of ladders, but am still active today.

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Harry Lavill was glad to join his two brothers in the building trade after a daunting first job at the Abattoir

I was born in 1932 on Apple Street off Harvest Lane, and went to Woodside Lane School until I was seven. Then mum & dad moved to Sterney Buildings off Duke Street, and I went to St. Johnʼs School on School Street, until I was 14.

My mum Ada, was a Buffer for most of her life while my dad Harry was a fruit and veg seller with his horse and drey. He also bought horses, pigs and poultry. As a lad I had the job of feeding them. I had two sisters, Jean and Susan and three brothers, Charlie, Leonard and Stephen (who later emigrated to New Zealand).

The first job I did was through my dadʼs friend, working at the Abattoir on Cricket Inn Road. It was a lousy job, cutting bellies open to prepare for tripe. The area where I worked was called the ʻliarageʼ - donʼt forget I was only 14.

Many a time you would hear the shout - “donʼt forget the camels & humps”. That means put the metal hooks on the belts.

The training for the job was ʻwatch me and learnʼ. At the age of 14 I was getting 24 shillings paid in the hand, given to me mum, then waited for my spending money. I remember we worked funny hours on a Monday up at Wadsley Bridge Auctions. Cattle & sheep were up for sale, and when bought they were brought down to the Abattoir for slaughter. No one went home until the job was done.

Unfortunately at the age of 14 I was the last to leave with the call – “donʼt forget the camels & humps” ringing in my ears. After a while I told my mum that I didnʼt like the job. She said – “Give it a little longer” - but in the end I left.

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Shortly after this I joined my brothers Charlie and Leonard doing sheet-roofing until I went into National Service, then at 21 I returned to working with my brothers. By this time they had become subcontractors and in time I was the one to get the roofing jobs and prices. All through the years of working with my brothers, I was always telling our Leonard about the way he was doing the job.

Time after time Iʼd shout - “Stop putting thiʼ feet in gutters”. Back would come the reply –“Orrate Harry, waynt do it again” - day after day the same old record.

Our main jobs came from a company called ʻAll-Cladʼ from Dinnington (ceased trading). We had a chance of working abroad, but didnʼt fancy it. At the end of the day I made enough money for Betty and me kids, at home.

Albert Cockayne spent six years in the steel works before

launching on a varied working life, which included several aspects of building and maintenance work.

Born on Jubilee Road in 1941, I went to Philimore School at the age of five, then Senior School at Coleridge Road until 15. My first job was at Balfourʼs, Attercliffe, as a Hammer-Driver – yes, at 15. I was not the only one to be a hammer driver at 15 – very responsible job.

Have you ever heard the phrase – “When I nod you hit it?” Well when the ʻCodʼ, thatʼs him holding the steel under the hammer for me to hit, nodded, Iʼd drop the hammer to shape the steel. Then he lifted his head to stop.

At the age of 17 I went on to be Furnace Man, working with titanium and high speed metal which needed watching all the time. When I reached 21 I asked for a rise - the Gaffer looked at me gone out. By the way, when I started as a hammer driver at the age of 15, my wage was 3 guineas or £3 and 3 shillings. So with no chance of a rise, I left to work on a building site. Wilkinson Builders was the company, working as a labourer. I helped to build the Lodge Moor Hospital Pharmacy. This was around 1962. Left after a couple of years and went hod-carrier with two brickies at Gleesons. Started at 110

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Hounsley Green, Chesterfield, - it wasnʼt long before trouble. The two brickies kept insisting on one shilling over the odds, so they got sacked. I came with them, so I was sacked with them. By the way, they werenʼt that good – that job lasted two weeks.

I managed to get back at Wilkinsons Builders, then after two years I left again. By this time I was 25, and got a job at Davy-United, Prince of Wales Road. I was a labourer for 12 months, then Shot-Blaster at the same company for a further 12 months.

After I left Davy United I went to work for Crosby Kitchens at Handsworth as a paint sprayer, for about ten years. Then I took voluntary redundancy. By the age of 37 I wrote off for a job at Cole Brothers as a porter – lasted six months, then moved to the Hallamshire Hospital as a maintenance labourer, laying paths, flagstones, plastering walls, and replacing tiles in the Morgue, walking in at the wrong time whilst post-mortems were in progress. Stayed at the Hallamshire Hospital 25 years and finally retired through illhealth.

Plumbing is one of several ancillary trades vital to the building industry, and our next two stories take us from the late 19th century through to the mid 20th century, and thence to the present day.

Valerie Salim tells of her grandfather, Arthur Wright, who was a selfemployed plumber, beginning his apprenticeship at his uncleʼs shop, and then comparing his start in the trade with that of a young friend in the 21st century.

Peter Davy writes his own account of apprenticeship in the early 1950ʼs. In both stories, a disregard of health & safety issues emerges.

Arthur Wright – Plumber

My Granddad, Arthur Wright (1878-1956) was a self-employed plumber, who was still working in a small way, when he died at the age of 78. He was in fact still climbing up onto roofs into his seventies – no scaffolding, just an ordinary ladder and a roof ladder.

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He left school at the age of eleven, having matriculated in the three ʻRʼs. No grammar school for him. His family were so poor that his younger twin brothers, Edgar and Harold, who became an electrician and a carpenter respectively, could not have baths on the same day as each other, because they had only one spare vest between them.

Arthur was straightaway apprenticed to his uncle, Edward Brewitt, who had a plumberʼs shop on Asline Road, Lowfields, where the extension to Lowfields Primary School is now.

Plumbing in those days was not as regulated as it is today. There was no Corgi-registered system for working with gas, and plumbers did a variety of jobs, for instance some building work, such as guttering and even mending the lead-work on roofs. Health and Safety regulations were almost non-existent. No one realised how dangerous asbestos was, so it was widely used for such things as garage roofs and even for fall pipes. We even had an asbestos fall pipe on our last house, which was built in 1980.

At first Arthur worked with his uncle, but later set up in business on his own.

He rented an upper-floor workshop on Saxon Road and worked from his home at 491, Queens Road, Heeley (demolished in 2005), rented from Hodkin & Jones, from whom he bought most of his plumbing materials, and later from 21, Chatfield Road, Woodseats, which he owned.

There were few telephones in those days, so Arthur was quite used to being knocked up in the middle of the night by people who had burst pipes, and he would get up and go out to attend to such emergencies. Winters were colder then and very few people had central heating, so bursts were more common than they are now.

One woman was always calling him out to clear her blocked drains.

Eventually she said - “Iʼm sure youʼre not doing this job properly, because youʼre always having to come back”. He showed her the stuff he had taken out of the drains and asked her -“Are you bathing your Old English Sheepdog in the bath?” and she had to admit that it was so. She never complained again.

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The work was very different then. It was only after the First World War that houses for the working classes were built with bathrooms.

Tin baths in front of the fire were usual. Toilets were outside across the yard. They were very prone to burst pipes unless they were built against a house wall directly behind a fireplace. Better lock the door or you might find a drunken stranger using it, or even a tramp sleeping in it. On a cold winterʼs night better use the ʻguzunderʼ under the bed. Gas cookers only became common after the First World War. The old Yorkshire Ranges provided cooking facilities.

Pipes were made of lead, so the plumber had to be able to solder them. It was quite a performance getting the old blow lamps lit at the open coal fire. Nowadays pipes are mostly made of plastic, but plumbers still learn how to solder copper pipes. Many lead pipes still exist in older buildings.

One of Arthurʼs big jobs was to install the plumbing in many of the houses on the new Hollythorpe estate at Norton Lees in the late nineteen thirties. He always said that his houses never had bursts, because of where he positioned the pipes. If you laid them along an outside wall, the frost would get to them.

Granddadʼs son, Stanley (1909 – 1994) was his apprentice and worked with his father all his working life, but had no son to follow him. During the Second World War, as he was in a reserved occupation, he was not called up into the Armed Forces but instead he joined the Home Guard, ʻDadʼs Armyʼ.

A young friend is now training to be a plumber. After several months working with a master plumber installing several central heating systems, he spends six months at college doing theory before doing more practical work. He will then do an extra year of Corgi Training to become a registered gas fitter. There was no college for Granddad.

Peter Davy – Plumber

In January 1952 at 15, I started work as an apprentice plumber on a housing scheme at Hackenthorpe working for the Sheffield Corporation Public Works Department. On our site there were about 12 plumbers and two or three apprentices. Me being the youngest I 113

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got the job of tea mashing, serving up the tea and then washing up 15 enamel tea cans – in a bucket of “clean” water and a horrid block of so called soap, every day including Saturday mornings, which wasnʼt overtime.

In the plumbersʼ cabin there were no washing facilities except for the bucket and ʻsoapʼ. Throughout my apprenticeship these conditions prevailed at various building sites around the city and during this period we plumbers worked with the dreaded materials called lead, asbestos and other horrendous materials and very often in evening classes mercury was in use during various experiments. To we lads mercury was a fascinating substance and we used to ʻsilverʼ plate cheap rings and other small objects and wear them with pride.

Lunches in the form of sandwiches were many times eaten with hands smothered in lead or asbestos from the morningsʼ work due to the lack of facilities. All of these materials used then would, if discovered anywhere today, cause panic among the public and numerous officials and probably result in huge areas being cordoned off and evacuated. I am now 68 years young, living a healthy life in Spain and except for a few bouts of influenza have never been ill in my life. By the above account I should have died years ago. Health and safety didnʼt exist. For example I remember one bad winter after gale force winds and driving snow, all construction site plumbers were sent to the council housing estates to help repair damaged tiled roofs.

We had to walk around pitched roofs with a yard brush sweeping snow from the tiles to enable us to carry out the repairs in a blizzard!

How things have changed. Holidays were few and no-one went to Spain or Italy on holiday - unheard of, no package deals then.

Apprenticeships lasted 5 or 6 years with a day off work every week to attend day classes, paid for I might add. Three evening classes per week were attended after racing home from work across the city, quick wash, shave and change of clothes and an evening meal bolted down if you had a good Mum. I did. Catch a tramcar into town again for 7p.m. start. And we were the lucky ones.

It was all good training and social experience, which, on reflection, Iʼm glad I didnʼt miss.

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For Reg and Mavis Darby the electrical industry provided them with their lifeʼs work, and also their marriage. Their working lives covered some major changes in the industry – nationalisation, the change of the nationʼs voltage from 200 to 250 volts, the building of the post-war housing estates and the introduction of new methods of heating and cooking.

Born in Sheffield in 1926, Reg attended Broomhill County School from the age of four to fourteen. His father was a cabinet maker, producing furniture for John Walshʼs Department Store, and he wanted his sons to have a trade. Regʼs older brother followed their father into the woodworking trade, but Reg fancied becoming an electrician, called in those days a wireman.

At that time the Sheffield Corporation Electrical Supply Company was the sole provider of electricity to the city, also owning the power stations at Neepsend and Blackburn Meadows, and setting itʼs own prices. It was the only place to train. The Company offices were at the bottom of Commercial Street, and here Reg went to apply for an apprenticeship. Initially there were no vacancies, so he got a job as office boy at William Marples, Toolmakers, on Westfield Terrace, where a friend of his motherʼs worked. This job involved the usual duties of opening and sorting mail, filing, tea-making and running errands, and lasted about 6-8 months until there was a vacancy at the Electrical Company.

Reg gave in his notice at Marples and went with his dad to the Commercial Street offices for an interview and was accepted as a suitable candidate. Next, he and his father went to the Town Hall to sign an indenture paper. This imposing event took place in a large room where the Town Clerk produced reams of paper, sealed the document with red wax, and he and his father had to put their thumbs into the wax. The indenture being thus signed and sealed, Reg was entered for a full 7 year apprenticeship (from 14 to 21 years of age) as a Wireman. This meant that unless he really blotted his copybook, he was more or less guaranteed a job at 21, and indeed, a job for life.

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Reg began his working life in 1940, at the height of the Blitz. That night he was at piano lessons when the raid began, so had to stay all night in the cellar of his teacherʼs home. During the night he went to the toilet in the back yard and was suddenly blown up some steps into the kitchen by an explosion. Down in the cellar his teacher, her elderly father and a crippled lady were safe but shaken. A big bomb had fallen near their home, so Reg had a job getting there, but because he had just started there was no question of not going to work. He walked through the burning, battered city streets and found plenty to do when he got there. Being an apprentice, he never worked alone, so was sent out with two older men to tape up loose electrical cables in the streets. Sent home in the afternoon, he walked all the way back at 5 p.m. for his wages, then found he could not get back to his house because of an unexploded bomb! What a start to a working life.

The apprenticeship was strict and thorough. At the start, Reg picked up some tools, pliers or screwdrivers, and was firmly told - “You put down those tools lad. Iʼll show you the tools youʼll need for the time being – thereʼs a brush and shovel. We do the jobs as neatly and correctly as we can and leave all as we find it. Your job is to clear up. There are right and wrong ways of using a brush and shovel.”

Just watching the older man work was all Reg did at first, plus the clearing up. Then he began going out on jobs, usually with a more experienced man, and the work mostly involved wiring public air raid shelters on behalf of the government.

Apprentices did not have to buy their own tools, instead they were sent to a tool shop near Snig Hill owned by Ken Hawley, who told them what they needed, put it into a leather bag, and asked for their signature. The magic words at the end of their time were “You are now classed as an electrician”.

However, Regʼs apprenticeship did not run true to type, due to the war. At 18 he was working on an important job for Arthur Balfoursʼ steel works at Attercliffe and because this firm was producing muchneeded items for the war effort, Regʼs call-up was deferred for 6 months. But it did come eventually, and in 1944 he left Sheffield and 116

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entered the army, where he remained until 1948, when he was demobbed.

Returning to Sheffield Reg had to pick up the pieces of his former life, and as his apprenticeship had been broken, and he had forgotten some of his pre-army teaching, this was pretty grim, but eventually he was able to go out into homes. His job-title had now been changed, from Wireman to Electrician and his task was to go out into the new post-war council housing developments at Parsons Cross and Ecclesfield and wire all the houses, along with an older man to get experience. “There was a lot to re-learn” says Reg, “but you got on with it”.

What seems extraordinary to us now, is that in the 1940ʼs you could hire electrical equipment - cookers, vacuum cleaners, and even kettles. A kettle cost five pence a Quarter and a cooker two shillings and six pence. The cookers were made of cast-iron and very heavy – it took three or four men to lift them. Part of the job entailed installing these items and removing them when people gave up their hire agreement. The cookers would be stripped down and rebuilt back at the workshops, and this involved working with asbestos, which was used to lag the cookers to retain heat. Nowadays glass wool is used, probably not as effective, but safer. An early form of equipment was the Clothes Warm-Air Dryer. These had a box at the base with heaters in, but sometimes the clothes would drop down onto the heater and catch fire.

The first big change in the Industry occurred in 1949 when Nationalisation took place. Reg now worked for the Yorkshire Electricity Board, one of 12 Boards set up across the country to run the electrical industry. The Power Stations were split off from the rest of the business, but conditions of work were much the same. The ETU (Electrical Trades Union) was very strong and ensured that staff did not suffer. On the whole, working life proceeded smoothly and pleasantly, with no strikes and only one work to rule that Reg can recall.

The second big change took place in the 1960ʼs, when the Nationʼs voltage was changed from 200 to 240 volts. Every building and electrical appliance in the city had to be changed, and the 117

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proceedings lasted about 10 years. Reg was now feeling that crawling about under floors was a bit too much at his age, so he got the job of survey work, visiting homes, checking equipment and deciding what needed replacing. It was a massive job. Radiators needed new elements, TVʼs had to be re-adjusted, and light bulbs changed. Some items could be adapted, but if they could not, the customer was given £5 towards the cost of a new one.

When that job ended the YEB found Reg a job in the workshops repairing appliances. He was in charge of cookers sent to schools, which came back to be prepared for re-sale in the showrooms. In the 1970ʼs storage radiators became the heating method of choice for many houses. Many were the problems with these new gadgets.

They were always going wrong because people misused them.

They were O.K. if left in situ, but if people moved house and wanted to take them with them, it was found that after 5 or 6 years, the bricks inside had crumbled. Today all council buildings in or near the city centre are heated via the Incinerators.

Reg retired in 1987, after 47 years in the industry. He and Mavis were one of many couples whose marriage occurred as a result of working for the same firm. For both it was a second marriage, as their respective partners died within six months of retirement. Mavis was born in Leeds where her first husband, Sydney, worked for the Electrical Supply Company. They moved from the Leeds YEB to Sheffield in 1964, he as a Sales Representative and she working in the showrooms, where she dealt with the cookers sent to schools.

Consequently Reg and Mavis saw each other at work a good deal over the years, and that shared background resulted in a happy second marriage for them both. From October 1964 Mavis worked in the YEB showrooms at Change Alley, as a Showroom Assistant, but her boss advised her to apply for a better job, and from 1970 onwards she became a Housecraft Advisor, a job which from 1975, was based at The Parkway. All the cookers in schools were hired from the YEB, also washing machines, fridges and freezers.

Mavisʼs job was to go round demonstrating the use of these appliances at e.g. Womensʼ Institutes, Townswomensʼ Guilds, and 118

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this service became greatly in demand when Microwave cookers first appeared. Mavis would give a lecture and demo such as ʻHow to cook a meal in one hourʼ. It was also the case then that if anyone bought an appliance from the YEB they could request an Advisor to go to their home and show them how to use it.

If appliances were reported as faulty, Mavis would go out to test them, for instance, if it was an oven she might bake a sponge cake.

If there really was a fault she would make a report and the Faultmen would go out and repair it. Although Health & Safety matters did not have such a high profile then as now, Mavis did go out to schools to lecture on appliance use to GCE pupils, and on safety matters to younger ones. There were two films shown. One, for infants, ʻThe Wise Old Owlʼ, about safety in the home, and another about the dangers of playing near overhead cables, sub-stations and pylons.

Since the industry was privatised there have been many more changes, but these have not affected Reg and Mavis, who say with gratitude – “We lived at the right time”.

Alan Ballʼs account of his early working life reminds us that before

any building is erected, it first needs an architect to design it, though his job of Junior Architectural Assistant (i.e. office boy), did not inspire him to continue in that profession.

First jobs Having failed the 11 plus I attended Sheffield Central Technical School, and left at Christmas 1955 with a Diploma in Building, which included all other basic subjects. The school covered two areas, a three year engineering course and a three year building course. I left the Tech at nearly seventeen and went for various interviews before I was successful.

I remember two interviews in particular. One was for a trainee designer at C & R Wall on Petre Street, and the other was for a junior draughtsman at a company that made railway carriages in Darnall. I eventually ended up at Teather & Hadfield Architects on Campo Lane as a Junior Architectural Assistant (which meant ʻOffice 119

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Boyʼ come dogsbody), salary two guineas per week. The present incumbent, called Jasper, was about to leave for National Service.

We were on the top floor of the Mazda Buildings on Campo Lane near Saint Peters Close. I was built like a racing snake in those days and my many trips up and down the stairs running errands (usually to Pinders the printers and Architects Suppliers, who were then situated near the Town Hall) must have kept me fit. I offered to race the ʻBossʼ upstairs one day, and got a very grumpy look but fortunately not the sack as I half expected. Everyone smoked in the office, which consisted of four separate offices off a shared corridor.

The full complement consisted of the ʻBossʼ- Mr Hadfield, the Secretary Mrs Palmer, four architects, two quantity surveyors, one land surveyor, lady tracer and a receptionist/typist, with Jasper and myself trailing along behind. The Surveyor, Norman Pearson, smoked for England, and I used to go to Ma Robinsons in Paradise Square for Normanʼs fags sometimes twice a day.

Ma Robinsons was a popular place and solicitorʼs clerks would go there for a dripping crust and sit on a very narrow bench inside.

One of my duties was to assist Norman Pearson (the surveyor) in the pegging out of houses at the Charnock Hall estate at Gleadless for builders (I think Redmile & Raynor were the principal builders at the time). Norman would go home for lunch (near the bottom of Ecclesall Road) carrying the levelling telescope in a box and two large tape measures. He would then meet me on site thereby leaving me to lug the ranging rods and heavy wooden tripod to Pond Street bus station, to travel to Gleadless Town End and then walk to site with my various accoutrements.

Eventually I managed to strap all this equipment to my BSA Bantam motorbike which made things easier, especially as Mrs Palmer said I could charge three pence a mile for it (petrol was about four shillings a gallon then – 20p in todayʼs money).

After a while the boss gave me a 10 shillings a week rise, unfortunately this increment meant I had to pay tax, so I ended up only 6 shillings a week better off (30p).

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Nevertheless, being a dogsbody was quite interesting – I learnt to do conveyance plans for local solicitorsʼ use. These were on linen with the building boundaries coloured in pink. I would probably do about 3-5 of these a week and the firm would charge about 2 guineas for them, which I thought was a good return on my salary of by now £3 per week.

Lunch times were 1-2 p.m. except for me and Jasper, who soon found some light entertainment to occupy us. Our top floor office overlooked the back of Queen Street where many offices employed pretty girls, so we rigged up the level telescope to view the scene.

The magnification was superb but the downside was that all the images of the girls were upside down and surrounded by the cross hairs of the lens, which dampened our spirits somewhat.

My boss, Mr Hadfield, had to find speakers for the Rotary Club and one day asked me to deliver a table place plan to the Head Chef at the Grand Hotel, which I promptly lost. My panic ensured that I searched everywhere, to no avail, so I sneaked a guest list from Mrs Palmerʼs office and made up my own, which I duly delivered. I was expecting the worst every day up to and including the dinner, and couldnʼt believe my luck when I got away with it and nothing was said, or even hinted at. I seemed to lead a charmed life.

One winterʼs day Mrs P. asked if I would fetch Mr Hadfieldʼs spectacles from his home at Glen House on Rivelin Valley Road. The weather was foul and icy and – youʼve guessed it - I came off the bike on the famously bad hairpin bend, and the glasses, the bike and me went sliding into the gutter. A car stopped and an elderly man asked if I had come off. I got away with it again - the glasses, the case and me were all intact.

I was getting a bit restless tracing Architectʼs details and feeling a bit like a conveyer belt to-ing and fro-ing between the printers and the office. National Service was looming, but for some reason was delayed for a few months. In the meantime I went to night school twice a week and met an old school pal, John Stead, who worked in the Architectʼs office at the Town Hall earning about £7 a week, but there were no vacancies. I listened to the ʻbright berkʼ, as he told me 121

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it would be easy to get a job at the Town Hall, then transfer to the Architects Department at a later date. For double the money, I listened, especially as my best pal Royce Bell was a trainee steeplejack on about 拢15 a week. So I duly applied and became a wages clerk based at Olive Grove Road Depot. The lads were fine, but the boss, a little greasy bloke, was horrible. We did the wages for the lorry drivers, mates and labourers based there, and we occupied a small glazed green hut near to the weighbridge. I seem to remember that the drivers earned about 4 shillings and 1 penny per hour, plus half an hour cleaning time. This would have been late 1958.

There was a small engineers depot there at the time, and one bloke said that his Maicoletta 250 scooter would go faster than my 350 Enfield, so we had a drag race up the middle of the depot road. I won, but the boss, who crept diligently to his Town Hall bosses, shopped me and I was called before some bumptious jerk at the Town Hall to explain myself. Needless to say I got my resignation in first!!

I went across to the Treasurers Department where Mr Middleton worked, who was CO of 367 Squadron ATC (Air Training Corps), which I始d been a member of since I was 14 years old. I said I needed a job to keep me going until I was called up for National Service, and hopefully more money to pay off the HP on my motorbike. I ended up labouring in Attercliffe working nights breaking up old stone pavements, and during the day helping with the tarmac gang.

During my time as a Wages Clerk and feeling thoroughly fed up, I chanced on the RAF Recruiting Office on Pinstone Street, and had an interview with a Flight Lt Clarke, the recruiting officer. I explained my circumstances and he keenly asked me about the ATC, educational qualifications and hobbies etc, family background including wartime (Dad was a Desert Rat and mum was a nurse).

He sent me away telling me to 驶bone up始 on current affairs and change my choice of newspaper (I was a Mirror reader in those days).

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After about six weeks I was informed that I had passed the initial interview and a place awaited me at the RAF Aircrew Selection Centre at Hornchurch. The outcome was that I did join the RAF and I did learn to fly, and the job was completely different to the years of being a fumbling, gauche, shy teenager.

So ended my first jobs as Junior Architectural Assistant, Wages Clerk and Labourer. My father made the remark that it would sound more impressive the other way round…

Finally, Irene Davy writes about her fatherʼs 51 years with the Sheffield construction firm of George Longden & Sons, comparing her familyʼs links with that firm through two generations, with those of their employers. This highlights the once-common phenomenon of a family tradition affecting both employers and employees, where fathers expected their sons to follow them into the same trade and firm. It is seen that by the mid-twentieth century this is a tradition which had largely died out.

The Building Trade – a Family Business

My grandfather, Samuel Davy, moved from Lincolnshire to Sheffield for work in the late 19th Century, lodging with a family on St. Philips Road and marrying the daughter of the house. He was a foreman bricklayer by trade and built, among other things, St. Aidans Church on City Road where his high standards of workmanship were acknowledged by the vicar and churchwardens with a bonus and certificate. He also worked on the construction of the City Hall in the 1920ʼs, (a project designed partly as a war memorial and partly as a job creation scheme to assist the unemployed), as did my father, also called Samuel, who was his eldest son.

Grandad put all four of his sons into the building trade, initially into the firm of George Longden & Sons, his own employers. One, Bill, became a joiner, but the other three were bricklayers. George ended up as Assistant General Manager at the City Councilʼs Public Works Department, overseeing the construction of the Park Hill Flats in the 1960s (a slum clearance scheme using the experimental ʻstreets in 123

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the skyʼ concept) and having the honour of being presented to the Queen Mother at the official opening. Joe joined another firm and helped build the Hallamshire Hospital, and my father, Sam, spent his whole working life with Longdens, whose distinctive hoardings were seen on many a building site around Sheffield during most of the 20th century.

George Longden & Sons began in 1848, and the business, which expanded enormously from a modest beginning, was passed from father to son up to the 20th century. They were known, at one time as ʻThe builders of modern Sheffieldʼ, constructing, amongst other things, the Town Hall, Midland Station, Telegraph Building, Cathedral extension, and several large department stores, some of which were destroyed in the blitz and re-built in the 1950ʼs by the same firm.

Quoting from the book ʻMemories of Sheffield”, published in 2002 “It seems as if no building erected in Sheffield from the 1870ʼs to the 1930ʼs was not put up by Longdens”.

As the eldest son of a large and poor family, Sam Davy had to start earning early. His first job was a paper round at the age of seven. At 12 he left school and worked for two years in a factory making parts for aircraft (this was during the First World War), and at 14 he was apprenticed as a bricklayer at George Longdens where he remained until his retirement at the age of 65 in 1967. Once out of his apprenticeship at the age of 21, dad had the initial outlay of buying his own set of tools, and these he treasured to the end of his life (aged 82), refusing to part with them even when he moved into a small pensionersʼ flat.

He soon became a foreman and then a general foreman, but the coming of the Depression meant that work locally was scarce and he was told that he must be prepared to work anywhere in the country if he wanted to keep his job. Being young and single, he agreed and set off ʻDown Southʼ, initially working in Cambridge where he learnt to pole a punt with skill.

Then came the task of building a string of new railway stations on the London to Southend Line, and this was how he met my mother, as he had lodgings with her brother and his wife. They were married 124

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in 1935 and came North again, renting a house in Sheffield but spending little time there, as dad始s job took him on the move again, and mum went with him.

During the first 4 to 5 years of marriage they followed his work, living in lodgings at Retford, Bradford and Gretna Green. It was here in the North that my mother first came into contact with the reality of the Depression. Though her family was by no means well-off, she had never before seen such extremes of poverty.

Dad was paid weekly in gold sovereigns, and one day, not having any smaller change, she paid for something at a small corner shop with one of these. There was a gasp from the other women, who had never seen so much money before, and when she saw the longing looks on their faces she resolved never to pay that way again

Dad was 驶on the staff始 of Longdens, which meant that although the pay was not high, and he never got overtime pay, he did get paid holidays, sick leave and, above all, a pension, and this meant everything in those Depression days, giving him an enviable degree of security. Although I do not know what dad earned, I was told by my mother in later years, that when he retired at 65 after 51 years, he was earning the same salary as I, at 23, in the City Libraries. He did not begrudge me my success, and never spoke of it to me, but it did cause him some pangs.

The Second World War brought a change. Dad was sent all over the country to build top-secret military installations, but mum had to stay at home or our house would have been requisitioned by the government. When he was at home (and this included the Sheffield Blitz), he was a firewatcher at the Neepsend Gas Works, and I cannot imagine a more perilous place to be in an air raid than on top of a gasometer.

Towards the end of the war, when the possibility of air raids seemed over, Sam was sent to London to start repairing and re-building houses damaged in the blitz. Unfortunately this was when the Doodlebugs (V1 Rockets) began to come over and on one occasion 125

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when the engine cut out just above him, which was a sign the thing was going to come down and explode, dad jumped off a roof! He came home a nervous wreck.

After the war, the building trade got going again in Sheffield and dad never had to work away from home again, just as well, as I had been born by then. In the early 1950ʼs the steelworks were still expanding and dad had some big jobs on, and worked long hours. He rose early, got his own breakfast and brought tea upstairs to mum and I before leaving home. At night he would have his meal long after mine, and was too tired to do anything except read the papers and fall into bed.

He also worked Saturday mornings regularly and even Sunday mornings on really important jobs. As Sunday mornings were the only time he had to spend with me, he would take me to work with him, at least while I was little. I remember going to one of the big steelworks where they had their own small railway or tramway on site, which fascinated me. Dad would sit me on a high stool at the bench in his office (a large shed), clear away the architectʼs plans, and settle me down to draw with a pencil and some old order books.

During the morning a stream of workmen would turn up to make a fuss of me, quite often giving me gifts of money. Needless to say I enjoyed these outings very much.

Whatever would ʻHealth & Safetyʼ say now to a small child being allowed on a building site? Although I never heard of anyone having a serious accident on one of dadʼs sites, he always had a wellequipped First-Aid box for minor ones. I never saw him nor any of the men on those sites in hard hats. His working gear was an old suit, supplemented in winter by sweaters and mufflers knitted by mum, and a flat cap. Even on one of his later jobs in the 1960ʼs, a photograph of the ʻtopping outʼ ceremony at the Abbeydale Works shows dad with two distinguished visitors high up on scaffolding.

The visitors were bare-headed and dad as usual in the flat cap.

By the late 1950ʼs dad was finding the responsibility of very big jobs too much and asked to be given smaller projects which resulted in a series of interesting and largely enjoyable jobs right up to retirement.

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The first of these was to build a luxury bungalow for a man at Fulwood. Mum and I got a blow by blow account of progress on this ultra-modern home, and were given permission by the owner to view the finished product. We were amazed by the vast open lounge with it始s floor to ceiling picture window, the oil-fired central heating and the patio with multi-coloured paving slabs. To us it was almost like viewing a stately home.

Other jobs included work on a large house at Dore owned by a titled gentleman and on a boys始 boarding school at Barlborough, in a building going back to Tudor times. My father loved the workmanship of old buildings and his proudest and best-loved job of later years was the restoration of the buildings at the Abbeydale Industrial Hamlet in the early 1960始s.

The Abbeydale Works at Beauchief had last been used to make steel during World War Two, and had fallen into decay.

It was salvaged by a local conservation group who raised funds to restore buildings and machinery, and then presented it to the City Council. When my father arrived the buildings were in a ruinous state and were almost completely overrun by vegetation. He even found trees growing out of some roofs.

Whilst clearing the site he found a very old steel kitchen knife (not stainless steel), half-buried in the garden of one of the cottages, mended the handle and took it home, where my mother used it for many years as it was sharper then any of her modern ones.

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Once the site was cleared, a review of the buildings showed that the frontage of one was completely out of plumb and would have to be taken down and re-built stone by stone. In addition to the plans, dad wanted photographs, so he took me along with my camera to produce them. The progress of this job was followed with great interest by our family, and my mother and I made several visits to the site before completion. After the official opening it was my pleasure to show off the Hamlet to friends and visitors, and to this day I feel a proprietary interest in it.

Dadʼs last job was to restore the roof of Sheffield Cathedral, which led to him being nick-named ʻBishop Davyʼ in the firm. Again, it was the kind of thing he loved doing, and he offered to take me up on the roof to see the view. In those days I Topping out ceremony at Abbeydale Hamlet winter 1965/6 did not possess any ʻsensible ʻ shoes and consequently tottered about the roof in a pair of high-heeled court shoes, and of course, without a hard hat! Another Health & Safety nightmare today, but we thought nothing of it.

Longdens was very much a family firm, run by several generations.

Men ʻon the staffʼ like my father knew and were known by the owners who were very generous. When I was about 5 or 6 they hired a room in a big chapel on Queen Street and threw a Christmas party for the children of employees. There was food and games and a 128

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visit from Father Christmas, but the best part for our family was when the current Mr Longden asked me who my father was and praised him highly.

Also at Christmas each man on the staff received a gift to the value of £5 which was a small fortune in the 1950ʼs. They could choose between a food hamper or a case of wines and spirits, which was usually our option, though sometimes we did have the hamper, which was exciting to unpack. We selected the drinks with much careful deliberation from a list provided by Messrs White, Favell & Cockayne, an old established wine merchants on Church Street.

The £5 usually bought us a bottle each of port, sherry, whiskey, and rum, with perhaps a half bottle of brandy, gin and advocaat (mumʼs favourite).

My father, in turn, was good to his labourers, giving them a ʻsubʼ on their wages when they were hard up and visiting them in their homes on Sunday mornings if they were seriously ill. However, he expected them to do as they were told and to produce work of a high standard.

The highlight of the year for my father was the annual staff Christmas Dinner, a magnificent three-course evening meal at a hotel. Not only the meal but also an unlimited supply of drinks, before, during and after dinner was provided completely free of charge, Dad was an abstemious man but this was the one night of the year when he came home rather ʻmerryʼ. Mum would send him off in his best suit, complete with gold cuff-links and tie-pin and a heavy full-length overcoat. Then we would both lie awake in bed until he rolled home in a taxi about midnight, and tottered singing up the stairs. These dinners were for years, men-only affairs, and great was the consternation when it was decided to include the few women who worked in the offices, thereby changing the character of the event for all time.

For all their working lives “the job” was a matter of supreme interest to my father and his brothers, and at family parties this subject took precedence even over sport and politics. Neverthless, dad was quite happy to retire. He felt that the standard of workmanship was going down, and was both puzzled and frustrated by the disinclination of 129

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younger labourers to obey orders without question. For several years after retiring he was invited back to the Christmas Dinner and also to the official opening of prestigious projects the firm had completed, such as the University Arts Tower, whose continually moving lift was a source of wonder, but eventually he felt less 驶at home始 at these gatherings. The Longden family had sold out of the firm and there had been one or two takeovers, and of course as the years went by there were fewer people there that he knew.

Just as a generation of Longdens grew up who were disinclined to take over the firm, so the third generation of the Davy family went their different ways, having had the advantage of grammar school educations etc. and so the long working association of the two families came to an end. That association was marked by mutual respect and contributed many fine buildings to the city of Sheffield.

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Timber, furnace bricks and unions Wood and clay must be the most versatile materials known to mankind, they have certainly been used ever since humans discovered how to make the first tools. At first thought, we think of wood as only being worked by carpenters and joiners, but deeper investigation reveals that it plays a part in a far wider range of occupations. Some people are attracted by working with wood and stick with it for life whilst for others, it is a first step towards wider interests.

Our first story however, is about a man who worked making refractory bricks for furnace linings, mainly for the steel industry.

Refractory bricks have a very high silica content, and the dust has long been known to cause silicosis and more recently, lung cancer.

Generally, the main reason for a person to go to work every day, is the necessity of earning enough money to live on. For a family man, the remuneration from his eight hour day may simply not be enough, and therefore extra means of income have to be found. Anne White writes how her late father, Albert, coped.

My father, Albert Edward Russell, worked for Pickford Holland Refractories at Owler Bar, near Sheffield for 31 years, from 1924 to 1955. He believed in showing loyalty and respect to the company he worked for. Many people living in the Totley area worked at the brickworks and there was a strong community feeling amongst the workers.

Totley was little more than a village in those days so most people knew each other. The Cross Scythes public house was the terminus for the local bus service, so Pickford Holland had their own company bus, which waited in the car park at the Fleur de Lys pub across the road, and took both the factory workers and office staff on the rest of the journey out to Owler Bar. The same bus transported people to and from the little hamlet of Barlow where, again, many of the workers lived.

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We lived in a little cottage at Totley and I remember seeing my father return from work covered in thick, grey dust, his jet black hair would look almost white. He would remove his dusty work clothes in our small kitchen and my mother would stand at the door shaking as much of the dust out of his clothes as possible. The air would be filled with clouds of the powdery grains and she would start to cough and splutter in her futile efforts to shake it all away.

It was impossible for him to have a bath every night because bath night itself was an evening始s job. The old gas boiler had to be filled with cold water, then we had to wait for it to heat up before ladling the hot water into the tin bath in front of the fire in the black-leaded Yorkshire Range in our living room. We had the luxury of a gas geyser which allowed us to get hot water at the kitchen sink which doubled up as our washbasin, so dad would have a good 驶strip wash始 before sitting down to his tea.

His working day was far from over! Times were hard during the war and post-war years, so my hardworking dad used every talent he had been blessed with to provide for his family. We had a type of smallholding where both he and my mum kept livestock. There were pigs to be fed and cleaned out, hens to be fed and eggs collected.

Dad had a vegetable patch which needed to be tended, plus gooseberry, raspberry, red and black currant bushes and rhubarb.

Many of his friends came to him to have their hair cut. He was meticulous about hygiene, his special haircutting scissors, comb and clipping shears were always kept immaculately clean although his customers were all given the same regulation short back and sides haircut! Often I would see him sitting in front of his cobbler始s last repairing all our family shoes and those of his friends and neighbours. His mouth would be full of tacks and he would expertly wield a sharpened knife to cut out the leather shapes of soles and heels.

Another way he provided money for us, was to sell chocolates and cigarettes. The stairs of our cottage had boxes stacked all the way up them with the stocks we sold. The glass fanlight over our front door had been etched with thick black lettering stating that A.E. 132

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Russell was licensed to sell tobacco and sweets, followed by a registration number. My mum was a kind and gentle person and she would ʻsplitʼ a ten packet of Woodbine cigarettes so that she could sell them separately to her customers who were unable to afford a full packet. As I said, times were hard!

Inevitably the day came when a pig would need to be slaughtered.

The local butcher would come to help dad ʻpersuadeʼ the pig to walk along the back lane to the open shed behind the butcherʼs shop, where it would be killed. Instinctively the pig seemed to know what was in store and it would squeal and try to run away. Any other men who were available would pull on the ropes tied around the pig and would eventually succeed in reaching the shed.

Every part of the pig was used - nothing was wasted. The blood was used for making black pudding and we children even played with its inflated bladder as a football. The butcher would be paid in kind for his services and for sacrificing a Sunday to do the work; it was the only day his shop was closed. A percentage of the meat had to be given to the government, and the butcher was responsible for deducting this percentage. Our neighbours were not forgotten either.

Anyone who had given us stale bread and vegetable peelings to feed the pig, would receive some of the meat, and a few days after the slaughter I would go with my dad to fetch our share of the meat.

We trundled it along the back lane in a squeaky old wheelbarrow.

I donʼt think my father ever had a holiday. My mum took us to the seaside for a week sometimes, but while we played on the sands, he would be back home taking care of the animals. The only time he went to the seaside was the annual works day trip. He wore his best suit for this occasion, minus tie, his one concession to the holiday outing! I know that he really looked forward to the trip, and we would clamber into the old slow Charabang with great excitement.

Everyone knew each other of course, and it was an outing not to be missed.

After what seemed to be a lifetime we reached the seaside and had a fish and chip lunch. The men would then make a beeline for the nearest pub, while the women and children headed for the beach.

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Dad wasn始t a drinker but he enjoyed a pint of beer and at the end of the day he would be slightly tipsy. He had most definitely earned the right to relax and be merry for just one day of the year!

In the summer my sister, with a friend and I, would take a picnic onto the moors, collecting berries for mum to make into pies. One day we went to the moors just behind the brickworks, to collect blackberries.

The blackberry bushes had a thick layer of dust on them from the brickyard.

We walked into the yard and entered a large corrugated iron building. The door led us onto an iron platform with iron railings and steps leading down to the area where my dad was standing with a work colleague.

There was a huge iron cylindrical shaped drum which was rotating slowly and gradually crushing its contents.

Layers and layers of choking dust clogged the atmosphere and the noise was totally deafening. No wonder my dad had trouble with his hearing.

He couldn始t speak to us above the noise, so he quickly ushered us outside. In those days there were no masks to help a worker to breathe, or ear muffs to deaden the sound. Thinking about it now, I can始t imagine what it must have been like to work in such conditions day after day.

When I was only 13 years old, my mum, who had not had good health for a long time, died under tragic circumstances. Only a few weeks after her death, dad, who always seemed so strong, admitted that he had not been feeling well. He went to see the doctor, but didn始t tell us what the doctor said, so my sister Audrey went to see 134

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the doctor herself. We were devastated to hear that dad had lung cancer and would probably only live for another year. He had been a smoker, so we are unsure whether it was his smoking or the dust from his job that caused the cancer. He certainly never received any compensation or pension when he had to leave the brickyard. The pigs and hens had to go because he couldnʼt look after them. He worried about the garden, which I dug over, but he was too weak to put the seedlings in.

He died in 1957 aged just 53.

A personʼs work ethic can be instilled at quite an early age. Much depends on the home environment and also a youngsterʼs experiences in a particular neighbourhood. Dennis Lee, woodturner, joiner and carpenter recalls a variety of early events, which set him on his way into working life. To begin with, he says,

My father walked everywhere, both for pleasure and to get to and from work, consequently he knew many people in the Norton/Woodseats area whom he met along the way. For a time he worked as a self-employed gardener and many of the gardens around Norton Park View were designed and landscaped by him.

The houses were newly built and the gardens were full of builderʼs rubble, which he removed by hand, without any mechanical aids.

Sometimes at the weekend or in school holidays I would go with him to help and to learn about gardening.

Above one of the shops at Meadowhead was a flat occupied by a friend of my fatherʼs, who was a groom and worked at some stables close to our home on Ashbury Lane, Norton.

I loved to go down to the stables and watch Jack groom the horses, and after a while, he realised that I was a serious, hard-working boy who genuinely wanted to help him. He showed me how to mix the horsesʼ feed by hand in a bucket, and I helped him to groom them, brushing them thoroughly and finishing off with a rag dipped in paraffin, which made their coats shine. We made diamond patterns 135

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on their flanks using a soft brush and we cleaned their feet to stop them becoming infected. I also learnt how to take care of the saddles and all the other tackle.

There were three horses, called Harvester, Shadow and Monty.

They were show jumpers, though Shadow was too old for competitions. When Easter came and the show jumping season began, Jack rode the horses in the competitions, and I worked hard helping him to care for the horses and was allowed to go to some of the shows to help.

We travelled to Blackpool, Southport and the Royal Show at York, staying for three nights each time. At night, the horses were bedded down in stables provided by the show organisers, so Jack and I would take two blankets and a pillow each and sleep on the straw in the horse-boxes! I met several people from the Sheffield area who were competing in the show jumping.

Two more horses came to stay at the stables. They belonged to Frank and George Kenning, whose father owned Kenning始s Garage on Paternoster Row. One day Jack said he始d been talking to a man who was thinking of buying two ponies for his children. The ponies would need saddling for the children to ride in the evenings, after Jack had finished work, so I was asked if I could help. I agreed to do this, and also to take care of the ponies afterwards and bed them down for the night.

The childrens始 father owned a car showroom at Woodseats. He used to drive huge, brand new American cars with white-walled tyres, such as Bewicks, Cadillacs, Fords and Chryslers, and was very generous, usually paying me about 30 shillings each week. My father was earning about 拢3 per week at the time!

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Sometimes I would meet Jack at the stables at 8.30 a.m. We would each ride a horse and set off for the blacksmiths at Holmesfield. The farrier working at the blacksmiths was called Bill. It took him most of the day to re-shoe the horses and I would arrive home about 4 p.m., tired but happy.

My father lived a long and interesting life, and when he reached retirement age, he carried on working, but was entitled to a monthly 驶pension始 of 拢1. This was the gift of Sir Francis Chantrey, the famous 19th century sculptor, and native of Norton. He endowed a sum of money to be used to provide a pension to people born in Norton, and still living there at retirement age. Three other people were also receiving it at this time. Being a very proud and independent man, my father was often reluctant to go and collect this money from the vicar of Norton, who administered the fund, and had to be encouraged to do so by my mother.

For about six years my father worked in the churchyard at St. James始s. He received a weekly wage of three shillings and nine pence (approximately 19 pence), for cutting the grass, pruning trees and general maintenance, such as sweeping up the confetti after weddings. When snow fell he would rise early on Sunday mornings and clear all the paths of snow before the parishioners arrived for the morning service.

Sir Francis Chantrey had been very specific about his memorial monument and about the maintenance of his grave. He left sufficient funds for the grave to be kept tidy and cleaned regularly. My father asked my brother Derek and myself to scrub the marble gravestone.

I was seven at the time, and can remember that we were given two tins of Vim, two scrubbing brushes and a bucket and left to get on with it. We fetched water from the belfry, then we scrubbed and scrubbed but made very little headway as the marble was pitted and ingrained with dirt and residue from the trees.

I suggested that we should collect some ashes from the boiler room and rub these into the marble first, before trying to wash it down.

This worked, and we spent four evenings working in the graveyard 137

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until it went dark, before we completed the job. It was very spooky.

We were given the task of keeping the grave clean for the next two years and all for the princely payment of two shillings (10 pence) per time.

Wood turning

I left school at the age of 15 and then came my first day at work. It was a cold, dark January morning and it was snowing! I was due to start work at 7.15 a.m. and set off on my trusty bike down the steep hill at the top of Cobnar Road. Needless to say, I fell off a few times but arrived at Hattersley & Davidsons on Woodseats before the buzzer sounded.

The company name was over the archway entrance to the building alongside the name of Robert Sorby Kangaroo Works. There was also a company called John Wilson Skates and these companies were situated where Netto and Iceland are now. My job was wood turning, and I made handles for the steel chisels, screwdrivers, garden shears, trowels and garden forks that were stamped with the Kangaroo trademark.

The workshop was covered in dust, there was a thick layer on the floor and the 8ft long fluorescent lights struggled to filter their light through a 2 inch layer of fine dust. Every now and then I would sweep up the shavings which had collected at my feet and take them to the coke boiler in the corner of the room, our only source of heat.

Sometimes the shavings exploded as they ignited, sending clouds of choking dust high into the air. No masks in those days!

Blacksmith始s forge

I found the job very boring and tedious, so when I had to work outside stacking the wood, I would take the opportunity to wander over to the blacksmith始s forge at the top of the yard. He made hedging bills, or brush hooks as they were sometimes called, which were tools used by farmers to trim hawthorn hedges. He also made river knives which were used to cut reeds and help maintain the inland waterways.

I was fascinated by his workshop and would watch him lift the glowing metal from the forge onto the anvil where his assistant, 138

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called a striker, would use a large hammer to shape it. The assistant was often off work and the blacksmith, seeing my keen interest, asked if I would fancy the job. He saw the manager on my behalf and I began working in the forge full-time.

One Saturday morning, my farther and I went for a walk and visited a workshop at the side of the Bagshaw Arms which belonged to William Archer, an old friend of my father. His son, Cyril Archer, had taken over the business, and in the course of conversation he asked me what I was doing for a living. When I told him he said that he was very busy and could use an extra pair of hands, so I started working for him on Saturday mornings until he offered me a full-time job.

No nails!

Cyril was a carpenter and joiner, a blacksmith and wheelwright.

Under his tuition I learnt how to make windows and doors and he taught me to recognise all the different types of wood and their various uses. He was a perfectionist and every window had to be jointed; we used wooden dowels.

Every joint had to be painted to make it waterproof before the window was fastened together. The work was very interesting and varied; we made many items in the forge, including metal hinges for barn doors, etc. We converted horse-drawn carts to be driven by tractors using both wooden and ironwork fittings. Mrs Bagshaw of Oakes Park commissioned Cyril to do all the work on the farms and cottages she owned.

One of our other tasks was to make made-to-measure coffins for local people. We would have to work quickly on these, often working until 10 p.m. The funeral directors were Reeds of Duke Street and we would order the wood from Blacks in Queens Road. When we finished the woodwork we would line the coffin with material and then it was part of our duty to either collect the body from the hospital or take the coffin to the home of the deceased and place the body inside the coffin ready for relatives to say their last goodbyes.

I worked for Cyril until the time almost arrived for me to do my two years National Service in the army at 18 years of age. Cyril wasn始t 139

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happy about this and he learnt that if I went to building college on a day release joinery course, my conscription could be deferred and I could work for him until I was 21 years old. I duly went to college!

My younger brother Ron, who was almost 13 years old at the time, came to work for Cyril on Saturday mornings. He too had a talent for carpentry and would tackle any job given to him.

We were given all the joinery and maintenance required at the Manor House in Greenhill village. There was a large garage at the side of the house which contained a bench with a vice so most of the work could be done on site.

In 1953, the year of the Queen始s coronation, Mrs Downing, who lived at the Manor House, decided that she would like to put a flagpole and Union Jack on the top of the tower at the back of the house.

The only access to the top of the tower and its turrets was a spiral staircase. The trapdoor at the top of the staircase was poorly fitted and rainwater was let in. Thanks to a man named Dennis Allen who worked at Robert Sorby始s on Woodseats, and who came every Saturday morning to help me make a new wooden spiral staircase and trapdoor, the flag was hoisted in time for the coronation.

In 1955 when I was 21 years old I was finally conscripted into the army. After my initial training there were several options open to me, but I had met some soldiers who were posted to Kenya and really envied them, so I rushed to the posting office to see if I could go there too.

Three of my friends and I had two weeks始 leave and decided to hire a truck and an African cook and go on safari. One night we camped by a stream and awoke to see a herd of cows heading for the stream. Two Masai tribesmen were tending them, and one came over to ask permission for the cows to drink at the stream, even though the land belonged to them. The Masai are a very proud and polite people. It seemed surreal that I, who had been a little boy from the sleepy hamlet of Norton, should be standing on African soil talking in Swahili with a Masai tribesman.

He stood in front of me wearing an orangey-brown garment draped over one shoulder. Brightly coloured beads in the form of necklets 140

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and bracelets adorned his body, and his tightly plaited hair swished from side to side across his face, making a very effective fly swatter.

In his hand he held a spear as tall as himself, and as the early morning African sun glinted on the steel tip of its arrowhead I could clearly read the words stamped on the socket - “Made in Sheffield”.

Herbert Rouse spent most of his working life as a maintenance joiner in the steelworks, which led to him spending much of his time involved in other aspects of the job. He begins by telling us how he first started work,

1938 I reached the age of 14 years and was given a pair of long trousers. By virtue of the fact that I was five foot eight and about nine stones, to convince the tram conductors that I was half fare and still at school, short trousers had been my mode of dress.

Fourteen years and therefore leaving school, what did I fancy doing, what trade would interest me and provide a living wage, what a laugh. 1938 job opportunities offered no such luxuries. You were lucky if you got a job at all. Despite the fact that Britain chivvied by the likes of Churchill had realized the possibilities of war and as a consequence Sheffield and the armaments industries had begun to pick up.

Fortunately for me, my father who was a postman doing a round in Attercliffe Road area, had for the last year been asking round re what opportunities there were at the small firms in the area.

He achieved success at a small building firm near Norfolk Bridge, for 36 or 40 hours a week. Well – you did 48 hours, 8 am to 5 pm with a half hour dinner and 8 am to 12 on Saturdays.

How I looked forward to working as a joinerʼs apprentice, sawing wood, making mortise and tennon joints, like I had done in wood work at school, which I had enjoyed.

Get hold of that brush, sweep the workshop, and light the fire. Check the state of the glue. If the sweeping up did not look like keeping the fire going, fetch wood chippings up from the machine shop on the ground floor.

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12 noon was dinner time, put the kettle on at 11.45 and go to the chip shop. If there was a moderate queue, and you were lucky you arrived at 12 just in time to mash. Should the queue be long you were in trouble, “where the hell have you been, dinner is half over.” If the queue was short, “these chips have gone cold”, and my explanation that I had no control over the length of the chip shop queue and therefore could not control what time what time I got back, that cut no ice. I was an idiot in not getting everything dead right.

The vast majority of the work undertaken by the firm was within half an hourʼs walk. That gave me most of my work, which lasted till I was sixteen when the firm enlisted the help of another 14 year old.

What was the nature of that work, going round with a cart, delivering materials to small gangs working in the nearby steel firms. It did have blown up rubber tyres, it also had a pair of wooden handles between which lay my task. I fetched timber from Matthewʼs timber yard in the Wicker, which was approx half a mile away from Norfolk Bridge.

The timber was often in the form of 9 by 3 inches by 12 feet timbers, and whilst traffic was not as heavy as today, it was heavy enough to make pushing a loaded hand cart no simple easy task. I did find a method of making these journeys a little more fun than appeared at first possible. There were places on these journeys where one could watch activities taking place that were different and enjoyable to every day events to my eyes.

On Effingham Road where a bomb from a Zeppelin fell in the First World War, stood the firm Beardshawʼs. That was where I watched in admiration steel pourers making crucible steel in exactly the same way depicted by the model in Meadow Hall shopping centre.

I looked in amazement as the steel workers soaked themselves in water before pulling the pots of molten steel out of floor furnaces, pouring two pots into one and then pouring into small ingot moulds.

Before they had completed the task their sacking overalls were tinder dry. Their next task of pouring was accomplished with the same skill, pouring jugs of beer down their throats.

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Across the road from the crucible furnace shop was a rolling mill, where two gangs of men passed a red hot bar through a set of rolls, one gang in front of the mill, one gang behind grabbing the bar with tongs and passing it to the next roll to go back to the front gang.

But the man who amazed me stood in a hole up to his waist and looked down the bar and when there was a bend in the bar he jumped out of the hole, took a huge wooden mallet and delivered a hefty blow to the bar. This was where I was puzzled, he did not strike the bar on the outside of the bend, but in a place, which to me bore no relation to the bend, but the bar straightened.

The Wicker offered a different form of entertainment, it was here that I watched a blacksmith shoeing horses. They were huge cart horses pulling carts of steel between the many small firms in Attercliffe. The most entertaining horses to me were the ones which were a menace to the blacksmith, the ones which other than kicking, would not pick their feet up. The blacksmith had his secret method, he tied one leg so that the horse was stood on three feet, it certainly stopped them kicking.

My most memorable journey was when I was told to take an extension ladder to a gang working in Bramall Lane, which meant me threading my way through the trams in the Wicker and Fitzalan Square. I was pleased when the bobby advised me to be careful.

Having survived his first year and shown himself to be a reliable sort of lad, Herbert gained the approval of the Amalgamated Society of Woodworkers and was allowed to join the local branch of the union.

Within a very short time, he became an influential member of that organisation. He goes on to say, 1939 brought my 15th birthday. It was the day the Amalgamated Society of Woodworkers accepted that because you had worked at the trade from 14 to 15, you had proved you were likely to progress into being a tradesman. So Hurrah, you could join.

That is exactly what I did. I went to the Victoria Hall in Norfolk Street and joined No7 Branch. Talking has never been one of my weaknesses and as a result of that asset or ability (depending on 143

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your standpoint), within a couple of years, I had become Vice Chairman of the branch.

The trade unions of pre-war were a different kettle of fish to the trade unions of today. Today, very often, membersʼ subscriptions are stopped from their wages and paid by the employer into the head office of the union. Hence, branch life where problems and policy could be discussed by knowledgeable and active members is virtually non existent. That leads to present day unions being run on behalf of its members by full time professionals, which in my opinion leads to the current feeble activity of the whole union movement.

1548 witnessed laws being passed that limited the ability of workers to combine to improve their working conditions. This situation reached a peak in the 18th century with the Combination Acts where attempts by workers to form amalgamations to further their interests were punishable by £20 or £40 fines or the Pillory and the loss of an ear.

1788 saw a Cabinet Makersʼ Club formed in Belfast. These early clubs often had quaint practices. One Joinersʼ club had a piece of sheet lead placed in the lid of the branch box, (the usual place for keeping the branch books). Then the branch members were obliged to stamp their names on it with the stamp they used to mark their wooden tools.

The 1871 Trade Union Bill was a step forward. These early days saw many attempts to form unions, which were not what was needed.

Large groupings were needed. 1920 saw the merge of the General Union of Carpenters and Joiners with fellow unions to form the Amalgamated Society of Woodworkers, which today has joined with the Brickies, Painters, Plasters and Plumbers to become U.C.A.T.T. The electricians, who consider themselves to be some form of elite have formed their own separate union.

In the days pre-war and for a long time afterwards, the A.S.W. was a union on its own, but joined the other building trades unions in the National Federation of Building Trades Operatives, to negotiate wages. Our aim was to obtain a wage which would sustain a man, his wife and two children on a bare 48 hour week.

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1938, we achieved a wage of ÂŁ4 a week. At that time, you could get a council house for 8 shillings a week, which was a tenth of his wage. The local Chip Shop for threepence would provide you with a dinner of fish and chips wrapped up on the outside with newspaper.

We used to take a bundle of newspaper to the chip shop to be rewarded with a packet of chips. Due to there being 240 pennies to the pound, you got your dinner for 1/80th of a pound, a fraction of 1/320th of your wage. You could travel across the city i.e. from Walkley to Intake for threepence.

Just before the war and for an appreciable time after, we in Sheffield ran eight branches, our management committee and our full time officer, on democratic lines without any interference from the Head Office.

The branches met fortnightly and for the first hour collected subs.

For the next hour, business was conducted. We appointed delegates to the Sheffield Labour Party Management Committee, the Trades and Labour Committee and many other bodies. We were able to pay our affiliation fees to these bodies because most of our members had not opted out of paying political levies. I became a delegate to both these bodies before I joined the army at the age of 18 years and as a result I had been down to London and the House of Commons on a number of occasions.

Branch business was conducted by the 30 or so members who had stayed in the branch after the first hour of sub collection. Therefore in those days, if you wished to influence what the union was doing on your behalf, you stayed and took part in the discussions and voting.

Yearly, the eight branches met in the Victoria Hall with about a 300 attendance. Discussion and criticism was passed in relation to the decisions of the management committee and the full time officer.

These were elected and had to stand for re-election every year.

What an incentive to do your job well and what may seem funny in this year of 2006. He was paid exactly the same rate of pay as the tradesman working at the tools.

One of the duties of the management committee, which received a lot of attention, was its ability to grant overtime permits to firms who 145

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had applied. We were reluctant to grant overtime permits if any of our members needed a job.

Our union never attempted to get Closed Shops, we waited until we had the majority of a firmʼs workers in our union. Then informed the employer that union members could not work alongside ʻnonsʼ. The ball was in his court and he had to sack the majority of his workers, or the ʻnonsʼ, or persuade the ʻnonsʼ to join. We had more than one case of an employer paying the entrance fee for the non-union employees on his books.

In common with thousands of other young men, Herbert had his civilian life rudely interrupted by the outbreak of war. He served his time fighting for his country before returning to his peacetime trade.

Settling back into the job was not as straightforward as he might have hoped, the world had changed in the previous five years. One unforeseen obstacle was the fact that whilst some men had been away fighting for some years, others had been doing their bit towards the war effort at home. This led to different points of view between the two factions, making it difficult for some of the men to settle into what was the beginning of a new era. Herbertʼs story continues with,

A break from the union

Eighteen and I went into the army for five years. 1945 was the end of the war but 1947 was the year I got demobbed. 1947 was the worst winter this country has seen. We came back to Catterick Camp in January to about three foot of snow, which stayed on the ground ʻtil May. When we left Greece, we were in shorts in December. It was so warm that the Greek people had no fires in their homes. Catterick Camp and we were digging people out of snowdrifts.

War ends and I return to the Union

Out of the army and back to night school to finish my City and Guilds exams, and back into No7 Branch where my subs had been paid during my army years. For work, we did not visit the local Labour Exchanges, our full time official found jobs for us. He sent me to 146

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work as a maintenance joiner at Davy United. How were we received? I can only speak of my relations with the joiners who were already there. I cannot remember anyone asking me where I had served, which by the way was North Africa, Italy and Greece. What was very apparent was, that you were not welcomed by the average man in the trade.

During the war, many building trade workers were recruited under the wartime laws and sent to London due to the bomb damage.

Hence a shortage of workers in Sheffield and as a consequence there was more overtime than anyone could work. The war years in England had meant huge wages for building workers. People returning from the forces threatened this nice situation and as a result they thought it was you personally who was threatening their wages.

Davy United after eighteen months proved to be my first disappointing episode of trade union activity. One Monday dinner break, I was surprised to find our full time official in our dinner room.

His opening remark was “Who is the shop steward?” in view of the fact that there were twelve joiners working there. Some of the joiners had worked there ten or more years. No one answered. He looked perplexed, asked again and no answer. He then went round and found they were all in the union, some in my branch, but the only answer he got was “We donʼt need a steward, we can look after ourselves”. He pointed out by our union laws and agreements, we must appoint a steward. He then went round the people present saying, “Jack, youʼve worked here ten years, will you take it on?”

Jack in loud voice said “No”. He went round all the joiners who had worked there for the duration of the war and got a ʻnoʼ from everyone. He then turned to me and said, “I know youʼve just come out of the forces but as you have gone to vice chair of the No 7 branch, you look like having to do it. So after I had told the rest of them that had been there during the war, I accepted.

That was on Monday and in those days a firm could only sack a joiner at 3.00 p.m. Friday. Friday of that week came and I was summoned into the office where I was told that although I had been 147

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made Shop Steward on Monday, I was to be sacked on Friday and when I went to the union offices, I was to tell them it was due to a shortage of material i.e. wood.

The joiners who had worked here all the war never said a word, not even ʻhard luck itʼs not rightʼ or any expression at all. Two joiners who were older than me and had been demobbed a couple of years back, lifted their cards so at least I had some support but only from joiners who like me who had been in the forces, the others were pleased to see the back of me.

Union officers in those days were only paid an acknowledged cash payment, therefore there was always a shortage of members willing to fill positions. This led to me doing 30 years as a branch secretary.

During that period I took on a course of studies designed to improve oneʼs abilities in whatever office one held. I was rewarded with a week at Ruskin College, Oxford, where we not only had a weekʼs lectures on Economics, but we were taken on the Thames and shown the beautiful wood carvings in the colleges.

During my 50 years in the union, we had only one really major strike.

That was during one of Wilsonʼs labour governments, Jenkins was Home Secretary. It was known in the press as “The case of the Shrewsbury three”. Three of our shop stewards were brought into the court where they were accused of taking gangs of men armed with pick shafts round building sites forcing workers to stop work.

That would lead one to expect them to be charged with some form of affray. They were not charged with damaging anyone or anything.

They were charged under a 1700 law of conspiracy. Apparently, if a number of people stand on a street corner and the law believes they are hatching some sort of a plot, they can be charged with conspiracy.

Despite all the tales of violent damage that our union stewards were alleged to have committed, the only way the labour government of the day could find to prosecute our union was to dig down to the 1700s and rehash a forgotten law of “Conspiracy”.

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conference passed resolutions demanding a retrial. Mr Jenkins, Labour Home Secretary said, “No they had been tried by jury and the three year sentence the three of them had received must be served. The following year, my branch put a resolution to our annual conference that we should stop paying any political levies to the Labour Party either locally or nationally. Unfortunately, our national conference was of a more lenient attitude than Mr Jenkins and a Labour government, the resolution failed and we carried on ”as today” and supported those who failed to support us.

Life at work was not all ʻgrim realityʼ, there were lighter moments especially on social occasions out of working hours. Works outings were always popular.

Did we get together for anything other than the serious business?

We certainly did. Every year in London the Building Trades Exhibition was held.

In those so called days of “unfinished public railways” (work on the side), all one had to do in order to organise an outing of 100 or more people down to London, was to go along to the Midland Railway Station where you were met by a specialist booking clerk. You told him the date and the number, he booked you the seats, in our case two full coaches, then, if you wanted, which we did, he booked you the theatre tickets.

Now that was my down-fall on my first organised trip. He booked me tickets at two shows, one was the Black and White Minstrels (no Race Relations Acts then), the other was Englandʼs answer to Jayne Mansfield, a stripper by the name of Sabrina. Me being a diplomat, I gave all the Sabrina tickets to the young members and the Black and White Minstrels to the older members and their wives.

That I thought was a brilliant idea till I got on the train to return to Sheffield, then it started. “Why was I that stupid that I had given the Sabrina tickets to the young ones”. And that was from the membersʼ wives. “We wanted to see this fully ample vision who had got onto the new tele and papers”. What a telling off I got. I did manage to sweeten things a bit. I had taken half a dozen boxes of absolutely 149

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top class biscuits, which we raffled off one at a time. So that by the time we were getting on the trams in Sheffield, I was not totally stupid, only in certain areas, they thought.

One man who wanted to work with wood when he left school, and who managed to stick with it for the whole of his working life is,

Edward Bagshaw

I like working with wood, I like the smell, the touch. I couldnʼt ever wear gloves, I like to feel the wood between my hands. I was never bored at work. I love oak, mahogany, Russian pine. I do a lot of DIY now, Iʼll never be able to get my car in the garage again!

First and last job, I stayed loyal to the company for 41 and a half years.

On Monday morning the 24th of August 1959, aged 15, I started work at Arnold Laverʼs Timber Yard on Bramall Lane. In 1984 after 25 years I was moved to Laverʼs at Chesterfield. I finished work on the 31st of January 2001.

A slinger at work christened me Eddie after the son on the Larkins on TV, so at work I was Eddie till the end of my working days. At home I was Ted. I started as a labourer, stacking wood, at the back of a saw. Then I stacked wood for a planing machine. Then I graduated onto the front end, where I was responsible for pushing the wood in. There was a debate about whether the main man should be at the front, pushing the wood in, or at the back, making sure it was coming out right.

Really the main man could do with being at both ends, but that wasnʼt feasible.

We used long band saws which took two men to carry them to the tool room where there were machines to swage them and reset them. The circular saws were set and sharpened by hand.

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How often the saws had to be sharpened depended on the wood we were cutting. Keruing is very hard, and is best cut with a ʻtippedʼ saw, that is one with tungsten carbide tips. There were a lot of problems with a hardwood job, it would take twice as long, as you had to use very low speeds and work with the grain. Burma teak was awful to plane, you had to keep on sharpening the cutters. I hated it, but itʼs lovely to look at when itʼs finished.

However 90% of the wood was soft woods like red pine, from Russia or Sweden.

A lot of the wood was poor quality, it was called “uttskot” when it came in, as one man used to say, “nowt but floor board quality.”

Mansonia was a wood that always got us sneezing, it was like having a cold. Nor did I like makore wood, it was so hard it was difficult to work.

At Chesterfield there was only a small tool room, so the saws were sent back to Bramall Lane or Queens Road to be sharpened.

I used saw steel to make templates for the profile cutting machine, it is very hard and lasts a lifetime.

Fires

We had two or three fires that I remember and some near misses. In 1968, there was a fire at Queens Road. I saw all this smoke from Dovercourt Road, where I was still living. Half the wood was lost, the trains on the main line to London had to stop running. Some of the lads turned out to move wood to make a fire break.

Cold

The sawmill at Bramall Lane was just a shed open at both ends, rain and snow blew in, making it very cold. I used to dread the winters.

The firm had thermometers, and every year we made a fuss. We would wear several layers of sweaters, and three or four pairs of socks inside our “Tuff” boots. Work clothing was not provided. After twenty five years we got some greenhouse heaters beside every machine, at least you could warm your hands at them.

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I didn始t use the canteen, I used to sit on the wood at the side of the machine, or we finished up sitting in the electricity sub station where it was warmer.

When we moved to Chesterfield there were hot air heaters, which burnt wood shavings, but they were very temperamental, only one man could make the system work. He was a great bloke for getting things going.

Eventually that system was scrapped and replaced by two big heaters, which ran on gas and electricity. They were marvellous, you could go in the mill and you could feel the warmth. Actually we turned out better work.

The tool room at Bramall Lane had a fire where they burnt ends of wood, anything they could get hold of.

Noise

My hearing is good, I始ve got away with it. The machines were very noisy. You had to shout.

We got hearing protection in the mid seventies, and boxes went up on the machines. Nowadays, new machines come with built in enclosures. But at that time our joinery lads knocked up boxes with polystyrene panels. They really did bring the noise down, unless someone left the door open.

Saw dust

We always had dust extraction, this had a lever on so we could separate the hard wood dust which was dropped on the floor, from the soft wood sawdust which was collected in cyclones. A labourer would have to dig out the hard wood shavings collected on the floor.

All the cutter blocks had their own extraction.

The sawdust was ground up in the flour mill and bagged, but I don始t know where it went, I think it went for linoleum. At one time all the sawdust for the flour mill had to be white, that is, soft wood, no hard wood was allowed.

Farmers and people with allotments came to collect the hard wood sawdust and shavings for animal bedding or to burn.

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Iʼve got all my fingers, but I refused to work on the spindle moulding machine. Twice I had to go to the Royal Infirmary, to have stitches in my hands, I went on my bike.

Just before I finished, I had an injury to my hand. It was when I was not working on my own machine, which was out of action. On this machine the controls were at knee height and I just caught them, I had my hand on one of the blocks, and I was looking at the cut on the tip of my index finger. I thought Iʼd lost it. I was very lucky to get away with it.

Wage slips

I kept all my wage slips until I had a clearout in 1999, but I have kept my first pay packet, and payslips for my 20th, 25th, and 31st birthdays.

One man used to stand by the fan on Fridays, look at his payslip, tear it into little pieces and throw it into the extractor.

In 1959 I started on 45 and a quarter hour week, starting at 8 in the morning. This became 47 and three quarter hours per week when Iʼd had my seventeenth birthday.

When hours started to come down, first they added 15 minutes to dinner time, so we still had to spend the same time at work. So, one Christmas we wrote a letter saying, what about finishing early on Friday. One bloke was really afraid of losing his Christmas bonus, we had to explain the boss would not get the letter till after Christmas, and weʼll already have been paid our bonus.

Round about 1961 ten of the young lads walked out in the middle of the morning, “weʼre going on strike!”, because a man had been sacked whoʼd been sticking up for us. “You treat these lads like dogs”, heʼd said. We were told that was it, weʼd been sacked, so I went looking for another job, at a fruiterers. I was asked how much I was paid, and offered a little more, £6 a week. The foreman sent word, asking, “Are you coming back?” I didnʼt really want to leave Laverʼs, so after a week I went back, for another 30 odd years.

“Iʼd rather have broken bones”

In 1984 I was sent to Chesterfield as I was supposed to know everything, but I didnʼt. I was ill with depression for about four 154

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months over the winter in the darkest time. I never missed a day of work, but I didnʼt want anybody near me. At home I counted the hours till going to “that place” again. I hid it very well, itʼs as if I felt guilty, but I wanted to go back to Sheffield.

There was a machine I couldnʼt get the hang of, no one else could either. I wasnʼt shown how to work it, the chap said, ”just play with it”.

My best friend encouraged me to stick at it, “come on, we can do it”, he said. Eventually we cracked it, what a relief. I loved that machine after that, once youʼd made your template, you could make any shape, I couldnʼt do without it.

Give me a choice of depression, or broken bones, Iʼd rather have broken bones.

Edward Bagshaw, 25 years at Laverʼs, Bramall Lane 155

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All my career, I was an ordinary machinist, but the boss wanted me to work grinding the cutter. I said I donʼt want the job, but Iʼll try it. I wasnʼt very good at it, for that matter, nor was the chap before me.

But I wanted to work with wood. I tried to price myself out of the job, but they paid the money.

Changes

In my day we had overhead cranes, now itʼs all done by fork lift trucks.

All my work was done by hand and eye, now all the machines are computerised for template making.

I wouldnʼt like it now, all the skill has been taken out of it.

I feel a bit sad now Lavers is no longer on Bramall Lane, I clocked in there for 25 years, Iʼve got a soft spot for it, Iʼve taken photos of the building site there.

I know I was a good worker.

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Clocking in

Clocking in

Nine very different factories “Three rows of twelve women, all with sad faces, sat at long tables.”

“The foreman in our department would do anything to save money for the firm.”

There are other factories in Sheffield, besides engineering works, steelworks and cutlery makers. George Bassett opened his first confectionery factory in Sheffield in 1842. S.R.Gent employed up to 4,500 workers in their sewing factories in South Yorkshire from the 1940s until they finally closed down in 2005. William Batchelor founded Batchelors Foods, selling pre-packed dry foods like tea and dried peas in 1895. The first factory was at Stanley Street, then on the Wicker, and in 1937 a very large cannery was built at Wadsley Bridge. This finally closed in the 1970s, and canning of ʻmushyʼ peas was moved to Worksop.

VTʼs story starts before the war. She also worked as a waitress,

and later worked in the steelworks until 1950.

I was born in 1925 and left school at the age of 14. My headmistress, Miss McArthur, got me my first job offer, which I never took up. She told me Mum would have to spend money on books, as I would need some further education, so Mum said “No” because of the expense. This was as an office girl at Hadfield Steel on Vulcan Road.

A missed opportunity.

In my teen years I learnt to tap dance, and with my friend we became quite good at it. Mr Carroll Levys (he was the Matthew Kelly of his time) came along and watched us, then wanted to sign us up to dance at the City Hall. Then he wanted us to do a country-wide tour, but Mum wouldnʼt let me, due to her wanting my wage to make ends meet.

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My next door neighbour told me that a job was going at Fulfords, the Pop & Cordial Drinks company. They lent me some clogs, and a large rubber apron to wear. Didnʼt know my wage, only that I gave it to my mum. The boss told me to follow him up into the loft. I sat on a stool with a big paddle and a large vat of grapefruit cordial to stir all day every day. Dinner time was 12.00 to 12.30 p.m. A five day week 8.30 a.m. to 4.00 p.m. I worked at Fulfords for 12 months, but suffered from back ache and arm ache. At the age of 15, mum was not too happy with me working at Fulfords. She thought I could do better.

Then I went along to a place on Attercliffe Common. This was a factory making jewellery boxes. Mum took me into this room. Three rows of twelve women, all with sad faces, sat at long tables. In front of each woman was a box, strips of satin, and this pot of red hot solution. This woman showed me the job. Hold the box with one hand, dip your finger into the hot solution, then wipe your finger around the box. Then get a strip of satin, stick it to the solution on the box, to provide a lining. After a time I realised what the solution was – it was red hot glue. No-one asked about brushes to use instead of your finger, not even me.

Looking around the shop you could tell how long some of the women had been there by the build-up of dry glue, which had set over their fingers and become permanent. It looked like a thimble over a solid straight finger. When you went into the corner shops you always knew who worked there, because of their fingers. By the way, I only stuck it for one month – get the pun?

Third job, a gentlemenʼs club in St. Jamesʼs Row, as a waitress. I got the job through a neighbour. Canʼt remember my wage but mum gave me spending money. I remember finding a halfpenny with a hole in it. My sister Irene told me to go to the sweet shop for a tuck bag and put my thumb over the hole – got away with it. Another rather funny story was about this gentleman who wanted marrow with his dinner. The only marrow we had was in the waste bin, where it was covered in tea leaves. The cook took it out, washed it and put it on his plate with plenty of gravy. He ate the lot, and said it was lovely and heʼd really enjoyed the marrow. I didnʼt get any tips, 158

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because although the club members were well off they were as mean as anything. My uniform was green and white with a frilly white apron and a white cap. On my days off I went to the Adelphi Picture House.

During the Second World War I was at Tinsley Wire working on submarine nets. It was very dangerous. Accidents were always happening and were always hushed up. We also welded canisters for petrol to be used by army vehicles. We worked shifts, 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. Rene and me got £3 a week, gave mum £2 and kept £1.

Ericʼs Café / Lodging House. I lived in. Hours of work were 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. I was worked to death and felt very homesick. This lasted for 2 years. I had my 21st birthday party while I worked there.

Metro Vickers, Attercliffe Common. Piece-work, all women, but the heavier jobs were done by men.

I got married at the age of 25.

William Burgin writes of 16 years at an optical works, grinding lenses for spectacles until the factory closed down.

After coming out of the army in1946, I got a job as a Night Telephonist at the G.P.O., but the unsuitable hours played havoc with my digestive system and I found it impossible to sleep properly in daylight hours so decided Iʼd have to change for a different job or my health would suffer. It was all bed and work, and at the age of 26 my social life was practically nothing.

It was then I discovered that the Optical Works not far from me wanted workers to work from 8.00 am to 5.30 pm and one weeks paid holiday. This offered me a more ideal existence, I could walk to work and back (no bus travel) and have my meals at the hours I had been used to having them, go to bed at night instead of in the daytime and better still I could go to the pub or the Dance Hall with my friends in the evenings.

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I had never worked in a factory before, and had no experience of factory jobs, but was willing to give it a try. I went for the interview and they said they would take me on a temporary basis and if I was suitable after a short period I could have the job. I could start on the following Monday.

The firm was called Lenton and Rusby, and employed a lot of young girls and women and about a dozen men and young lads. My job was to be an optical lens surfacer, which meant I was to work on the first stages of converting a piece of glass into a spectacle lens.

The process was called roughing, after that the next stages were smoothing and polishing, then the lenses went to another department called 驶vee edge始 where the girls fitted them into spectacle frames, buffed them up, and they finished up in the warehouse to be put into cases and sent to the opticians to deliver to the customer who had ordered them.

In the surfacing department the glass blanks were brought in to a lady who stuck these pieces of glass onto pallets with pitch. If the blanks were for bi-focal specs, they had been previously fused in an oven, two pieces stuck together. A small piece for the reading part, and a larger piece for the vision. In our department, there were two roughers and myself, two smoothers and some women who did the polishing with Red Rouge on the polishing machines. I was standing up with a mixture of carborundum and water in the roughing bin to drop on a tool of the correct shape, which revolved on a spindle on to which the glass blank was pressed hard to grind it to the specified optical measurement written on the prescription.

It had to be checked every few minutes with a brass gauge to make sure it was accurate. Then it went to the smoothers who used smoothing powder to give it a better finish. If there were any bubbles in the glass or any deep scratches after this second stage, it was no good and had to be thrown away and a new blank started the whole process again. After the lens came off the polishing machine it had to be washed in Naphthalene, turned over and stuck on another pallet for the other side to be roughed, smoothed and polished.

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Some lenses had to have two different measurements on the same side. These were called cylinders and were hard to do until you had mastered the technique. They were smoothed and polished on a different machine by two women who dabbed them with smoothing powder then afterwards with red rouge. All the lenses were inspected with an eyepiece similar to the ones used by watchmakers to see that they were perfect before they were sent to the vee edge department for edging and putting into frames.

One side of the room where I worked was all windows and the roof was nearly all glass, so it was very cold when we arrived on a winterʼs morning until the electric heaters were switched on to heat the place up a bit. Before we started work, we boiled some water in a kettle and had a mug of OXO each to warm us up. At 8.15, the motors were switched on to drive the machinery, making a terrific din until 12.00 noon when we knocked off for dinner. We also had to find time to go to the toilets and at 10.30 am, one of the women fetched mugs of tea from the canteen down below. We paid for the tea every Monday morning for the rest of the week. Lily and Ivy on the cylinder machine ate pieces of cold toast brought from home. Bill the foreman ate a few biscuits before he had his dose of stomach powder and some of the lads ate sandwiches, especially if they had come to work without any breakfast. The work carried on throughout the refreshment period.

All the men in our shop wore boiler suits and the women had overalls and towels covering their hair like turbans to stop the rouge dust spoiling their hair. Later on, the factory owner emerged from his office to inspect the firm, mostly when he was drunk. One of the lads noticed him coming up the shop and the cry rang out “Sherry tank approaching”. The poor man was suffering from throat cancer so I couldnʼt blame him for getting drunk, but when he was drunk, he was bad tempered and started bullying the girls he thought were not working hard enough making them cry and threatening to sack them.

Now and again he was sober and in a good mood and his face was smiling. On occasions like this he was generous. He would give me a ticket to attend the Conservative Ball at the Sheffield Cutlersʼ Hall 161

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each year, but these happy occasions didnʼt last very long because of his illness.

I passed my trial period at the job and was told I was suitable for permanent work. I stayed for 16 years until the firm closed down.

The wage I remember was £4.00 per week when I started, I forget what it was when I finished. You could work overtime to supplement your income if you wanted, I never did, although I was pressurised by the management on a few occasions to do it. 48 hours a week was enough for me and I didnʼt intend to work longer than that.

At that time, everyone had to clock in and out of the firm, and the time was recorded on a clock card. If you were more than five minutes late coming to work, 30 minutes money was deducted from wages.

The works manager and caretaker was a German called ʻburgomasterʼ by the staff because he used to lock the gates when work commenced and unlock them again when work finished. This made sure that nobody left the firm when they should be working.

Some women were employed on a part time basis and went home at 3.30. Normal work finished at 5.30, overtime at 9.00pm. The firm closed at noon until 1.00 for dinner and those who lived within walking distance went home for a meal. Others ate packed lunch on the premises.

Throughout the years, things changed, the canteen opened and one could get a cheap meal for lunch. The personnel was also in motion as people left to get a better job. Young girls left to get married and new people replaced them, but the number employed didnʼt alter much. When it was time to finish work, a loud bell rang to let you know. At Christmas time, we went home a little earlier. Some women called it “Waiting for the carrier pigeons to be released” because you never knew at what time you could go home. You had to wait for the bell before you could stop the machinery and proceed to the time clock to clock out.

Under the building was the sump where the used emery and water was disposed of. One of our jobs was clearing it out when it got 162

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blocked up. I remember once that I slipped and fell in making such a mess of my boiler suit that I had to ask permission to go home and change my clothes. The Boiler House, which provided heat to part of the building was also down there, and next door to that was the canteen which started serving meals at dinner time.

Once I found out I could buy a meal I stopped walking home for dinner and stayed at the firm instead. Soon, the floor was made better in the canteen, tables and stools were provided and a record player was installed. It was then I started to take my 78rpm records to sell them because I had transferred my music to a new tape recorder, which I had just bought. The records I was selling, I played on the firm始s record player before I sold them. I then thought it was a good idea to organise a dance after people had eaten their meal in the canteen, so I got the girls interested and two or three times a week I played my records for dancing. Most of the young girls danced with each other, then some of the men and women joined in.

I operated the record player and acted as M.C. I also danced at times with some of the married women. This provided a nice break in the middle of our working hours.

Soon, we stopped working Saturday mornings. Some people who wanted overtime were allowed to come in at an increased wage rate if they wanted to do it.

With no official Saturday to work, some of us decided to run a couple of trips to the seaside in the summer months for workmates and relatives. Our first trip was to Skegness by coach and was quite a success. Later on we got more ambitious and went to Blackpool for the weekend, staying at a boarding house. We found when we got there, they had no single beds, so some of the lads including me had to sleep in a double bed with a complete stranger. We all enjoyed the weekend, the weather was kind and we all returned to work on Monday suitably refreshed.

The foreman in our department would do anything to save money for the firm. He wouldn始t change the optical tools we worked with until the edges got very sharp and were dangerous to use. I once cut my finger on one and had to go to a doctor to put some stitches in the 163

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wound. He wouldnʼt change our emery bins when they sprang a leak, instead he got the hole red hot with a gas jet and stuck felt pads on it with pitch to stop the water coming out. This repaired it for a while until the leak happened again. When the leather belt broke that drove the machinery, heʼd mend the belt but wouldnʼt stop the motor to put it back on the pulley. He would do it whilst the pulley was still moving. This was dangerous practice, which he had been doing for years, and which I refused to do. He said it would hold up production and the lenses might get scratched if he switched the motors off.

One day, a new machine was introduced into our shop, which did away with the old method of roughing. It had a diamond cutter cooled down with tap water and was operated electrically at the touch of a button. The focus of the lens was preset with the angle of the cutter. It would do the job easier and quicker, the only drawback being that the water pipe used to get clogged up with pieces of glass if the water wasnʼt coming through quick enough. The boss said I would have to operate this machine, which I started doing a few days after its arrival. When I got used to it I preferred it to the old method of roughing. My hands were not in emery water all day and the job was done with much less effort. What it could not do was the lenses with two different measurements called cylinders, which still had to be done using the old method of working.

I worked on this machine for a long time until I came one day and was told to go back working on the old emery bin. The reason being someone on the overtime period had used the machine without the cutter being put on properly. They had started it up, the cutter had shot off, and had hit the ground very hard damaging the surface so it couldnʼt be used anymore. The foreman didnʼt want the boss to know so he worked like mad using the old method without telling him the new machine was damaged because a new cutter would be expensive.

A few days after this Mr Ernest as we called him came into the workshop and asked me why I wasnʼt working on the new machine.

He lost his temper when I told him the truth and threatened to sack somebody for keeping it secret. I told him it wasnʼt my fault, I never 164

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work overtime. He said Iʼd have to go back to working on the emery bin until we got a new cutter again.

However we never did get a new cutter because the bossʼs illness got worse and he decided to close the firm down. A few weeks after, he died and we all lost our jobs. No redundancy pay then, we were thrown on the scrap heap and had to look around for another job. I was nearly 42 years old and had to find a new way of making a living. Some of the foremen were left some money in Mr Ernestʼs Will but not me.

I had to go on the dole for a few weeks. I didnʼt want any job that was indoors so I looked for an outdoor job like my three brothers. For a short period, the old optical works was taken over by Jonas & Colver, tool manufacturers, but it didnʼt last long. The building was soon knocked down and a street of private houses was put in its place. All that was left for me was sixteen years of memories from 1947 to 1963.

Brian Parkin worked as a Laboratory Technician at a school, two factories including Batchelors Peas, two steelworks for a short time, and for the East Midlands Gas Board for over twenty years, where he was involved in the change from Town Gas to North Sea Gas in 1972. His favourite job, his last, was not as a technician, nor was it in a factory. Read on,

Whilst at school, Brian developed an interest in chemistry. Leaving Sheffield Central Technical School in 1951, he started work at Firth Park Grammar School as a Laboratory Technician. In order to obtain paper qualifications, he also studied part time at the Lancastrian School, which had classrooms just off Gibralter Street and also in the City Grammar and Central Technical School buildings. He also started on the O.N.C. course for Laboratory Technicians, but this was interrupted when, at the age of 18, Brian was drafted into the R.A.F. where he trained and worked as a Radar Fitter, giving him some experience in electronics which he was able to make use of later.

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James Wilkinson始s, suppliers of industrial acids.

On demobilisation from the R.A.F., he returned to his former job as Lab. Technician. He resumed part time study, taking the O.N.C. course in Chemistry. He was able to miss the first year of the course by having previously studied at the Lancastrian Centre and completed the course in 1959. Meanwhile, Brian had moved jobs and was working as a Laboratory Assistant for the firm of James Wilkinsons, suppliers of industrial acids. This was hazardous work, but familiarity does breed contempt and safety precautions were not always strictly observed. On one occasion, whilst smoking a cigarette in the laboratory, Brian accidentally transferred a solution of cyanide from a leaking burette onto his lips. A thorough and prolonged flushing with water prevented a possible tragedy. Meal breaks were often taken at the bench in the laboratory. It was not uncommon for lab staff to fry eggs in makeshift pans (Fray Bentos pie tins) on Tri-pods, over Bunsen Burners. Knowledge of chemistry enabled lab. staff to make their own salt and vinegar from seemingly toxic materials. On one occasion, Brian accidentally splashed Hydrofluoric Acid onto a finger, and as a result, the flesh was burned away to expose the bone underneath.

Post Office Telephones

In 1956, still looking for a change, he decided to move on and took a job with Post Office Telephones, classed as a Jointsman始s Assistant, making use of his electronics experience. He stayed with this only briefly and gave it up when he found he was not comfortable working at heights. He returned to Wilkinsons in 1957. He narrowly escaped injury here one day when making a visit to the toilet. This meant walking across the yard with the key to the toilet door. As he passed by the weighbridge, he accidentally dropped the key which disappeared down a crack and went underneath the weighbridge platform. Brian knew how to gain access underneath and went in to retrieve the key. Whilst he was underneath, a heavy lorry came into the yard and drew up on the weighbridge setting the mechanism in motion. Luckily, there was just sufficient space to avoid being crushed.

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Batchelors Peas

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In 1960, Brian moved jobs and went to work for Batchelors Peas in one of their food laboratories. The work involved checking the quality of the brand known widely as “Surprise Peas”. It involved comparing samples of Batchelors peas with those of competitors, looking at things like colour, taste and texture. Part of the process involved using a specialised piece of equipment called a “Tenderometer”. On one occasion, Brian was reprimanded by his supervisor for eating some of the tempting samples which were in for test. Pea production in those days was strictly seasonal and life in that particular laboratory was not very absorbing most of the time, so Brian decided to move on.

He applied to Flatherʼs, hoping to become a clerk in the offices, but was actually taken on as a chemist, once again in the works laboratories. He only stayed there for one year, when he took the opportunity to move to Arthur Leeʼs in 1963. This still meant working as a Chemical Analyst, but the working conditions, the canteen and the social atmosphere were superior to anything which had gone before.

East Midlands Gas Board

Looking elsewhere, Brian went to work for the East Midlands Gas Board, based at Neepsend again as a Laboratory Assistant. The laboratory was small and morale amongst the staff turned out to be low. When the Chief Chemist left, he was not replaced. The plant was modernised by converting from coal fired to petrol fired but shortly afterwards became redundant and was put into ʻmothballsʼ.

Production ceased in 1971 as North Sea gas was coming in. Brian moved to the Effingham Street Plant as opposed to accepting redundancy. A new section of the East Midlands Gas Company called ʻScientific Servicesʼ was formed, with its headquarters in Leicester, but based in Effingham Street.

Brianʼs job changed as he became involved in the alterations which had to be made to the established plant. This had been designed to produce Town Gas from coal products and the use of North Sea Gas meant that major changes had to be made to the Mains System. His 167

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job involved adjusting the moisture content of gas to prevent pipe joints from drying out, analysing boiler water, detecting gas leakages, and problems due to using methane to purge the system.

Leakages were found by driving round at night when roads were at their quietest, in a vehicle specially adapted with a “Sniffing Device”.

Instruments inside the cab would show up traces of gas, which would not necessarily be noticed by the general public. Road gangs could then be dispatched to the spot to repair cracked and leaking pipes.

The Effingham Street plant ceased to operate in 1972 due to the introduction of Natural Gas. During the 1980s, the process of relining old gas mains was commenced. This job necessitated the wearing of very heavy protective clothing in hot weather and was most uncomfortable. Gas pipes had to be purged of gas and then opened up to be inspected by a remotely controlled camera before being lined with plastic. These inspections sometimes revealed unexpected objects in the pipes, for example, a yard broom was recovered on one occasion.

Brian was moved from Effingham Street to an old base at Meadowhall and then in 1987, on to some old laboratories at Carr House, staying until they were closed down in 1993. At this point, Brian was made redundant.

Unable to make use of the ʻDoleʼ, due to having a works pension, Brian attended the ʻJob Club in order to find further employment and this led to him returning to Wilkinsonʼs which was now known as ʻLaporteʼ. He worked as a temporary member of the staff for six months, then was full time established until 1998. He was of course much older than the rest of the staff and so tolerated the usual banter, such as being called granddad and being asked what it was like before the wheel was invented.

At the age of 63, Brian became School Crossing Warden outside of Lydgate Lane School and kept this up until council policy forced him to finally retire at the age of 70. These were possibly the most enjoyable years of his working life.

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Angela Oglesbee worked for two factories which supplied Marks

and Spencerʼs, but had to give up work when round the clock shifts were introduced in 1996, as she couldnʼt leave her daughter at night.

In 1975 you could leave school at 15 if you had a job to go to.

Me, and my friend got taken on at S R Gents at East Bank Road. I started in September. When you went for your interview, you went on a machine for them to see how you did. Iʼve always sewn, Iʼve still got my sewing machine. In our first week we had training. For the first three months they set you on for three weeks at a time.

There were spot checks on our bags when we went home.

We used to make nighties for Marks and Spencerʼs. You had to work hard for your money. You had to take a ticket off for every dozen, then we had to sew that to our paper at the end of the day. I earned more than my friends because I was faster. If you didnʼt make your money they sacked you with a weekʼs notice.

You moved around, Iʼve worked on a machine with four needles, overlocking, straight flat beds, ironing was at the bottom of the factory. Iʼd do seams, next girl would do a sleeve, next girl other sleeve, then the girl at the bottom would put on the bows.

I gave all my wages to my mother and she gave me my bus fares.

My dad was a poorly man.

I enjoyed my time there.

It was very cold that winter, thick snow, and at that time I lived at Grenoside. “Theyʼre taking the buses off, get your machines switched off, and get off.” But by then there were no buses so we had to walk all the way home, following the bus route, up the main road. It took four hours. “Me dad were panicking”.

When I was 17 I got a job at the Childrenʼs Hospital, it was more money there. It was good money at that time. I worked in the kitchen, preparing vegetables. All the food was fresh. We worked two shifts, 6am till 2pm, or 2pm till 10pm. I left when I was 20 to have my daughter.

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When my daughter was thirteen I went to work at Bassetts. I worked from 12 noon till 5pm. For the first three months they set you on every six weeks. We were making wine gums, fruit gums and jelly babies for Marks and Spencer.

On the production line we had to move to a different job every half hour, so one person would be filling, four would be packing, and two would be taking off and stacking. If we wanted to go to the toilet the supervisor would take us off (fill in for us). We always worked in the same team with the same supervisor. Our supervisor was great, if she had owt to say to us sheʼd say it to you, not behind your back.

You didnʼt want sweets when you were working there, though you could buy them cheaper from the canteen in break time if you wanted.

In 1996 we were all called to a meeting in the canteen. We were told we were to go on three shifts, 6am-2pm, 2pm-10pm, 10pm-6am. At that time my husband worked at British Steel, on shifts and he worked two nights a week. I thought I canʼt leave my daughter at night, so I left work. I had enjoyed it there, so I was sad to leave. A lot of other women left at that time. My husband was made redundant five years later, now he works days for the council, itʼs been a big drop in money, but I donʼt miss work.

I had a second daughter, and now I look after my mother in law every day, and Iʼve learnt to drive so I can take her out.

I still love sewing.

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Behind the counter

Behind the Counter Shops and sales

“If you see any more mice, ask them to leave”

“I think there were 150 people employed by John Bannerʼs.”

The phrase, ʻBehind the counterʼ, really started to become old fashioned in the 1960s, with the rise of the supermarket. Soon we wonʼt even be able to imagine what it might mean, now that we shop by mail order, or on-line. In 1947 there were just 10 self service shops in Britain. In 1960 there were 6,000, and by 1966 there were 20,254, mostly selling groceries.

Gowns and aprons, pikelets, oatcakes and wine shops, haircuts and window dressing, washing machines and bananas, there are stories from all kinds of salesmen and women. From pawnshops and a high class costumierʼs, from the corner shop, to world wide exports of textiles, from a war time butcherʼs shop and large Department Stores like Bannerʼs, come these stories from all kinds of businesses. The last story comes from a corner shop.

Marjorie McCourt describes an old fashioned grocerʼs,”We

would have a great barrel of butter and a huge slab of cheese.”

Our family lived at Racecourse Farm, Lodge Moor, opposite ʻThe Three Merry Ladsʼ pub, on the site of an old racecourse. The farm is no longer there and gypsies now camp on the site. We were not a well-off family, and Dad used to repair our shoes at home. Heʼd put thick leather on the sole so they were heavy and clumsy to walk in.

Then Mum gave me five shillings and told me to go to the cheapest shop and buy some new shoes, but the cheapest pair was seven shillings and sixpence.

I left school at the age of 14, in about 1930 or 31, and my first job was at Seniorʼs, a Pawnbrokers shop at Gibraltar Street, Shalesmoor. My wages were five shillings per week, which I gave to my mother, and she gave me back a penny for the tram. People 171

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were very poor then, and quite often women would come in on a Monday and pawn their familiesʼ best Sunday clothes, then get them out of pawn for the next weekend. Some came from as far as Parson Cross – it was a long way to get just two shillings. I always remember they wore shawls fastened at the shoulder. They had to pay a penny to put them in pawn, and twopence to get them out, so they lost threepence on the deal, and threepence would buy a loaf of bread then.

Even so, my boss did not make a lot of money. To some extent he had to be a hard man, but he always said – “Iʼm only a poor man”. If the people could not afford to redeem their goods, we were able to sell them after so long. My boss would measure up the trousers and other items, and decide the price, and I would sell them. We sold sheets and other household goods, and clothing, especially menʼs coats and trousers. I worked there for seven years, until I was 21.

My next job was at Symmington & Crofts, a clothing and haberdashery shop, selling ribbons, hats etc. I was on the counter selling aprons, and enjoyed being there, but left at the age of 22, after just one year.

Next I worked at Broughtons at Ranmoor. By this time Dad had given up the farm and we went to live with my sister at Fulwood. We paid her rent, so were no better off, and I had to walk a mile to Ranmoor. The nearest bus or tram stop was also a mile away.

Broughtons was a grocery store, and the goods did not come prepacked. We would have a great barrel of butter and a huge slab of cheese, and would cut them to size with a wire cutter. After a while you got so good at guessing the weight that you could measure out the amount to within an ounce. Mr Damms, the boss, was very strict and watched everything we did. The customers could be rather snooty, and at Christmas when we took massive orders for bread, disputes would break out about what people had or had not actually ordered.

By 1939/40 my wages had increased to £1and 10 shillings, but I didnʼt work after I was married at the age of 23, that is, not until my child was 4 or 5 years old.

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In general wages got better after the war, but not for me. I used to help out at the little shop across the road, covering for the lady when she went away, and I enjoyed that.

Then in the 1970ʼs or 80ʼs, I worked for Arthur Davy, who owned a whole chain of grocery stores, including some big city-centre shops, but I worked at the Fulwood shop. He wanted to send me to Norton but I said it was too far. He lived in a big house at Ranmoor called Hillcrest, which had a large stained glass window.

In all these jobs the premises were quite small and I worked alone with just the boss or bosses. Another thing I remember was being sent on foot to the bank in the Wicker, with the takings, (£1,000) clutched to my chest. I used to run all the way there and back, but I never came to any harm.

Daisy Hunt was 90 years old when she told us about her working life. Sadly she has now died. She was still living in the house on Bute Street, Crookes, where she was born. Her family, the Slinns, originally owned land in the area, hence the street name Slinn Street.

The family were butchers. Daisyʼs father ran a shop near Chippinghouse Road and in the 1920ʼs had a large delivery round in Derbyshire, reaching Fox House, Bamford, Moscar Top and returning via Crosspool. Later on a new round took them to Duke Street, South Street, Gleadless Road, Manor Top, Ridgeway and to Eckington.

Daisy left school in 1930 at the age of 14 and went to work for her Aunt Daisy who ran a shop selling milk, ice cream etc at Crookes.

People fetched their own milk in jugs, one gill being about three farthings.

When the Second World War broke out everything was changed, because Daisyʼs brothers were called up and Daisy had to help her father with the meat deliveries. She took the driving test and passed first time in 1940. Sometimes she did the deliveries alone because her dad was minding the shop.

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Because of wartime shortages, there was no paper to wrap the meat in, so they had to improvise. New Zealand lamb came wrapped in Canterbury cloth, which they washed, bleached and used to wrap the meat in. The customers gave it back to them for re-use.

When Daisy was 26 she wanted to get married, but her father was opposed to this, eventually agreeing grudgingly and insisting that she had no children till her brothers came back from the war. She and her husband were given the gift of a one-night honeymoon at the Maynard Arms in Grindleford, but he had to get up early next day to go to work. They had two daughters but her husband died at the age of 44, and Daisy took up other shop work, including working at a wine shop at Broomhill.

Some excerpts from “My Life” by Hilda Maris, sent to us by Ruth Thomas, her grand daughter. Hilda was born in Sheffield in 1917 and died in Peterborough in 2000. She worked at Atkinsonʼs on the Moor throughout the war.

I was very sad to be leaving school at 14 years of age. I felt as if the bottom had dropped out of my world and I was entering the unknown. However within a month I had got a position as a dental receptionist, just doing the office work and a few odd jobs around the surgery. This included searching for teeth that had been sent flying by extraction.

I realised after a while that I did not want to stay there, so I got another job as a bookkeeper cashier at a large shoe store near the dentists at Moorhead called the Public Benefit Shoe Company. My wages were now 10 shillings per week and I was very happy working and soon got used to the staff, although they were much longer hours.

After nearly two years at the shoe shop we got a new manager who had been given instructions to cut down on staff. Myself, and a boy called Dennis were given notice as the last people to join the staff.

So now started a series of in and out jobs.

My first new job was temporary at a large mail order firm, J G Graves by name. I started by packing parcels for post, then was put to 174

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checking the items ordered ready for packing. Shortly after this I was approached by the buyer and asked if I would like to model the new autumn wear for the catalogue. This meant that the salesmen would bring in their samples and I would try them on for the buyers and the management to decide which to order. I modelled mostly winter coats, dresses and skirts, so nothing revealing at all, finishing off with a wedding gown, which all the staff were allowed to come and see.

After another two short jobs I went for an interview at C&A Modes, but did not hear from them, so I took a job at a Commission Agents, at an office near the Cathedral. This job consisted mainly of taking bets over the phone and listening to the various race results from different courses on a link up. Every so often I was sent dashing off to the local telegraph office with telegrams. 驶Laying off bets始 I think it was called.

After I had been there a week, I had a letter from C&A offering me a job, but I thought it best not to change again so quickly. Eventually, I realised this job was getting me nowhere, so I applied for, and got another post in the accounts department of John Atkinson始s, a large department store and family business. I was still only 16 years old, so I had packed in a lot of experiences since leaving school.

Once again I was approached by the buyer of the gown department and asked if I would care to take part in the Spring fashion parade. I got the cashier始s consent and looked forward to a change in routine.

I was just the bridesmaid the first time I took part. There were only two members of staff taking part. All the others were professional models, one a French girl. I was given a box of chocolate finger biscuits for taking on this extra chore. I also had free hairdressing.

After that I took part in both the spring and autumn parades and my cashier insisted I got paid extra for it. Good for him.

Then came the big day when war was declared, September 3, 1939.

A beautiful sunny autumn day. Before this it had seemed inevitable and the store was awash with millions of yards of blackout material.

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Marjorie Swallow also worked a short time at J G Graves, and later at Blanchardʼs on Infirmary Road.

In the year of 1937 my mum Eva and dad John brought me into this world and gave me the name of Marjorie Swallow.

By the day of my fourth birthday my dad, who was working for the Parks Department as a gardener, had this job to do. He climbed up a tree to saw some branches off, fell to the ground and broke both legs. Later he started with fits, and there was no compensation, and no employment due to him having fits. The legs healed, but not the fits.

Mum and dad found it very hard bringing up a daughter with no money coming in. My dad always had his allotment even after his accident. He would sell the vegetables and flowers. I always remember the price of his chrysanths – two shillings and sixpence a bunch. Due to my dadʼs fits he only went to the allotment when someone went with him.

My mum, Eva, had to look after both me and my dad. It must have been hard work for her as I was just starting school, and facing up to my dad not working. I attended Crookesmoor Road School until I was 14 years of age.

I finished on Friday and started my first job on the following Monday.

I blame this on my cousin Mavis. She got me the job as office junior at J.G. Graves. I remember this rather large well-dressed gentleman. He said - “Are you frightened of me?” At 14 years of age and knees knocking, came the reply “Yes sir”. From this large shape came - “there is no need”, and that is how I found him. By the way, he was called Alfred, the brother of Mr Graves.

Whilst working in the office I became a self-taught typist – didnʼt do much good. Soon after I was moved on to shop counter duties. This was only because Miss Boyd had decided to retire at the grand old age of 83. What a miserable lady. She made you put your hand up to go to the toilet and said “Only two minutes, or Iʼll be knocking at the door”. I walked to and from work and dinner breaks as well. The shop was on Durham Road, not far from home.

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My wage for my five day week was £1, 17 shillings and sixpence. Iʼd get my little brown pay packet on the Friday, then straight home to mum. Mum would give me two shillings and sixpence – what a treat!

I could go to the Western Picture Palace or the Oxford. We would pay for the cheap seats, then when the usherette wasnʼt looking, weʼd climb over and into the posh seats, feeling like ʻLady Muckʼ.

Then came the time when J.G. Graves sold out to Henry Wigfalls, so after 10 years I left and started at Blanchards on Infirmary Road.

This was around 1962. Whilst working in the shop, which faced the Kelvin Flats complex, you could see hundreds of mice running here, there and everywhere, mice scampering across the main road.

Whilst serving customers sometimes, you would hear a shriek from an assistant, as a mouse ran over her feet.

I remember the manager of the shop saying to Cyril “if you see any more mice, ask them to leave”. So Cyril wrote this sign, placed it on the floor next to the door. It read “All mice this way”.

Another amusing story to tell is, about this old lady customer, quite a regular, she had facial hair. The lady was buying a lot of curtaining, which she asked if she could collect in a couple of dayʼs time. I obliged and parcelled the item, and the lady left. In all the time this lady came into the shop I never knew her name, so the parcel I addressed in the only name I could think of, and that was Mrs Beard.

So a couple of days passed and the lady came in for her parcel. I served her – Iʼd forgotten about the name, and there it was – the parcel-name on the counter, and even worse, it was facing her. The customerʼs face never faltered. She paid for the item and left. One week later the lady returned to the shop and bought her goods, but alas, no longer Mrs Beard.

Working for Blanchards was rather exciting, having to travel to Manchester with another assistant on the train to purchase curtaining from the wholesalers, with lunch thrown in. How grand!

I stayed at Blanchards until 1969. Then I fancied a change and soon got a job at Arthur Davyʼs, Haymarket, as Cooked Meat Assistant. I wasnʼt long at Davyʼs before I married Jack. The girls in the shop 177

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made Jack and myself a lovely cake. Nice surprises make good memories.

Let me mention my Jack. He was a hammer-driver. Heʼd walk from Shiregreen to Samuel Osbornes in Ecclesfield. Jack would come home “out on his feet”, but on his days off heʼd love walking in the countryside. By this time my mumʼs health was suffering, with all the years of making ends meet by having to clean at the Bloomsbury Public House on the corner of Albion Street, the bringing up of me, which she did a very good job of, and the death of my dad. I was around 18 at the time.

I remember mum telling me this story of the milkman who was the farmer from up the hill, popping in to the Bloomsbury whilst mum was cleaning. He tethered the horse and cart outside the pub, and went in for his daily quart of ale, later coming out of the pub legless, scrambling into the back of the cart and calling to the horse “On your way”, and off it went up to the farm.

Iʼd visit mum twice a week after work. As she got worse, Jack and I decided to look after her at our house. It was not long before I lost her. By this time Jack wasnʼt in good health himself, and in 1975 my Jack passed through into a better life without pain. After 1975 I worked for a short time at the Northern General Hospital, but had to retire from work due to ill health. After recovery I carried on with my voluntary work.

Many department stores insisted on shop assistants wearing uniform, as Mary Hobson describes at Banners.

And Lyn Howsam (nee Johnston), says,” The only thing that I really didn't like was having to wear all black: a colour I hated almost as much as the bottle green school uniform I had just escaped from.”

Mary Hobson

I was born in 1928 on Brompton Road, Attercliffe. My name is Mary.

I went to Maltby Street School, then left at the age of 14. I didnʼt start work until I was 16, due to my mum being poorly.

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My first job was at Littlewoods Store, Attercliffe, which I applied for myself. My wage was one pound for a five and a half day week. I walked to work, which saved my spending money. Mind you, mum gave me ten shillings for the pictures.

Whilst working at Littlewoods there was this very unpleasant supervisor. She never appreciated what you did. There was my friend Joyce who had this phobia of feathers, but it made no difference to this vindictive supervisor. She made Joyce dust the shelves everyday with a feather duster. No-one was allowed to do that dusting except Joyce. Eventually she had an epileptic fit, and when questions were asked, I was the only one to stand up for Joyce, and of course I was the only one to get the sack. I think if Iʼd kept my mouth shut Iʼd have been there still.

At the age of 19 I started at John Banners as a shop assistant. For my five and a half day week I got twenty-two shillings, half-day closing and bank holidays working, with one weekʼs annual holiday. I think there were 150 people employed by John Banners. The management was very reasonable. I remember working in the glass-ware department in the basement, also working in the stockroom. This was the only place where you were allowed to sit down and have a laugh. The Banners uniform policy was a white blouse, black skirt below your knees, no jewellery on the shop floor, and you had to buy your own shoes, which suited Bannersʼ code of dress.

Working in the gown and mantle department, if you were selling gowns, youʼd have a senior sales assistant and a junior sales assistant who would put the gown back on the hanger after the customer had tried it on. If you sold a gown you got commission.

The senior sales assistant would get sixpence and the junior twopence.

At the age of twenty I got married, and two years later I left Banners to have my first child, Jackie. From 1950 I helped mum with the artistes from the Empire and Palace Theatres, who stayed at my mumʼs big house on Shortridge Street. Due to my husbandʼs accident I had to start work again. This was at the Sidewalk Café on 179

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Chapel Walk. As a supervisor I stayed here for four years.

Then after the Sidewalk I had my first son. We named him Alan. I had to carry on working so I had to take Alan down to mumʼs in Attercliffe for her to look after him, then catch the tram into town to start my new job as a waitress at Cole Brothers. I had experience of this through helping my sister Eileen, who had a small catering business. At Coles I was paid £2 for a five and a half day week. I finished working on the ʻstill barʼ – thatʼs drinks. My uniform was black with white apron. I lasted 18 months, because it was so hard travelling to Attercliffe from Gleadless where I lived, and then to town and back again.

I realised that we needed to move back to Attercliffe so I could go back to work without the travelling. Mum did a very good job looking after the children – I donʼt know what I would have done without her.

I got a job at Whittakers Fruit Shop, Attercliffe Road. He paid me 25 shillings a week. Mr Whittaker was very good to work for - I stayed there for two years.

My next job was working for Harry Hartleyʼs (ironmongers), on Union Street. I got 30 shillings a week. Harry was a rough and ready man, but generous, but he had to close down. After that I stayed at home to nurse mum and dad. At the age of 40 I had my second daughter called Josie, a good sister to Jackie and Alan. After a period of time I became a single parent with three children. I went back to work at Joyceʼs Hairdressers, Darnall Main Road, and I stayed at Joyceʼs for 12 years.

Lyn Howsam wrote this for us.

“Have you a 34 inch bust Miss Johnston?”

It was the Easter of 1961. Having just celebrated my 15th birthday my schooldays were now over. Within a week I was working. Mum was very quick to take me to the employment exchange on West St during the Easter break and after filling in a form I was given my National Insurance number and told of a place that needed a shop assistant. I was to go straight there for an interview.

This was a shop called Barnetts on the High St, Sheffield, a rather 180

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high-class 'costumiers' – a ladies suit and coat shop. We made our way there and mum, probably looking quite out of place in her working class clothes and with her usual Hilda Ogden type turban on her head, waited just inside the shop talking to an assistant while I was being interviewed by the manager, in a little partitioned off corner of the shop. This I was to learn later doubled as his office as well as the cash point and he alone was responsible for all the transactions. The job was mine and I was to work a 6 day, 42 hour week for just £1.17.6d a week or £1.75p in today's decimal currency.

I didn't really have any choice in the matter. I had to work, it was the first job offered to me: I took it. It was as simple as that. In the early sixties we behaved in the way we were brought up, to do as we were told.

The swinging sixties. What swinging sixties? Even though I thought I was grown up it never occurred to me to be choosy. The only thing that I really didn't like was having to wear all black: a colour I hated almost as much as the bottle green school uniform I had just escaped from. Still I could wear make up and high heels and I mean high heels. Four and a half inches of them and the pointed toes just about as long. With my newly acquired bouffant blonde hairdo, white face, black eyes and pale pink lips I really thought I was the bee's knees.

I was given the opportunity to train as a window dresser, which I was thrilled about, as this satisfied the artistic streak in me. It was our job as juniors, Barbara Gough was the other one, to vacuum and dust the showroom, polish the mirrors daily and generally to fetch and carry for everyone. Even to fetching the manager's hot daily dinner from the canteen at the back of the Star and Telegraph building.

This was a really mouth-watering exercise and totally unaffordable to us juniors who had to tip up every penny we earned to our mothers.

Until we were 18 yrs old we were not allowed to actually serve customers as we were still supposedly learning the ropes though I can't remember actually being taught anything. There was also the hierarchy of the sales staff who were all paid commission on every sale with a 1st, 2nd and 3rd sales person and the addition of two part 181

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timers for the busy periods. If we did begin serving a customer during a particularly busy time, then this would quickly be taken away from us before we had the chance to complete the sale.

Downstairs in the basement was Mrs Baines, the lady who did all the alterations along with a part timer called Mrs Dakin. We also took our tea and dinner breaks down there. Every so often the chap from head office would arrive, sometimes without warning and it was always a very tense time. His name was Mr Twemblow and he was a very smart gentleman in pinstriped suit and a neatly turned up moustache.

Every evening, before we could go home, we would have to count all the garments hanging on every rail in the shop and if it didn't tally with the number the manager knew should be there then we had to start all over again. One Saturday, no matter how many times we counted we were still two garments short. The manager called the police and we all had to wait until they came and answer their questions before we could all go home. Two items had been stolen but how no one knew. No one could remember anything out of the ordinary.

As a trainee window dresser it was part of my job to assist the manager with the window displays, again mainly fetching and carrying but certainly it was more interesting than being on the shop floor. The colours in fashion that particular year were soft pastel shades of pale green and lilac. He did teach me also how to use tissue paper in sleeves, to make them hang correctly and to pad out the shape of the garment. An amazing number of pins would be used to make the garment fit the dummy and display it effectively. I was also allowed to choose the accessories to go with the clothes and occasionally to demonstrate my flair by choosing which garments should be displayed in the window. Both myself and Barbara would dissolve into giggles at his shouts of "Have you got a 34 inch bust Miss Johnston?'' or "Have you got 6 guineas Miss Johnston?" He was neither after my body or my money, simply asking for labels for the clothes.

Some of the wealthier women who came to the shop also required 182

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their purchases to be delivered to their home. 'Too posh to carry' would certainly fit the bill. The delivery would of course fall on the junior's shoulders. Now in those days our knowledge of Sheffield was a great deal smaller than it is for teenagers nowadays as apart from going into town occasionally we all kept to our own areas and we had everything we needed in our own district. Shops, cinemas, youth clubs etc. so to suddenly be sent out to places like Dore and Totley was like being sent to the Outer Hebrides. First we would need to find which bus went where and at what time and off we would go. Working class girl carrying posh shop bag. Did we get a tip? Of course we didn't. And it never crossed our minds that we would anyway. The door would open to our knock, the bag would be taken from our grasp and the door would shut in our face.

About this time I decided I would like to become a redhead. Now hairdressers were a luxury I couldn't afford and besides they couldn't make my hair bouffant enough so off I went to Boots for a Focus hair colorant: the shade was called Auburn Glow. It was a shame really that no one told me that you should never put a red hair colorant on blonde hair though. Why, you may ask? Because it turns a bright orange. Now having an artistic streak you would have thought I would have known this wouldn't you but I didn't realise this applied to hair. Orange hair may not be quite so eye-catching nowadays but it certainly was then. I washed it and washed it and it wouldn't come out because bleached hair being very porous absorbs even temporary colorants. It never occurred to me to take the next day off work as we were brought up never to have time off unless you were very ill and no one ever dreamt of lying. Even if you did take a day off sick you weren't paid for it so I guess that was the incentive to go into work even if you were dying. So, resembling a lit up Belisha beacon, I went into work attempting not to venture into the window display in case I was mistaken for a dummy. During the next few days I spent a lot of time washing my hair and trying to dodge my father who surprisingly enough just didn't seem to notice me at all.

But then again he had been known to walk past me in the street without acknowledging me many times. Why didn't I talk to him?

Children didn't speak to adults first; they waited for adults to speak to 183

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them. Children should be seen and not heard was how I was brought up.

My career in window dressing was to last just six months. For me to have pursued it seriously meant I would need to attend evening classes at Chesterfield College paid for by the company.

Even though I had left school I still had to ask my father's permission for everything and for everywhere I wished to go. And if I was allowed out I had to be in by 9pm. Requests could only be done via mum who supposedly, would wait until he was in a good mood to make our requests. It wasn't until my adult years that I realised how much power this gave her over my life. A power that I, and my sisters thought was father始s alone. Mum's idea of avoiding rows and upsets with dad was never to ask him for anything. Or if it was something she didn't want us to do she could put the blame on dad for refusing when he wasn't even asked in the first place. Get my drift?

Permission to attend College was of course refused (by mum?) and since the window dressing was the only thing that made my life as a junior interesting I cast my eyes around for another job - after I had obtained father's permission of course!

Des Hazleton aged 94 told us about having two jobs at the same time, when he and his sister-in-law set up a shop selling oatcakes and pikelets.

I was born in Carterknowle Road and then moved to Hoober Road.

At the age of five, I went to private school on Crescent Road until I was 11. I then went to Dronfield Grammar School as a weekly boarder. When Friday came round I was given my bus fare to get home, but as soon as the money touched my hand, I was off to the sweet shop. All the bus fare was spent on sweets and I then had to walk home with my big suitcase and my pockets bulging with delight.

My first job at the age of 14 was at Edgar Allen's as an invoice clerk.

At the age of 21 I was earning nine shillings and three pence per week. The country went into recession and my father advised me to enter the army. I joined the Coldstream Guards and was in the Guards for five years before World War 2. I was kept a Prisoner of 184

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War for three years until the end of the war. When I was released, I went to stay with my sister Muriel in London at Hatch End.

Then I came back to Sheffield to live with my girlfriend's parents in Tadcaster Road. My girlfriend Betty became my wife. I had no income, and in those days you were expected to pay your way. In other words, I had to pay for my lodgings, so I earned money by doing gardening work in summertime. By this time, Betty's sister Madge was looking for a business partner in a small shop in Worksop Road. The shop was next to the Britannia Pub and she sold pikelets and oatcakes. The name over the shop was “Peck and Hazleton”. Because it was a seasonal trade, I carried on in summer still doing gardening work whilst Madge looked after the shop. Betty and myself got married and lived over the shop. During the week I worked for Slacks the Bakers, then went to the shop at weekends.

Betty worked for Hadfieldʼs during the week.

Don Allott, Gentsʼ Hairdresser

I left school April 1954, age fifteen, having miserably failed my Eleven Plus exam, but having gained a very average education between eleven and fifteen. I had at that time no notion as to what I wanted to do when I left school. I did know that I didnʼt wish to follow the news agency trade like my father.

One day, six months or so before I was due to leave school, a friend of my fatherʼs suggested that I might like to consider gents hairdressing as a career. When the school careers officer came to school to interview all Easter leavers, I was asked what kind of job I would like to train for on leaving school. As I had no other ideas at the time, I said I would like to become a gentsʼ hairdresser (Barber).

The careers officer said to me, “Are you good with your hands in Art or Drawing”, I was not! Then he asked, “How were my skills in woodwork”. My answer was “Very average”. To my surprise, the officer then said, “In that case, I doubt you will be any good at hairdressing either”. My reaction to this was to question his training, and how did he reach his conclusion? His remarks made me more 185

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determined to become a hairdresser and prove him wrong.

So early in 1954, I became an apprentice hairdresser in a barberʼs shop on Holme Lane, Malin Bridge area of Sheffield. The barbers shop was owned by Mr & Mrs Overin and managed by a master barber called Walter Peckett. My starting wage was twenty five shillings per week. This, I was informed, would increase every six months and thus I began a career in hairdressing, which was to span over fifty years of my life.

The hairdressing manager was a strict but fair disciplinarian, and insisted on regular meal times. As a result, I was privileged to a most unusual lunch time experiment. My lunch time was to be 12.00 ʻtil 1.00 and the managerʼs lunch from 1.00 ʻtil 2.00 Monday to Saturday. The exception was Thursday, half day closing at 1.00 pm.

Nothing unusual in that you might say, but for the first six months, I would not be qualified to run the shop on my own. So from the start of my career, I was given a two hour lunch break, at least for the first six months. This was unprecedented in 1954 and fifty years later is still unheard of in the hairdressing trade.

On my first day at work, I set off with sandwiches for my lunch and one shilling in my pocket. That was eightpence for bus fares and fourpence to spend. I had a brand new long white coat, a must for any good barber, neatly dressed with collar and tie, shoes highly polished and with butterflies in my stomach. I had to catch a bus to the city centre, from Sharrow where I lived, then another bus out to Malin Bridge. The journey took over an hour, so I left home at 7.30 to be sure of arriving at work for a 9.00am. start.

The tasks on my first day at work were varied and comprehensive.

Walter Peckett believed in starting to learn straight away from day one. Apart from all the usual tasks expected of all apprentices or junior assistants, like making the tea and sweeping up, (and there was plenty of that in a dayʼs work), I was to be the barberʼs mate, having to watch, listen and anticipate his every move.

The salon was neat but small, having at some point been converted from a terraced house. The barberʼs salon was the downstairs front room with a partitioned walkway at the side to a stairway in the 186

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middle of the house, which led to a ladies salon on the first floor. The downstairs back room was a dining area, rest room and dispensary, plus general storage space.

Our salon had a narrow shop window on the left as you entered, used for display purposes. Straight in front of you were two large mirrors on the wall with shelves and sinks in front of them, plus two hydraulic Barbers Chairs, very modern in 1954! (and expensive, as I was always being reminded). There were six waiting chairs, three under the window and three along the partition wall behind the barberʼs chairs. It was expected that I would already know how to make tea and to sweep the floor, so my first real task was to learn how to operate the hydraulic chair and how to ʻgownʼ a client up. The work could be hair cutting, beard trimming or shaving.

In the case of beard trimming or shaving, a ʻhead restʼ had to be fitted into the top of the hydraulic chair. A lever enabled the chair to be tilted backwards to make the client feel comfortable, then the height would be adjusted so that the barber could work at a comfortable height. Equally important was knowing how to gown a client up for the different services, silly as it may sound. In 1954, paper towels hadnʼt been invented. It was still the age of newspaper squares hung on a nail on the back of the toilet door, or if you were posh, ʻIzalʼ toilet rolls were the order of the day. (Izal toilet paper was very much like greaseproof paper).

In the 1950s, cotton tea towelling was cut into twelve inch by six inch strips and used to protect the back of the neck and the gentʼs collars from the small hair clippings. For shampooing, shaving and head massage, hot towels were used. For all these purposes, Terry towelling nappies were the ideal shape and size and were used in most barbersʼ shops.

The gowns used to protect the client were made of strong cotton material. They were approximately 48 inches square with a six inch cut in the centre of one side. They were either plain or striped in sets of four so that the client could see that they were changed on a regular basis. These gowns were usually made by the barberʼs wife or a female relative.

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Another important piece of equipment was the steam cabinet for hot towels. This was used when shaving, face massaging and head massaging. The earliest model steamer had three compartments.

The top one held six wet towels, the middle one held water, whilst in the bottom were two ʻFire Pokerʼ type gas jets. A later more modern model was fitted with an electric kettle-like arrangement combining the two lower compartments into one. It had a lead like a modern electric kettle with a large round pin 15 amp plug on the end.

On my second day at work, I had to watch Walter Peckett all day, showing me the ropes. On day three, I had to be on the ball right from the start. Both barberʼs chairs were brought into use. As soon as Walter had gowned up a client and started the first cut, I had to watch and wait for the nod. I then had to gown up the next client in the other chair so that Walter could move across to the next client without delay. I then folded the gown and swept the floor round the first chair, then checked that the shelf was left tidy and the tools and clippers were sterilised before the next client. All of this was an ongoing process whilst ever customers continued to come in.

During quiet intervals, I had to learn how to hold scissors and comb.

The comb was held in the left hand between thumb and forefinger so that it could be twisted back and forth. The scissors were held in the right hand between thumb and third finger so that as you operated them, one blade moved and the other stayed still. This is not as easy as you may think!

The next task I had to learn was how to clean and service both hand and electric clippers, plus stropping and setting the Cut Throat razors. It wasnʼt until my third week at work that I was allowed to practice with a Cut Throat razor. I first had to learn how to hold them and how to open and close them, before learning how to strop and set them.

More about the premises. The back room was a veritable Aladdinʼs Cave. It doubled as a staff room, clock room, dining room come kitchen, dispensary, stock room and store room, and at times room to park your push bike as well. All staff had their meals in this back room. In it was a long brown pot sink with a cold water tap, a gas 188

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cooker and a heavy kettle. In the middle of the room was a well scrubbed table with four chairs, two of which were old barberʼs chairs. These were low round spindle types, sometimes known as ʻCaptainsʼ chairs. They still had Headrests fitted to the back and were sometimes used by the staff to have ʻforty winksʼ at lunch time.

At one side of the chimney, there was a cupboard for pots, pans, plates and mugs, with a drawer below for cutlery and cooking utensils. There was an open coal fire with another cupboard on the other side which was full of new medicine bottles with screw tops.

There was a box of labels in assorted sizes coloured black with white printing on them and some white with black printing. They were all impregnated with fish glue on the back.

Another door led to some steps going down into a cellar.

This was where coal and other fuel was stored for the fire in winter. At the top of the cellar steps were some shelves on which were stored gallon bottles along with some one pint and two pint bottles.

These held many different lotions and potions i.e. mineral oil, friction lotion, perfume essences, surgical spirit, Macassar oil, and Gum Tragacanth. For a long time, these all remained a great mystery to me.

Mr Hengerʼs barbershop

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By the 60s there were wide spread sales of consumer durables, washing machines, TVs, and refrigerators. Jack moved from working as a butcher to sales, first of electrical goods, then he branched out into welding services, bananas, and transport. But first he writes about ʻprivate enterpriseʼ in the 1930s.

Jack Simmonite

I was born on the Manor council estate at 94, Desmond Crescent, on 14th May 1930. My parents were like everyone else at that time.

They had little money and struggled to make a living. Father worked as a lorry driver. Mother used to make pies and peas and sell them from house to house – until someone reported her and she had to stop. It was great that she had the enterprise to have a go.

Lots of people were doing much the same thing. One of the reasons why there were no corner shops was that tenants were not allowed to use their houses for business, under pain of eviction.

However, it wasnʼt long before one house in the area would sell cigarettes and matches, whilst another might specialise in chocolates and sweets. Then there would be a house selling bread and cakes, another providing bottled ginger beer and herb beer, and another selling tea, sugar and flour. During the winter months on Friday and Saturday nights, one house would offer home-made pies and peas. All this enterprise sprang up in a small number of streets, just like magic, but no trading was done when the rent man was due!

Other traders sold from house to house, for instance a pork butcher began to appear in our streets, travelling in a small van selling pork, sausage, dripping and roast pork sandwiches. Another trader used a horse and cart, and he would stop outside a customerʼs house and ask the householder for a bucket of water for the horse to drink.

Most of the traders would allow regulars to have their goods on ʻstrapʼ, or ʻtickʼ, and they would pay at the weekend when the husband got paid.

As a schoolboy my favourite trader was Mr Marlow. He had his own little pitch and once there he never moved during business hours, which were half an hour before school opened in the morning, then 190

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at lunch-time and after school. He had a small hand cart shaped like an upright piano. Inside it were compartments containing such delights as gobstoppers, liquorice sticks, aniseed balls, Kaylie suckers, small slabs of toffee and lucky bags; then he provided us with whatever the craze was at the time - marbles, yo-yoʼs, whips and tops, diabolos. The sweets were sold for a halfpenny or penny, but never weighed.

Another caller was the check or tally man. People would get checks or vouchers from him which would enable the holder to go to a selected store or shop and purchase goods. You would then pay so much a week back, plus an added charge for the service. Many working class families purchased their childrenʼs clothes in this way.

Once or twice a year a chimney sweep would call to offer his services, but perhaps the callers that caused most anxiety to some housewives were the gypsies, selling pegs, small posies of lavender or ʻluckyʼ heather. There was always a feeling that ʻbad luckʼ might ensue if nothing was purchased.

I attended Pipworth Road County School, leaving at 14. I enjoyed school at the time and would have preferred to have stayed longer.

My first job was in butchering. I worked for Mr Brown in a shop on the lower Manor shopping centre. My father wanted me to join him at Cravenʼs, the coach builders, but I wanted to do my own thing. I was interested in woodwork and art. It was high class, quality work at Cravens. He thought I would be well suited to this. I guess I rebelled. I was the lad in the shop working with two men. I learnt the trade on the job. I made sausage, starting with the meat, every morning, mincing the meat and placing everything in the skins, though there werenʼt any skins to begin with due to war shortages.

When I was 18 I was called up for National Service and when I came out I was a little despondent about returning to butchering (I was a cook in the RAF), so wanted to move forward to something better. I was friendly with the landlord of the Springwood Hotel on the Woodthorpe estate. He was Walt Latham and was a father figure to me. He wanted me to take the pub, even though I was so young. I 191

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told Mr Brown that I needed a week off work urgently, but went fishing for a week to think things over. On my return I told him that I was finishing, so I now had no job. I went into the city to Potts, which had been bought by Parkinʼs the butchers, and got a job with them. I was still butchering but it was an improvement. I was there three years and then decided I wanted to go into selling.

A company in Sheffield called Snelsonʼs, who sold washing machines and electrical goods, set me on as a salesman. I enjoyed the work. I still lived with my parents on the Manor. I worked at Frecheville for quite some time.

I got married when I was 26, in 1956. My wife Barbara worked in the chemistʼs shop next door to the butchers, so thatʼs how we met. The Frecheville estate was owned by the builders, Henry Boot. The manager of the estate used to come into the butcherʼs shop and we got talking, and he suggested that if I could get lodgings on the estate he could possibly help me. I got in touch with an old retired cutler and we went to live with him, and through Mr Wright the housing manager, I could have bought that property as a sitting tenant, price, about £300, but it never happened.

We went back to live on the Manor because Mum had died, so Dad was on his own. Eventually what happened was, we went to live with Barbaraʼs parents. Through her cousin and aunt we learnt of a cottage on Backmoor Road, Gleadless Valley, that had become empty. It was an old beautiful cottage, about 250 years old, so went to live there. It was our first property and was brilliant. It was near the Nailmakerʼs pub, probably the oldest purpose-built pub in Sheffield. The front door opened on to the road. Inside on the right was a kitchen and on the left was the front room, which at some time had been a shop. There was a large shop window which had been divided into sections. Originally everything was shoddy, but I put a lot of work into improving the house. It was comfortable. There was a flagged floor. One of the things I remember was that it was a place where you could feel really relaxed after a rough day at work or whatever. It was an incredible feeling. There were just two rooms upstairs, no bathroom, just the old tin bath in front of the fire, which 192

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was marvellous. Hot water came from a gas geyser. At the back was a garden with a veg. patch. We paid about 5 shillings and sixpence a week rent, that始s all. Ours was the fronting cottage to the road, but it formed part of seven cottages in all. They never should have been pulled down.

We were in the cottage about six years. Unfortunately it was a time when the authorities thought that all old properties with no modern conveniences should be knocked down. We had an option as to where to move, but wanted to stay in the area, so finished up on Gaunt Drive, part of the Gleadless Valley estate, not far from where we lived before. The area appealed to us and we had met good friends. It was the mid-1960始s. It was clean, with better accommodation for the growing children and with a reasonable view.

The bathroom was a great asset, but we did not have much choice anyway as we could not buy our own house. The previous tenant had moved out as he had won some money on the football pools. I thought that I might be as lucky as him!

From working at Snelson始s I joined a merchandising company for three years, and then a company called Utechtic, a specialised welding firm, which was a challenge, as I knew nothing about welding. I stayed with them another three years. Then I worked for Littlewoods, in their distribution business for 6 years, and from there to Geests, the banana people -they had a depot in South Elmsall in West Yorkshire. Finally I found employment with a transport company, MRS, selling their business.

Dennis Aldred始s work brought him to Sheffield in 1969.

I was born in 1932. My father Bill was a Naval Seaman Gunner and my mum had the hardest job in the world, her name was Vera.

We lived in Devonport, Plymouth until I reached the age of three.

Then we moved to Eccles, Manchester where I attended St Matthias Church School until the age of 13. Then I went to Salford Royal Technical College where I took a textile course and passed at the age of 15.

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I applied for management training at Richard Haworth Textile Manufacturers and my wage was 35 shillings a week. At the age of 17 I moved to Richard Howarth's head office in Manchester and was exporting worldwide. My wage now rocketed to ÂŁ2 a week.

On reaching 18 in the year of 1950 I was sent to Hamburg Germany.

This was my National Service.

Then in 1952 at the age of 20, I was demobbed and went back to Richard Howarth's. In those days if you did National Service, your job would have to be left vacant on your return. The happiest day of my life arrived in 1954. I married my Barbara. She was employed by the Ministry of Labour in Manchester where she worked until our first child Richard was born in 1958.

In 1956, Vantona Textiles took over from Richard Haworth. I was allowed to keep my job but by 1960, I was beginning to lose interest so I successfully applied for the job of Commercial Manager at Highams Textiles Rochdale.

In 1967 a big changeover in working practice. I was asked if I would like to be the sales representative for part of Yorkshire, Lincoln and Derbyshire, and in 1969 I came to Sheffield. I liked the city and then in 1972 I was head hunted by Eversure Textiles of Cumberland Street Sheffield as Sales Director.

Whilst working for Eversure Textiles, I had to go to Dublin on business. Whilst in Dublin I suffered a detached retina and came back to Sheffield. I had an operation in the Royal Hospital on West Street 1974. Then shortly after I had to retire from Eversure Textiles.

I decided to buy High Wincobank sub-post office in 1976, which I then sold in 1980 and I bought Crosspool sub-post office where we had many happy days. Finally, in 1992, I sold the business.

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Mr and Mrs Surr kept a small corner shop for 10 years until

1977.

Mrs Surr had left Dronfield Grammar School at the age of 16 and took secretarial work which continued up to and after marriage, ending only when her first child was born. She stayed at home until her eldest child was 9 years old, but by then wanted to resume going out to work. Her preference was to work from home and she subsequently grasped the opportunity to open her own shop. This was a general grocery shop in Hunterʼs Bar and was literally a ʻCorner Shopʼ. Although an independent shop, it was also a member of the ʻMACEʼ association. This had the advantage whereby the association could make huge bulk purchases of goods and then forward smaller quantities to member shops at the reduced bulk purchase rates.

In the early years the area around the shop housed mainly long stay elderly residents, most of whom were low income families or retired working class people. Customers were generally regulars and were familiar faces who regarded the shop almost as a ʻsocial centreʼ. A chair was provided for customers whilst they waited for their turn to be served. Self Service was almost unknown in those days. The shop was an excellent place for exchanging local gossip. A customer would often sit for hours on the shop chair, with their pet dog at their feet, just chatting away.

The biggest attraction for customers was the ability to purchase very small amounts of their daily necessities. It was not uncommon for a customer to buy one penny bun for their tea. OXO cubes normally came in packs of half a dozen but many a time, a pack would be opened so that the customer could purchase a single cube for one penny. Woodbine cigarettes came in packets of ten, and one regular customer used to come early in the week and ask for just five ʻWoodiesʼ, so a pack had to be split. He would then return later in the week and buy the other five. It was not uncommon for someone to come in and buy just one egg for their tea. One old lady who lived close to the shop used it as her larder. She would visit at very frequent intervals just buying odd items as and when she wanted 195

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them. She explained that it was better than cluttering up her pantry shelves. (Not many customers had a refrigerator of their own at that time).

Bacon joints were boned and sliced on the counter. A selection of cheap sweets was always available for passing schoolchildren and there was no need to restrict the number of children in the shop at any one particular time, i.e. no problem with pilfering. Mr Surr had a full time job outside of the retail business but he would deliver larger orders to customers after work on Friday evenings. This being ʻPaydayʼ for most people, they were able to pay for their orders on delivery.

A well known national fruit company called S.P.C. organised a nationwide competition to find a suitable slogan to advertise their product. Mrs Surr entered with the suggestion, “Selected, Passed and Canned”. She turned out to be the winner and her prize was a yearʼs supply of petrol.

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Another sideline to the business and a useful source of income, was supplying sandwiches to workers in surrounding businesses. These were often 驶personalised始 as the likes and dislikes of individual customers became known.

Unfortunately, nothing is set forever and changes took place which were to eventually kill the business off. One effect was, as the older customers passed away, and their houses became occupied by students, the whole nature of the neighbourhood changed.

A bigger effect was the development of the Supermarkets whose bulk buying capability and use of 驶Loss Leaders始 meant that the small shop keeper could no longer compete.

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Blackboards to white boards Teaching and Training, 1950-2007

Schooldays – the happiest days of your life – or not? But what was it like for the teachers, and what changes do these 40 years illustrate?

For one thing, the size of classes was reduced greatly between the 1950ʼs when 50 children was not uncommon in a primary school class and the 1970ʼs, when numbers were reduced to nearer 30.

This resulted in the need for more teachers. Methods of teaching also changed, with more play and less formal learning, and corporal punishment ended in Sheffield in 1981.

The school leaving age was raised to 16, the 11 plus exam was abolished and Grammar Schools were phased out in favour of Comprehensives. Then came targets, league tables and OFSTEDS, and the introduction of a revolutionary new teaching method – the computer.

In 1951 there were 2,242 teachers in Sheffield, and by 1974 there were 4,652. Despite the large classes of former years, the stories our teachers relate seem to indicate that it was easier to teach then than now, partly because of the strict discipline in force, which was accepted by both children and parents, and partly because there was less bureaucracy, and fewer targets and inspections.

We now begin the teachersʼ own stories, and although teaching has traditionally been regarded as a vocation, it was not the first choice of job for most of them. ʻSʼ intended to be a nursery nurse, but was quickly diverted to teaching. ʻBʼ, who began his teaching career in 1975, had previously spent 4 years as an engineer.

Shirley left school in 1952 with A Level qualifications, spent 5 disastrous months in nursing, some years with M&S, then as a housewife and mother, before training for teaching.

John spent 25 years in the engineering industry and went into teaching at the age of 40.

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Stranger still, ʻRʼ spent a whole year teaching a primary school class before she even went to College.

ʻRʼ

1960-1988

Start of career

I left school with two A levels and before I went to Teacher Training College I was given a class of my own at a school in Tinsley, and allowed to teach there for one year, having had no previous teaching experience. The Head just let me get on with it. They were lower junior age range. This experience was very beneficial to me and increased my confidence. Training College lasted two years.

First jobs These were at two primary schools in Attercliffe, both of which were closed in turn as the neighbourhood was emptied for housing clearance, and the families moved out to the new estates. These schools were in very old Victorian stone buildings. One school was near Tinsley Locks on the canal and one or two children sadly drowned there, usually in the holidays.

There were few ethnic minority children until the boat people came from Vietnam, so that differences of language and culture did not arise.

My first salary was £10 – 12 per week, but this went a long way.

Extra Activities There were lots of plays e.g. nativity, concerts, classroom Christmas parties and a Harvest Festival, plus Christian assembly every morning, and we were able to take the children on nature walks (not at Attercliffe, but at a later school). The fruit, flowers and vegetables from the Harvest Festival were then distributed by the children to elderly people near the school, who were almost overwhelmed by the deluge of goodies, and this practice was later stopped.

We also took them out to Edale in Derbyshire, where some saw lambs for the first time, and to the seaside, where some who had never seen the sea did not know how to play on the beach.

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Now I am told these kind of things rarely happen, because of all the goals and targets set by the government, and the fear of being sued if anything went wrong.

Teaching methods

In my early years of teaching both the arrangement of the classrooms and the style of teaching were very formal. Desks were in rows facing the blackboard, and I sat at a high old teachers desk with a high chair that I had to clamber onto. There was a coal fire in the classroom, which was made up by the caretaker every morning and afternoon.

I was given a massive syllabus but had lots of freedom to teach what I liked. There was more spontaneity than today. A child might bring something back from a trip to the seaside and I might devote all day to teaching on and around that subject. I had to send in a weekly forecast of what I hoped to do, but didnʼt have to write up anything about my work. In all those years I only had two inspectors in my classroom and then for only a very short space of time.

The formal methods of my early years in which pure facts were taught in an enclosed classroom, gave place to experiential learning in open-plan classrooms. The enclosed classrooms felt rather lonely – you were in a world of your own.

In the open plan schools, desks were arranged in groups, not straight lines, and multi-tasking was the order of the day, with each group of children doing something different. Learning by experience meant e.g. learning about pints and gallons by emptying pint pots into buckets, but the disadvantage was finding the children paddling in the buckets and generally playing about with the water.

Male Teachers

These were more-or-less non-existent at first, as it was thought that women were better teaching infant and junior age children. When men did begin to appear it made a refreshing change.

My first male student had an unusual and slightly rude-sounding name and I was worried how the children would react to this, but he handled it superbly. First he wrote his name on the blackboard, and then invited the children to ʻHave a good laugh now and get it over withʼ. They were perfectly quiet and good thereafter.

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ʻSʼ , who began her career ten years after ʻRʼ, also highlights the tendency for primary school teachers to be mainly female, and that it was not uncommon for training colleges also to be all-female.

ʻSʼ - 1970 -1993

I went back to school in 1970, although in reality I had hardly left it.

There was no chance in those days of a gap year - how I envy todayʼs students. I went from a girlsʼ school, to a single-sex college, and then into a profession where the majority of my colleagues were female. What a narrow experience of life it was, and although the training in itself was thorough and of a high standard, it left you with only one career option, to be a teacher.

I nearly wasnʼt a teacher. On leaving school with five O levels, I went to train as a nursery nurse but was told I was too highly qualified, and could be a teacher. On Thursday I was on work experience in a nursery school, on Friday I had a college interview, and the following Monday took up my place at a newly opened College of Education. The college no longer exists, having been swallowed up by the Polytechnic, now Hallam University. The site has long since been bulldozed, and is now yet another executive housing estate.

I qualified in three years, during which I successfully completed three teaching practices. On my preliminary visit to my teaching practice school, the class teacher was called away to take a child whoʼd had a playground accident to hospital. For one and a half hours I was left in charge of a class of thirty-six twelve-year olds. The attitude was – ʻYouʼre going to be a teacher so get on with itʼ. No police checks in those days, and although I was only seven years older than the children in the class, I was left alone with them. They came to no harm either from me or each other, nor I from them. I remember they got their work done, and it confirmed in my mind that the classroom was where I was meant to be.

The city council, which employed me had recently adopted the First, Middle and Comprehensive system of education, so my first job was in a Primary School newly converted from Junior to Middle. Classes 201

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were mixed ability, and formal lessons were being replaced by the integrated day. It was a busy day, often with various activities going on at once, and children being encouraged to learn at their own pace. To encourage the interest of all the children, so that the bright ones were stretched, and the less able ones knew what you were talking about, was quite a challenge.

A saying of the time comes to mind –ʻIf you can, do. If you canʼt, teachʼ, the inference being that teaching was an easy option.

Certainly not accurate then, and apparently not so now.

I can still picture my first class, and remember most of their names.

They almost fell into the classroom on that first day, eager to meet the new “Miss”. They were happy and smiling, expecting to work, and behave appropriately. They knew the boundaries and what would happen if they stepped over them. They lived on a large estate, with houses and people crammed together so close that there was hardly room for a tree to grow. Most families had more than the average 2.5 children but they were generous hearted to the last penny. On the annual day out (a trip to Scarborough by train, with a fish and chip meal included, for less than the bus fare to town now), they returned home with presents for “me Mam, me Dad, me Gran” etc .etc. and often one for me as well.

My first monthsʼ pay was £59 12 shillings and11 pence (net).

Earning it was hard work but rewarding. There was the satisfaction of recognition for a job well done, support from parents, and respect from children for authority, and the knowledge that both were on your side. There was the goodwill of teachers, willingly giving up hours of extra time for after school activities such as concerts and sports.

Teachers could be spontaneous in their approach to lessons; an interesting bone once brought for the nature table inspired a morningʼs work, until it was brought to a halt, by an invasion of maggots up the classroom wall.

The children showed an enthusiasm for learning. “I went to the library last night Miss. I had to take the dog, so I asked if I could take it in. The librarian said “Yes, if you carry it”, so I did”.” ʻRoverʼ was an Old English Sheepdog!

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And finally there were those lighthearted moments of the sort that come through seeing the world with that childhood simplicity. After lining the whole school up by the roadside to see the Queen pass by we made our way back to school.

“Has she been Miss?” enquired one little lad.

“Yes”, I said, ”Didnʼt you see the big black car with all the flowers in the back?”

“Yes Miss, but I thought that were a funeral”.

There were bad days as well, make no mistake, but it is the memories of the good ones that come warmly flooding back, and are treasured, along with the little notes received at the end of the year saying, “Thank you for being my teacher”.

Pamʼs story highlights the desperate need for teachers when she began work, contrary to today when many newly qualified teachers find it difficult to obtain posts, and also that it was possible then to change from secondary to primary school teaching with comparative ease.

Pam Jamieson –1961-1995

From the age of 18, I completed a two year Teacher Training Course, followed by a further one year optional extension of training. At that time it was easy to find teaching posts in Sheffield, as they were desperate for teachers at primary School level. I began my career in 1961 at the age of 21. I wanted to specialise in Art and Craft and my first appointment was in a senior school teaching Art as my subject.

For various reasons I did not settle here and stayed for only one year.

I am a Sheffielder by birth and I met and married a fellow teacher.

My next appointment was in a Primary School as a general teacher, but specialising in Art and Craft, and I continued in this for two years until the birth of my son. As soon as he was old enough, knowing that Sheffield was desperate for part-time teachers, I returned to teaching in Primary School in 1968. At first I only went in for two afternoons per week. This became two days per week, then three 203

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days until I eventually became a full-timer once more. I remained at that same school until retiring in 1995.

The early days usually meant class sizes of up to 45 children and classes were streamed leading up to the 11+ examination. This meant that children were segregated into ʻA Streamʼ and ʻB Streamʼ, with the ʻAʼ generally expected to progress the best. With the ending of the 11+ system of selection, which took place in 1969 in Sheffield, streaming was phased out in favour of ʻThemed Teachingʼ. Class sizes were reduced to about 30 and consisted of mixed ability groups. Very often these groups would also be of mixed ages. A single class could contain as many as six concurrent groups, each working at their own level. The full range of topics was still covered, but each one would be centred around a Maths or English base.

This was demanding but enjoyable.

Unfortunately the nature of the work changed over the years.

Teaching methods became more restricted, allowing less scope for individuality, and there was more emphasis on Record-Keeping and paperwork in general. I had no regrets about leaving this aspect of the job when I eventually retired.

Shirley Bassett was destined to leave her first job choice because of her inability to cope with strict hospital discipline, but then years later entered a profession where she was expected to exercise discipline over others. What is more, she discovered that some teachers could be quite as strict as those old Matrons and Ward Sisters!

After taking my A-levels I was influenced by a neighbour I greatly admired, to go into nursing – I lasted five months. This was 1952 and the discipline was ridiculous. The ward sisters were terrifying – every bed had to be lined up straight, and the sheets tucked in a particular way. You couldnʼt go off-duty until the more senior staff went first.

There were three months preliminary training and then you were on 204

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the wards. Hygiene was paramount. Everything had to be scrubbed spotless before going into the sterilizer. Juniors got all the rotten jobs. Our shifts were mornings, 7.30 a.m. to 9.30 p.m. with some time off in the morning, or 7.30 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. I was still living at home, and not in the Nurses Home and on Sundays there were no buses, so I had a long walk to work.

On my first day on a ward, someone I knew and liked, our school secretary, was brought in. She died and I had to help lay her out.

That was a hard beginning, but basically I did not take to the discipline. At school I had been a prefect, a big fish in a small pond.

Now I was a small fish in a very large pond.

I was on the Male Orthopaedic Ward with a male staff nurse and one other nurse, who spent the whole morning in the office. It seemed to me as if they were doing nothing. At lunchtime when the food trolleys came up, I had to carry all the individual plates of food to each patient, and some of them were on special diets. I was running about like a mad thing, and inadvertently took the wrong food to someone. The staff nurse swore at me – and no-one had ever done that before. I took the plate of food and cracked it over his head, and he stood there with all the food and gravy dripping down his face.

Then I grabbed my cloak and said - “Iʼm off to Matron”.

Matron thought I had a promising future as a nurse and begged me to stay, but I had had enough. “Iʼm sorry, but Iʼm off” I said, but she reminded me that I would have to work out my monthʼs notice.

Whenever I went in the dining room during that month, I could see people nudging each other and whispering - “Thatʼs the one”. Later I heard that the staff nurse got a severe ticking off. I went into nursing with the highest ideals – I was going to make the whole world better, but in the end, it was not for me.

Next I went to Marks & Spencer as a Management Trainee, and was there until my early twenties. We went through every step of the business, stock room, sales assistant etc, but I hated being a Sales Assistant, I was bored stiff. I then met my first husband, who was training as an architect, but at 21 he did National Service and was based at Abingdon near Oxford. I got a transfer to the Oxford branch 205

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of M&S. Then I got pregnant and went back to Mum. His first job was in Ilfracombe and I loved it, but he was offered a job in the States, so there we went.

Teacher Training - Fitting in with the family

We had three children, but our marriage broke up and I came back to Britain. They were desperate for teachers at the time, so I dumped the children with Mum by day, and went back to Exeter University to train as a teacher. Almost immediately I met my second husband. We married mid-way through the course and I became pregnant. The term ended in June, and began again in September.

My son was born in October and I took just two weeks off, then left him with an excellent baby-minder. Iʼd have been up all night feeding the baby, and would be so tired that I dropped off to sleep in lectures. I had a rather well-padded friend, and used to fall asleep against her. She would wake me up at the end of the lecture.

In those days you did not apply to particular schools for jobs, but to the LEA (Local Education Authority), and they would place you in a school. You had no choice over it.

My first job was at a Girls Secondary Modern School, teaching English and History. The Head of English, who was also Deputy Head, would come into my classroom when I was out and go through my desk drawer and stock-cupboard. She had a very limited view of teaching, for example, every class had to be on page 29 of a certain book at 10.30 a.m. There was no scope for your imagination, no way of stimulating the childrenʼs minds. I complained to the LEA and found others had done so before me. The result was that I was moved to another school.

The second school was a mixed Comprehensive near my home.

The discipline problems were much worse than at the first school. At College I was told that - “If you stimulate their minds and make the lesson sufficiently interesting, you wonʼt have discipline problems”.

That turned out not to be the case. One day a big girl called Julie Bunker, one of a well-known local tribe, knocked a pile of books off the desk. “You pick those up” - I said. “No I wonʼt”, was the reply.

“You wonʼt leave this room till you do” I said, and stood in the 206

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doorway, blocking her way out. She was taller and wider than me, and as she came on, I thought she would attack me. It was a face to face standoff. Eventually she picked the books up, but I learnt never again to put myself in such a direct conflict situation, but I learnt the hard way.

I found that girls were harder to discipline than boys, in the sense that you could give the lads a real telling-off, and theyʼd soon forget it and be O.K. with you, but the girls harboured resentment for much longer.

“I was sent home one day because I wore too short a skirt and boots” Although the discipline in schools then was much stricter than today, it was still not as bad as nursing. However, in this second school, we had a very eccentric Senior Mistress. She wore a ginger wig which was always slipping, and ate her food in the staff-room with wide open mouth. This lady sent me home one day because I wore too short a skirt and boots - very fashionable gear in the days of miniskirts! I had to change into a more suitable dress, which covered my knees.

Then my husband got a job in the same school, which was not good, so I applied for another Comprehensive, a job with prospects. This was a very large school with 2,000 students. My son attended the same school, but I never taught him. I worked there for fifteen years until I had a Stroke at just over 50 years of age.

So many people see teaching as an easy job because of the long holidays, but believe me, we needed them. The work is very intensive, with preparation to be done for each lesson. You have to think on your feet and maintain discipline. Keeping them interested was a hard task, especially when you had to stick to a particular syllabus, e.g. for O-levels. Trying to make Social and Economic History, 1710 -1890 interesting, is an almost impossible task. By the end of each term you felt completely wrung out.

Iʼm very glad I donʼt teach today, as two of my daughters do, and I think it is dreadful what they have to put up with. The teachers have no rights at all, only the children. I believe children need boundaries 207

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to keep them happy and on the right track.

In all, the various jobs that I did were satisfying, in that they involved dealing with people and I liked this. I would just ask for a little more understanding of the very demanding pressures put upon teachers.

Sometimes the syllabus gets changed by the government so fast that the necessary text-books have not even been printed!

驶B始, a recently retired secondary school teacher, also highlights

changes in attitudes to discipline, but writes that the biggest single change he experienced in his career was brought about by the introduction of computers.

Changes in Education from 1975 to 2007

I started my teaching career at a school in the north of Sheffield, a relatively deprived area. I had graduated 4 years earlier with a degree in electronics. After taking my degree I worked as an engineer on ships installing and repairing speed measuring equipment. As the nature of this job changed I thought about what I wanted to do as a career and decided to take a PGCE qualification and give teaching a try. I moved to Sheffield from my home town of Leicester and was working as a labourer in a tool making factory when I saw the advert for a science teacher.

I was duly called to attend for an interview and was interviewed by the Head teacher and representatives from the governing body.

What I did not know was that while I was being interviewed, a science teacher had informed the other interviewees that the job was to teach remedial science to low ability pupils. Some withdrew, and of the ones left, I was offered the job.

I started in September with a timetable of mainly low ability demotivated pupils. I also taught maths to an examination group and was told by the Head of Department that if I could teach these I could teach anyone. I soon realised the truth of this statement as they gave me a very hard time from the first lesson. I can remember a deputy head coming into the room near Christmas when they were trying to levitate a pupil rather than doing any maths!

So my teaching career had a difficult start but I soon found that 208

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despite many difficulties I enjoyed the job and got a buzz out of getting these difficult pupils to learn.

During one lesson I had been told to drop small pieces of sodium into water in a large glass trough, the metal fizzed and popped violently and the pupils were duly impressed. They persuaded me to do it again with larger pieces of metal. Keen to get extra kudos and gain respect I complied with spectacular results. The metal exploded and a gas jar that I was holding shot across the room, the glass trough split and the pupils were showered with a mild but corrosive solution. Other teachers fortunately heard the noise and rushed in and took over. I went to hospital with 4 pupils to get our eyes washed out and checked over. I made the front page of the local newspaper the next day and with this fame behind me went to school the next week, the head teacher saw me and made it very clear that he was not impressed by the notoriety of his new science teacher but very relieved that no one had been hurt.

While I was at this school I was attempting to teach chemistry to a difficult group of 15 year olds when one of the pupils decided that the easiest way to uncork a glass boiling tube was to use his teeth.

Unfortunately he bit into the glass rather than the bung and it broke in his mouth. He ran out of the room spitting glass in all directions.

He was not hurt at all but a visit to the school nurse was necessary to wash his mouth out.

The basic skills required for teaching then had not changed in years.

We all used chalk and a blackboard and if pupils misbehaved we were allowed to hit them, while badly behaved pupils were caned. It was not unknown for chalk, or even a board duster, to be thrown at a pupil not paying attention to the lesson. I gained a reputation by throwing chalk at a pupil that knocked his pen out of his hand when he should have been listening not writing, however, I decided to stop this after hitting a pupil with glasses between the eyes! It often seemed that the same pupils were being punished the whole time so these sanctions were not very effective.

If we wanted multiple copies of a work sheet we used a Banda 209

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machine, which had been invented in 1923 (photocopiers were unheard-of). This machine used an alcohol-based solvent called Banda fluid. As you turned the drum you hoped it would take one piece of paper at a time and leave a clear if smelly impression on the paper. Too much time spent near Banda fluid would leave you with a headache and very unsteady legs. Some pupils took great pleasure sniffing a freshly copied worksheet!

I stayed at my first school for just over 2 years and then moved to a school in a village near Barnsley at Easter 1978. This was a promotion as I was now second in the physics department and was allowed to teach sixth formers A level physics.

My predecessor had taken an interest in a new teaching tool that had just been introduced into schools - this was a computer!

The Maths Department looked after this equipment and I was very keen to try using it in the class room. The Research Machines 380Z comprised a television, a large 19 inch wide unit and a separate keyboard, plus a tape player. It was not portable and a class had to be taken to the room it was kept in. We were all very proud of it and began to think how we could use it. There was very little software available for it and you had to learn how to program it yourself. I found programming absorbing and as well as programs for school, I took great pleasure in writing space shooter programs.

In 1982 I moved to another school in Barnsley, this time I was Head of Physics and computers were starting to make an impact on schools and I was very excited by the possibilities that they offered.

Now, all schools had to decide which computers to buy. There were many small companies producing computers, and if the wrong ones were bought, the school could end up with a room full of redundant technology and a very embarrassed teacher.

The decision was made for many schools by the BBC, which in the early 1980始s started a computer literacy course, using a new computer made by a company called Acorn. The advantage of this was that it was all in one fairly portable unit and the operating system could not be tampered with. This, and a rugged construction, made it very suitable for schools. These computers were used in most 210

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schools throughout the 1980始s and into the 1990始s. Very few BBC computers were damaged despite heavy use, and a few are still being used 20 years later.

Software now started to be written in quantity for the BBC, and teachers could book computer rooms or simulate experiments on a screen in a way that had never been possible before. A typical example in science was animations of the human body showing how the various systems worked. In physics the effect of zero gravity on movement could be investigated in a way that had never been done before. I wrote a program to show how the trajectory of a bullet changes when it was fired from a gun at different angles and different velocities. In those days a lesson involving a computer was almost guaranteed to be a success.

The basic skills of teaching still had to be used and part of the fun in teaching was involving pupils directly in the lessons as a way to get immediate attention. I found that little dramas using pupils to represent particles could be a way to introduce pupils to the motion of atoms in solids, liquids and gases.

Another popular lesson was to use a high voltage generator to make pupils hair stand on end or to give them harmless electric shocks.

Pupils would queue up to take part, daring each other to touch them and get a shock.

Special events were always popular and we had a show in the school in which big insects from around the world were handled.

Centipedes six inches long were handed round, and willing pupils held them, but the star of the show was always the tarantula spider. I was dared by pupils to hold this insect, and in order to maintain respect as a fearless teacher, I allowed a spider to be placed on my hand. I can still feel its sharp feet delicately resting there - I am told that my expression was one of extreme anxiety.

It became evident that the computer was a tool which could enable teaching to be more effective, for instance, it was possible to type and word process worksheets and examination questions. These could then be saved on the computer and used at any other time.

Photocopiers were now commonplace and used in schools to 211

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produce copies of documents and class sets of typed worksheets. A firm called Acorn produced a new range called Archimedes computers which could be moved from room to room on a trolley.

They were faster, had better graphics and were more user-friendly than the ones they replaced.

Another major decision had to be made, when companies began producing the first true PCĘźs (personal computers), with a Windows operating system. At the school I was teaching in, the technology department was the first to go over to these. The early versions were susceptible to pupils altering various settings and preventing them from working, a problem we never had with Acorn, so initial feelings were negative towards them, but gradually they took over because of their flexibility and the amount of educational software that was available. They were also the type of computers used outside school, so pupils could use them at home, and so they rapidly became the type of computer used throughout the school both for teaching and for administration.

All the computers are now networked and can be connected to the Internet. This access to information has enabled pupils to research topics and find out things for themselves. Unfortunately some pupils try to access unsuitable sites, so software has to be in place to prevent that, which also cuts off some innocent sites and can make research very frustrating. Lessons involving computers are still very popular and most pupils enjoy working at their own pace on a screen.

Like all things, technology can be abused, and a teacher in a computer room has to check that the pupils are not playing games rather than working.

In most lessons the basic equipment of pens, pencils and rulers are still needed, and many pupils do not bring them to school, so the start of each lesson would be punctuated by cries of - “Can I borrow a pen/pencil/ruler?� The hardest thing was to remember to collect them in at the end of the lesson, as if you forgot, the pen went with the pupil.

Practical science lessons with Bunsen burners were a source of 212

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danger with writing equipment, and many pencils ended up with charred ends, or plastic pens heated and twisted into interesting shapes.

It is vital in teaching to have a sense of humour and this can be used as a weapon at times. I remember a particularly difficult pupil making me jump as I went through a door, so I decided to use humour rather than anger to make a point. I gave him a lecture pretending that I had a pace-maker and could have had a heart attack because of his actions. As I carried on, the colour began to drain from his face so the point was made. He probably still thinks that he nearly gave his science teacher a heart attack.

A good teacher will try anything to get pupils attention and to make a point that pupils will not forget. One of my colleagues was teaching human reproduction and was puzzled how to deal with the pupils始 embarrassment when they referred to reproductive organs. She decided to get over this in one lesson and so had the pupils chanting the names of the organs very loudly for a whole lesson. She told me later that it seemed to work but what the OFSTED inspectors thought as they walked past the door cannot be known!

The Children in Need day was always popular at school as it gave the pupils a chance to have special events and collect money. I had a large beard and pupils frequently asked me to let them sponsor me to shave it off. This was always done in the school hall usually by teaching assistants with great drama as I was dragged protesting into a large chair and held down while being shaved with a large pair of scissors. One year this got slightly out of hand and three teachers ended up with shaved heads as well!

A highlight of my teaching career was when a tutor group I had looked after for four years presented me with an engraved pewter mug on my final day with them. This was the only time I actually shed tears in front of a class.

By the time I retired, technology had reached the point where each teacher had a lap top and a register was taken at the beginning of each lesson by accessing the database with the pupils timetables 213

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and then marking the pupils present or absent on the screen. In many rooms the blackboard has gone and the teacher writes with a marker onto an interactive screen.

Many teachers do not keep a mark book but enter marks electronically from their laptop onto the school system. The aim was to move towards a paper- free school with all communication and notices being sent via email to the teacher始s laptop. The problem with this is that busy teachers do not have time during the day to check their emails so they frequently are not answered for some days.

By now all school records are kept on the computer network and teachers with the right password can access details about any pupil.

The changes in working practices and demands have changed vastly over just the last 10 years and this is all due to one thing, the computer. It has enabled teachers to access vast amounts of information about each pupil and enabled pupils to access a greater range of activities than ever before. Pupils leave school with a far greater confidence in technology than ever before - if they are better educated is another story.

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Another aspect of education is the Apprenticeship Scheme, which was a popular and well-used method of training mainly young boys in various skilled trades, until it died out in the 1980始s and 90始s. For many of the men whose stories are recorded in this book, apprenticeship was the start of their working lives. It was a mixture of 驶on the job始 training and attendance at Day Release or Night School classes to learn the theory, and John Nettleship here describes how the system worked. Later he was to take up teaching.

Engineering Apprentice Training

In the late 1940s and early 50s the school leaving age was 15 and it was traditional to leave school at the end of the summer term. This meant that some school leavers were still only 14 years old when they started work.

Apprenticeships in the Engineering Industry were generally meant to be five Years from the age of 16 until 21. At that time Engineering apprentices were virtually 100 per cent male.

At 21 years of age, the apprentice would be regarded as a skilled man, but his experiences in the preceding years could vary tremendously. Generally speaking, larger companies were well organised and had defined programmes for the progress of their trainees. The common practice was for a boy to learn his trade on the job. He usually worked five and a half days per week, but one of those days would be on day release at Technical College. He would also be expected to attend evening classes on one or two evenings per week. The courses followed at college were usually for either City and Guilds or National Certificate qualifications. At the end of each year he would sit an exam, and provided he passed he would then be allowed to continue attending college the following a year. If he did not manage to pass the exam at the end of the year then in many cases, he would not be allowed a day release from work the following year. In such cases, if the boy wished to qualify, he would have to complete the course by attending evening classes in his own time.

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If the boy had started work at the age of 14 or 15 he would generally be employed as an odd jobber until he was 16. If he was employed by one of the larger companies, he would then probably spend the next 12 months in a special Training Workshop on a foundation course, learning a range of basic skills, under the tutorship of trained instructors. The instructors were usually experienced, skilled tradesmen, who had spent many years working on the shop floor. At the end of 12 months, the boys would then be moved on to the shop floor and would begin a programme of training, which from time to time moved them into the many different departments of the firm gaining experience in different aspects of the trade.

By the time they were approaching their 21st birthday they would have a good idea of which branch of the trade they would prefer to specialise in, and at the same time the company would know the best departments in which to offer the boy a permanent job. Training an apprentice for five Years is an extremely expensive business and naturally, companies would prefer to retain their trainees once they have become fully skilled. Unfortunately for the company, there was no obligation on the newly skilled man to stay with his firm and very often he would take his skills elsewhere for a higher rate of pay.

In smaller companies, the five year period of experience might be very different. Generally speaking, in such a situation, the trainee would learn his trade totally on the job, picking up skills in a haphazard way from the older men with whom he was working. It was unlikely that any of these men were 驶qualified instructors始. In some cases the range of skills that the boy was able to pick up could be quite narrow, and the facilities and opportunities for learning could be very restricted, depending on the type of product, which the firm turned out.

Obviously, the companies which were best known for the quality of their training, would be the first choice for any school leavers who were wanting to build a career in the industry. On the other hand, such companies would only engage those candidates who looked to be the most promising.

By the early 1960s, popular thinking was that apprenticeships should 216

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be more formally organised and qualifications should be more standardised. The Engineering Industry Training Board (E.I.T.B) was established, and subsequently published a set of standard programmes of training, which could be tested and recorded. A series of Training Manuals was published which between them covered most of the basic skills, which could be found across the wide spectrum of the engineering industry. By working through an appropriate selection of these modules, an apprenticeship could be completed in three years.

The first 12 months of this period was spent off the job in a specialised training centre. In a large company, this could be in a segregated area within the boundaries of the firm. Smaller firms would not have this facility and would have to outsource it elsewhere. The apprentices in this situation were usually sent to a local technical college or to a government sponsored training centre, where they would complete the fist year 驶off the job始 training. There was one such establishment in Petre Street, Sheffield. The instructors in these centres were all skilled tradesmen in their own right, but who in addition, had attended an Instructor Training Course themselves. This was considered necessary because a skilled tradesman, who was good at his job, might not necessarily be good at instructing a learner in those skills. These Instructor Training Courses were usually completed on a two week residential course, in a government sponsored training centre.

All the time during training, apprentices would be expected to maintain a written Log Book recording their experience, and from time to time would undertake set practical tests in order to gauge their progress. In larger companies, as the trainees progressed around the different departments, they would have to satisfy their foreman or departmental manager that logbooks and training records were being kept up to date.

Most smaller firms would not be in a position to employ anyone specifically as Training Officer but could overcome this by joining a Training Association. This would be a group of perhaps two dozen firms, who between them would employ the services of a mobile 217

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Training Officer.

Practical tests were set at intervals, and provided each test was satisfactorily completed at the first attempt, the trainee could finish his training and be classed as a skilled man by the end of three years.

Repeat attempts would extend the time taken to qualify. Many older tradesmen thought that this was devaluing the reputation of skilled workers and it took many years for the concept of shorter apprenticeships to become accepted.

These training schemes proved very successful for a number of years until manufacturing businesses in this country began to go into decline.

Gradually, the number of apprentices being taken on by firms reduced until very few skilled people were being produced in the industry. This obviously resulted in a shortage of skilled labour and only now in the early years of the 21st century is training of skilled craftspeople being given some priority once again.

The introduction of computers in teaching is also mentioned by John Nettleship, as a major force for change, along with shrinking budgets. He highlights the difficulties experienced by teachers when first faced with these strange new-fangled devices, and the by now well-known phenomenon of children teaching the adults!

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Woodwork teacher, 1974-1990

They say life begins at 40 and for me it did, or at least, it set me off on a different route. Whilst still at school I greatly admired my metalwork teacher and always wished that I could have his job when I left school. However, at that time I believed that teachers came from university, which was only for very rich and clever people.

Consequently when I left school I began an apprenticeship, and remained in the engineering industry for the next 25 years.

For approximately the last eight years of that period, I was concerned with the training of Engineering apprentices, first as an instructor and later as a training adviser. In the meantime, through part-time study I had acquired qualifications to higher national certificate level in mechanical engineering. All this time, I had a feeling that I would like to be a teacher of practical subjects. This feeling was reinforced when I visited apprentices who were sited in colleges. Their lecturers appeared to enjoy their work and had very good conditions of employment.

“I decided to take the plunge”

One summer holiday, I happened to visit a country fair, which included all the usual recruiting tents for various organizations, one of which was looking out for mature people to train as teachers of ʻDesign & Craftʼ. I picked up a leaflet which made the course look very attractive, and after much soul-searching, I decided to apply for a place on the course. The course was designed for mature people, minimum age 24, with proven experience in industry, and who were academically qualified to an appropriate level. I felt that I could satisfy all these conditions.

The course was full time residential for one year. Applying for a place would mean giving up a well-paid position with company car, decent salary etc and becoming a full-time student for the year, and this decision had, of course, to involve my wife. We had two sons aged 16 and 13, and my wife did not go out to work. We would have to live on our savings for that year, since apart from a small local authority grant, which just covered books and other materials, we would have no income. I decided to take the plunge and have never 219

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regretted it since. The college was in Retford, so I lived there all week and just came home at weekends. Although it was a hard time financially, the course was enjoyable, enlightening and enabled me to qualify as a teacher.

On completing the training, I looked for a position in a school. I found an advert for a metalwork teacher in a Sheffield school and applied for an interview. I came through this successfully and was offered a job, but was told there had been a change in the situation since the advert had been placed.

The school did not need a metalwork teacher now, but instead had a vacancy for a woodwork teacher. I said that I thought I should decline the offer of the job because my experience was all based in the world of mechanical engineering. The interviewing panel encouraged me to accept the position offered, because they were confident that I could cope with the different subject matter. They believed that as a skilled man in the engineering trade I would quickly be able to master the use of woodworking tools.

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I did have to quickly learn something about timber technology, and soon fell into the role of woodwork teacher. After only a few months teaching in the comprehensive school, a vacancy arose for a part time evening class tutor for adults, and I was persuaded to fill the position as an additional duty. So, after a very short time, I found myself teaching woodwork classes to secondary school children during daytime, and running evening classes for adults on two evenings per week.

At college we had been taught to spend time preparing lessons in such a way that pupils would be able to produce original work and to discover skills of their own. It came as a surprise therefore when starting work in a comprehensive school, that many of the older teachers had established for themselves a programme of lessons which they simply repeated year after a year. This made the job much easier since it meant that they had no need to keep devising new methods and ideas. By 1975 this method of working was already being regarded as old-fashioned and was discouraged by school inspectors.

A new trend at that time was towards discovery learning. This took the emphasis away from a more vocational type of training to what was known as design and craft. Instead of pupils following a set pattern of predetermined steps, they were encouraged to use basic design principles to look for solutions to problems set by the teacher.

Later, the pupils were encouraged to look out for problems themselves, which could then be solved by applying design principles. This meant that some of the time in the workshops was spent using pencil and paper rather than hard materials and craft tools. Although it was never officially stated as such, this was possibly due to cutting down on the cost of craft lessons. Year by year the budget allowed for spending on craft materials was reduced, and a considerable amount of ingenuity was required from teachers in order to keep the practical side of the subject possible.

By the 1980s, the subject area had become known as C.D.T. (craft, design and technology) and made use of wood, metal and plastics plus other materials. Woodwork Rooms, Metalwork Rooms and 221

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Technical Drawing Rooms gradually disappeared to be replaced by ʻMulti-mediaʼ Rooms.

Craft teachers developed a reputation for being scroungers since they were always on the lookout for sources of material, which they could acquire for little or no cost. Occasionally, a classroom in another part of the school would be modernized, and Formicatopped tables would be brought in to replace traditional desks and chairs, which were seen by some people to be old and worn out.

Outside contractors would prepare to load this ʻrubbishʼ into skips, but eagle-eyed woodwork teachers were always quickly on the scene ready to salvage the old desks and the old furniture. This was valuable material for design projects.

Many ingenious design solutions have grown out of half a dozen desk lids, sometimes in combination with a few washing up liquid bottles. In this way, many design projects were built around whatever available second-hand materials happened to be around at the time.

The subject continued to evolve with more work being done on paper and less on the workbench.

By the eighties, computers were creeping into schools. Teachers of all subjects were told to bring computerization into their lessons even though most of them had not the first idea how this could be done. At first, there might only be one of these new-fangled machines in the school and perhaps only one or two members of staff with any idea as to what it might do.

There was a belief that the Craft Department should be in the best position to make use of computers and when our department was presented with three PCʼs, we were regarded as being exceptionally well equipped. Some members of the craft department were expected to conduct lessons on the use of computers, but with their very limited experience, it was often the case that the pupils were more knowledgeable than the teachers.

As time progressed, more workshop space was given over to the creation of computer rooms. A class of thirty pupils might have a dozen or so computers to use between them. An inexperienced 222

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teacher would have devised a lesson plan beforehand, which was fine so long as things ran smoothly, but he would be completely stumped whenever a glitch occurred. The teacher would sometimes need to confess his ignorance of the finer points of computing, and it was not unusual for a pupil to help him out of a hole. On the other hand, some of the craftier pupils were capable of mischievously messing around with a programme in order to see the teacher sweat.

In theory, we now turn out pupils with enhanced thought processes, but who can始t knock a nail in straight.

In the space of twenty years, we had moved from making fire pokers, teapot stands and seagrass stools, to producing design solutions on screen.

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Switch boards and mailbags Changes at the Post Office

Sheffieldʼs well known Head Post Office in Fitzalan Square was built between1893 and 1910. It was the central Post Office, until it finally closed in 1999. It was also the central Sheffield Telegraph office until 1972 when the telephone switchboards moved to Telephone House, (now in 2008, up for sale), on Charter Row, and other telephone exchanges. The GPO itself had been abolished in 1969, and the Post Office Corporation set up. British Telecommunications (BT) was created in 1981 when the Post Office Corporation was split up, and British Telecom was later privatised in 1984. Side by side with these changes in the three hundred year old “Post Office”, there was an extraordinary change in technology, especially in telephone technology. Jim OʼBrien describes the old systems,” Originally we had huge numbers of staff. There would be maybe thirty switchboards in a line, and perhaps sixty boards in use during the day”. These stories record what it was like working through these changes in post offices and telecommunications. .

Kay Paterson went from two jobs, working as an Edison

Dictaphone secretary and also as an usherette, (a fourteen hour day), “I had to be inspected by the Chief Usherette before I went on duty”, to working as a telephonist at the Telephone Exchange in Fitzalan Square when she was twenty one.

I left school when I was 15 on the Friday and started work on the Monday. My first job was for a large department store. I worked in the cash office as a relief cashier, going to each cash desk (glass topped cubicles, one on each floor) where a cashier would sit, and relieve them for their breaks. I worked from 8.30 in the morning until 5pm, half an hour for dinner. I had my own little portable till and the place I hated most was the restaurant, because people would wait for the lift to come up, wrap their money inside their bill and push it 224

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under my window and get into the lift. By the time I had undone the counterfoil from around the money, sometimes it was short and this would come out of my meagre wages which were 18 shillings and nine pence plus a five shilling over/shorts float, making it £1 three shillings and nine pence per week. However, if it was short it came out of that, but if it was over it went to the company. I never remember getting any more than 18 shillings and nine pence. I felt a little like a goldfish in a bowl.

We had a good First Aid office. I remember during Flu outbreaks or bad winters, we were advised that anyone with colds should go to the nurse for a dose of Quinine. It tasted horrible but was supposed to keep the colds at bay.

I then worked as a Dictaphone secretary for the Chief Clerk of a tool manufacturing company during the day. I used the old Edison Dictaphone with the wax cylinders, which I now see for sale on the ʻFlog Itʼ programme. I started at £3 per week, which went up to £3 two shillings and sixpence when I passed my Touch Typing Certificate – which was done in my own time.

I worked Mon-Fri 8am to 5. By going in half an hour early and helping to do the post, I was allowed to leave at 5.00 instead of 5.30pm. I had to make the tea / Camp Coffee for my boss and I. This was done with the aid of a big kettle, at the top of a large unheated warehouse. In winter, as I suffered from bronchitis, my mum would sometimes give me a small mini bottle of whiskey, I would put half in my coffee and half in my bosses. When he drank his, I would hear “By, the coffeeʼs good this morning”, but this only occurred on the odd occasion. We took sandwiches for lunch and ate them in the office. There was a canteen but it was for factory staff and situated at the bottom of the factory yard and the office staff were told not to use it. We were not asked, we were told and we obeyed. We had a nurse, mainly for the factory staff because they worked with machinery.

My father was ill due to an accident on the railway where he worked, so mother had my £3 two shillings and six pence wages, and I went straight on to another job, working part time as an Usherette at the 225

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Gaumont Cinema in Barkers Pool. I earned £1 one shilling per week, working 5.30pm-11.00pm Mon – Sat from which I was stopped one shilling income tax.

I had a royal blue uniform with gold epaulettes and buttons and white bib with a black Dickey Bow tucked in the front. I had to be inspected by the Chief Usherette before I went on duty. I also had my hands and nails checked. I had to tear admission tickets into two, and stick one half onto a spike. At other times I had to show people to their seats. As we were the largest cinema in Sheffield, we had a telephone system to the vestibule waiting area where people would queue, (the films ran all afternoon then the first and second house at night). When a couple vacated the cinema, I would ask over the phone for ʻone double for gangway twoʼ, and as they came through the doors, I would direct them to their seats with my torch. We were the first cinema in Sheffield to have the wide screen, Cinerama and colour.

Johnnie Spitzer (now deceased) the manager of the Empire Theatre, often came to the Gaumont. He asked me if I would like to work for him for £3 per week with matinees on Saturdays as well as the evening work. I could also earn extra by selling ice cream in the intervals for which I received 10% of the takings. I also got two free tickets for each show.

My uniform was similar in style to that of the Gaumont but was maroon and gold with grey lapels. Before we could go home after the show, we had to check every seat for lost property and empty all the ashtrays, which were attached to the backs of the seats on our section. I used an old glove and a dust pan and held the record for doing all this in 3 minutes for the back stalls. I was always the first one back in the locker room. I left home in the morning at 7.30am and arrived home at night at 11.45pm. I really did enjoy the jobs. Mr Spitzer put an article in The Star about me working 14 hours a day and loving it.

At the Empire on my first night, I saw Morcambe and Wise along with Marion Ryan who was the singer with Edmundo Ross and his band. I saw so many of the old time favourites there. I even met Sean 226

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Connery when I went backstage on my 19th birthday, and he was with the chorus of ʻSouth Pacificʼ when they were on tour from London. Also Mary Martin (ʻIʼm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hairʼ), who was the mother of ʻJR of ʻDallasʼ fame. Just to mention a few, Old Mother Riley, Max Wall, Max Miller, Tommy Trinder, Charlie Chester. We even had for six weeks, Dancing Years on Ice with Olive Gilbert singing from the boxes. I remember seeing Bebe Daniels, Ben Lyon and Family, Dicky Valentine, Des OʼConnor as a very young singer and many more variety stars.

We had one variety act who would pour all kinds of different drinks all from the same flask, beer, pink gin. I was asked to take the beer in the glasses round the audience to taste, but I happened to be in the Gods that week and had to climb all the way up the stairs every night to do it. On the final night, they gave us each a bottle of Pink Gin as a reward for our help. My best friend, also an usherette was an ex Tiller Girl from the Palladium in London. Her family kept a Guest House and many of the acts stayed with them.

“Broad accents were frowned upon and I took elocution lessons.”

When I was 21, I gave up both jobs and went to work in Fitzalan Square at the Telephone Exchange, as a Telephonist. I had six weeks training, took an exam and this allowed me to go into the Exchange on three months probation. Each month you had a different coloured tag on your back to let the supervisors know how far into your time you were. At the end of the probationary period, you took the Civil Service Exam. Early shift was from 8.00am to 4.30 and late shift was from 9.30 to 6.00. We would work any hours between those times. We would swap shifts with our colleagues. You could either work one of their shifts on your half day off (Saturday), or pay them to work for you. This had to be arranged on a formal basis, written in a book, initialled by both of you and a supervisor so that everyone knew who would be covering that shift. If your shift finished at 4.30, you could cover for someone else until 6.00pm.

They would pay you in cash for this on the day.

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We used the old type headsets with the trumpet part on your chest fastened around the back of the neck with webbing and the headset fitted onto your head. You had to sit a Civil Service Exam, learn the codes for each area of the country, eg MR=Manchester, MR/DRO= Manchester Droyleden, had to know geography and places which had a suffix like Ashford – Middlesex or Ashford – Kent, you asked the caller which one. Broad accents were frowned upon and I took elocution lessons. I think I earned about £4 ten shillings and sixpence.

If colds were about, we used to wipe our telephone trumpets with a disinfected cloth. When the new plastic all in one headset came out, if you disinfected these, some girls came out in a rash.

It was a very busy job, and on local incoming, you were only allowed to work on there in a morning or afternoon. Your cords (all 32 sets of them) were up on the boards all the time. You could not see the boards for the crossed wires. Sometimes when callers cleared, it was difficult to find the associated cords to clear them down. You plugged into a light and said ʻSheffieldʼ and repeat what they asked for. The call might be Sheffield to Grimsby or Sheffield to Doncaster.

The left hand plugged into the ʻAnswerʼ light and the right hand plugged into where they wanted to go. Sometimes you had to dial a code for them to reach their final destination. It was very tiring. One half day at a time was quite enough.

I then transferred to London and became a Radio Operator with International Radio Telecommunications. It was situated in Wood Street, St Paulʼs at the top of a very old building now demolished.

You had to be G.P.O. trained to go there and I was there to help out over the Christmas period, and for this I had a further 8 weeks training. This included many new codes and how to deal with the tickets, which were (about) 7” long and 5” across and like two pages of a book. You also had to work in Greenwich Mean Time and in British Summer Time, so for 2.30, you would mark 14/15-30 hrs.

When I finished my allocated time, they asked me to stay on.

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Jim OʼBrien worked for many years in a non ferrous metal foundry, before starting work as a telephonist in 1960.

As he says, “In the end I got fed up with the job. When you are pouring the metal, the sweat runs off you, and although this was terrible in summer, it was even worse in winter, because the tools were frozen stiff and cold to handle. What is more, the fumes from some metals, particularly brass, were bad for the health, so I thought to myself – “There must be better ways to earn a living than this”, and I left.”

I left school in 1944 at the age of 14, and went to work for Ward & Payne, makers of garden tools, situated near the bottom of Walkley Lane. In addition to the usual garden tools they made shears for clipping sheep (not electrical ones). The hours were from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. and I moved around different departments just assisting.

Stayed two and a half years.

Second job. This was in a garage where I was an apprentice motor mechanic, but it only lasted about 18 months. In 1948 there was a crisis in the Middle East, possibly when Israel won itsʼ independence, and there was a big shortage of oil and petrol which caused a slump in the motor industry. There was no work for me so I had to leave.

By this time I was 18 and because I was given a three-year apprenticeship, my National Service was deferred until it was over.

At 21 I joined the RAF, where I was trained as a switchboard operator, and when I came out at the age of 23 I went back as a fully-fledged Moulder, at the Yorkshire Aluminium Company near Salmon Pastures, Attercliffe.

The moulding trade

We were working with non-ferrous metals such as brass, bronze and aluminium. There are different kinds of Moulder. Floor Moulders made huge castings in a sandpit. I was a Bench Moulder, working with small boxes. You received the pattern from the boss and make a casting (there are various ways e.g. forge casting, die casting).

The metal would be poured into the mould. I made my castings from wooden patterns. Pattern making was a trade in itself. When the 229

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mould is made, you have to build in tolerances to allow for the expansion and shrinking of the metal.

There were six moulders where I worked, paid either piece work or flat rate, depending on what was wanted. If it was a regular standing order you could price it and offer it to a man as piece work. He would agree with the boss on a price. First he decides how to make it, then knows how many he can do in a day, but if it is a one-off, itʼs a bit of a gamble.

Metal being fluid, all sorts of things can happen to it. If one section of a casting is thick and another thin, the thin will set first and where the two come together theyʼll sometimes crack. So you try to find ways of getting round it. You try one or two first, or you may be lucky first time. You donʼt get paid for faulty ones, so if a man has worked hard to make six and they are all faulty, heʼll not get paid for them, only the flat rate. So it all depends if itʼs a regular job or a new or one-off.

You have to find how to make it first, so there is no piece work on those.

The furnaceman knows in advance what the metal is and how much is needed – he or the Foreman decided this. The entrance point has a riser on top – holes for air to come out as the metal pushes through.

Each Moulder is responsible for pouring his own metal into the mouldings. He must decide how fast to pour it in – if too slow itʼll set before heʼs finished pouring. Setting time depends on the type of metal and thickness of the casting. You can see in the hole when itʼs not glowing red any more. The furnace can be up to 1500 degrees centigrade. The furnaceman puts metal in the Crucible (a kind of pot) and when its ready lifts it out of the furnace with tongs. This could be hazardous. Because the crucibles were re-used, the bottom sometimes dropped out of them while you were carrying them. Hot metal hits the cold floor and it explodes. You shout- “Drop it” and run as fast as you can.

After casting, the fettler takes over. His job is to clean it up, take the fash off, i.e. he trims the edges where the metal has run. Then it 230

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goes to a machine shop to be made up. You usually had no idea what you were making, because it was finished off elsewhere, and there were so many different things. I sometimes used to wonder “Whatever will they make from this?”

In the end I got fed up with the job.

Telephone Operator /Supervisor

It was now 1960, and I was out of work for about two months. I saw an Ad. in ʻThe Starʼ for Telephonists at the GPO, and having learned switchboard work in the RAF I decided to try. The telephone service then belonged to the Post Office and was located on the top floor of the General Post Office in Fitzalan Square. It was part of the Civil Service and we had to swear to the Official Secrets Act. The training lasted about two months.

Shifts As the phones had to be available round the clock, the operators worked in shifts. Usually men took the nights and women the days, but we all worked some Sundays at first, until it was decided to take women off them, to make the job more attractive. A night shift was 6p.m to 7 a.m., with a half hour break at 9.30 p.m., an hour at 1 a.m. and a half hour at 4 a.m. We usually worked two all-nights a week, and three 5 hour shifts from 6p.m. to 11p.m., five days a week. The rota covered 52 weeks each year, so you knew when you were on duty well ahead, and could swap duties with someone else if you needed a particular day off. We had two days a week off together, but not the same two days, and they were rarely Saturday and Sunday. Most folk were part-timers, and the men often had day jobs elsewhere in addition to the evening shifts. When I was first married in 1978, we had a 13-week rota, which was up on the kitchen wall.

When I started we used the old style switchboards, with holes, wires and plugs. There were two types of call – Trunk (long-distance), and Toll (local).

Most calls came through the Exchange, and it got very busy from 6 p.m. onwards when people got home from work and started to make calls, tailing off as the night went on.

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There were Toll Incoming Positions to connect local calls and Trunk Incoming Positions when distance operators came through for assistance. All foreign calls went via London. Enquiry Positions dealt with things like faults, alarm calls. Directory Enquiries were answered using phone books. We had the whole of the British Isles, often one set for each position, or sometimes one set between two of us.

At the beginning only local calls, i.e. within Sheffield, could be dialled direct. Calls to places such as Bamford, Maltby and Retford had to be connected by the operator.

Trunk calls were to other towns in the U.K. and if you were on the Trunk Board you had to use a VIF (Visible Index File) which told you how to connect the call, e.g. a call to Harrogate involved plugging in to Leeds Line, dialling in a code for Harrogate Exchange and then ringing the number. You wrote out a ticket recording the length of time of each call so they could be priced. Each town had a short code, which you had to learn by heart during training e.g. Sheffield was SF, London- L. When I began, London numbers were e.g.

Whitehall 1212, so the code for that was L- WHI –1212.

Someone walks around collecting the tickets and filing them, and it was one of the night duty jobs, while calls were slacker, to start pricing up all these tickets. There were three different rates depending on distance, so e.g. Leeds might be A, Nottingham- B and London –C., for instance a 6-minute call at B rate. We were kept busy at nights also testing lines and the clocks which timed calls.

Even in those days we had some targets, and calls were monitored.

A man would time calls on a board. As soon as the light went on to indicate a call, the man plugged in a timer to see how long it took you to answer the call. This was called PCA – Percentage of Calls Answered.

Emergency positions were staffed at all times, we were all trained to take these. I remember when the Hillsborough Football Disaster happened I was off-duty but went in to help out. The IRA were active in those days, and telephone exchanges were seen as potential 232

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targets. We were always getting hoax calls and often the exchange had to be evacuated because of bomb threats.

Originally we had huge numbers of staff. There would be maybe thirty switchboards in a line, and perhaps sixty boards in use during the day, but only about 25 at night. There were Operators, Directory Enquiry Operators, Enquiry Operators and a few clerical posts who worked out our rotas, holidays etc. There were three ranks of Supervisors, One Chief Supervisor each for Day and Night, then Supervisors and Assistant Supervisors.

I became a supervisor. The method of promotion was, that when a vacancy arose, Management decided who they wanted. A less competent operator would be passed over. If a lot of candidates were equally good, seniority (i.e. length of service) decided the issue. You didn始t apply for promotion, you got chosen.

By the time I retired in 1990, there were only three ranks left altogether, Operator Service Supervisor, Senior Supervisor and Operator.

Changes

Once they started, these came thick and fast.

1. Places like Bamford and Maltby became automatic.

2. Subscriber Trunk Dialling (STD) meant customers could dial their own trunk calls 3.Privatisation of BT. We were no longer part of the Post Office, so had to move out of Fitzalan Square to Wellington Street.

4. New equipment. The old boards were replaced by cordless ones with switches, and calls could be timed through the system.

5. Long distance calls could be made direct by customers 6. Computerisation of Directory Enquiries.

7. Over time, staff facilities changed. While we were in the post office there was a canteen for the postmen, which we could use. In Telephone House(Charter Row), there was a restaurant with subsidised meals, and when I first retired I could still go back for meals, but then a private firm took over and eventually retirees were stopped from using the restaurant for security reasons.

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At the time I left they began to use computers to gauge the work of operators. Everything they did was recorded, and everything had to done as quickly as possible. This was not popular. It put a lot of pressure on staff to do more in the time.

Valerie Salim on working on the Christmas post.

In the late fifties and early sixties, when I was a student at Birmingham University, coming home to Sheffield during the Christmas vacation, I followed the tradition of many of my fellow students by working on the post during the run up to Christmas.

At the beginning of the previous summer I sent off for an application form to the Head Office of the G.P.O. in Sheffield, in the happy knowledge that, in those days when sorting was done by hand before automatic sorting machines and post codes, the postal system would collapse without the assistance of temporary workers to deal with the huge volume of Christmas mail. Fortunately, ʻjunk mailʼ was a concept of the distant future.

On the application form, where I was asked what time I would be able to start work, I wrote ʻ9 a.m.ʼ, knowing that this would exclude me from doing deliveries. Some of my friends actually preferred to do deliveries, as it meant they would finish work early, even though at that time, there were two deliveries a day with even more nearer Christmas. On their application forms, they wrote down which postal districts they would prefer to work in, so they would not be sent to one they were unfamiliar with. I shuddered at the thought of setting off with a heavy post bag on a dark morning and possibly struggling through heavy rain or snow.

I was happy to catch the tram, which ran every seven minutes and on time, to Pond Street and report for duty in the nice warm, dry, cavernous sorting office. I would be working until 5 oʼclock with an hour off for lunch at midday, when I would go out to a nearby restaurant. As a churchgoer, I had said that I did not wish to work on Sundays. One year when I found that I had been scheduled to work 234

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on a Sunday, I had to arrange a swap with a colleague. I was to be paid about £10 a week after tax. As a student paying only £2 ten shillings (£2.50) a week in digs (sharing a room and the price including breakfast and all meals at weekend), I was able to manage very well on £5 per week, so £10 was riches indeed.

The permanent staff were a friendly lot and soon showed us students how to go on, but we did not have much time for fraternisation as we were kept busy, with only brief respites between deliveries of the next sacks of incoming post. I soon got the hang of which letter went into which cubby hole. Sometimes, the sender had omitted to add the district number to a Sheffield address, but we soon learned the district numbers of the main roads. If in doubt, the letters were set aside for a permanent sorter to deal with. Perhaps handwriting was better then than it is now. Usually we had no trouble with reading addresses. Problems did arise however when the sender omitted to include the house number, or even the name of the town! Then detective work was required.

Parcels were usually dealt with by the stronger men. Stickers with ʻFragileʼ, ʻHandle with careʼ and ʻThis way upʼ usually ensured that they were tossed lightly across the room. If senders could have seen what happened to their parcels, they would have taken greater care in wrapping them. Did the large teddy bear, which had lost the half of its wrappings with the label on it, ever reach its intended destination?

Perhaps the wrapping had been torn when coming into contact with another parcel with sharp corners. At least, it had not been soaked by the contents of the unpadded whiskey bottle! Such items ended up in a storeroom until claimed. As for myself, I learned to add addresses both inside and out of anything I send. I am also very generous with padding, string and sticky tape.

I never send anything fragile by post.

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Christine Connelly, was born into a village post office family, and describes her delivery round, “a distance of about 8 miles in total, and of course, this was all done on foot.” She ran the post office in Low Bradfield until 1996, by which time increased car ownership and use meant that fewer and fewer people came to the village post office.

I have lived in Bradfield all my life. My Grandad was the village blacksmith (the smithy is now a garage), and he also had the licence to run the post office, although in practice, my mother ran it for him.

When Grandad died, my father held the licence, but Mum still ran the business, which, in addition to the post office, comprised a village store. The post office at Low Bradfield opened in 1935. Before that it was at High Bradfield near the church. There were two shops in the village, ours and one owned by Grandadʼs brother, and there was also a corn mill.

I started helping my mother in the shop and post office when I was 15, and began delivering the post in 1963, giving up in 1971 when my second child was due. My role was to deliver the post, and then help in the shop when I had finished delivering. Altogether I did about 7 years on deliveries. There was only one delivery a day, in the morning. I would set off about 7 or 7.30 a.m. and be finished by about 10.30 or 11 a.m. There were three rounds. Mine comprised Low Bradfield, and along the Dale as far as Strines Reservoir House, a distance of about 8 miles in total, and of course, this was all done on foot. The other two rounds were Kirkedge, part of High Bradfield, Holdsworth and Benthills.

The post would be brought from Sheffield by van and mum would sort it into the three Rounds. Then there was the Sheffield Telegraph, which all the farmers took daily. Another frequent piece of mail were the ʻMilk Shortagesʼ letters. These were to inform the farmers if their cans of milk were not correctly full, and that they would be paid less in consequence. These letters were often torn up on the spot. If there were parcels to deliver the bag could be heavy, but if they were very heavy, people had to come to the post office to collect them.

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My usual route was to do all the village, then one side along the Dale, and down the other side to Agden, keeping as far as possible off the roads. Winters were much worse then, with lots more snow.

One lane was blocked for 7 weeks, but I could get through the fields at the side, because the snow had been blown off the fields into the lane, where it was piled high. Another year there was a big freeze, with icicles everywhere, and the weight of ice brought the Telegraph wires down.

At one time ours was the only telephone in the village, and mum took messages to people. One day she had to go to an old lady whose husband was very ill in hospital – as soon as she saw my mother she knew he had died. There were also telegrams, which often brought bad news, especially during the war. My father took one to the Strines Inn telling them their son had been killed, and I took one to an old lady whose niece had died. You knew people expected bad news as soon as they saw you. Of course, the nice thing about telegrams was when they began doing fancy cards for weddings, which were very popular for some time. My brother took one to a wedding at the big house at the end of Strines Dam, and when he got back he found another one had come for them, and had to go all the way back.

The sort of business the post office did in those days involved peopleĘźs financial dealings quite a lot, and for this reason, we never employed anyone who lived in the village. I helped my mother, and my daughter helped me for some years. Confidentiality was very important. We sold postal orders, and National Savings stamps, with pictures of Prince Charles and Princess Anne on them, and gave out the certificates. They came in two values, two shillings and sixpence and sixpence. Lots of people did not have bank accounts so they would pay their rates at the post office, and more recently buy fishing licences. We applied to sell Road Tax certificates, but this was refused, so people had to go to Hillsborough or Oughtibridge.

When people had no cars, our business was good. We sold all kinds of groceries and other items, and also paraffin. This was kept in an outhouse, and we had to fetch it round the outside to the front door 237

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for people. The post office was the meeting place for the whole village and we had some good times there.

While I was there, they began deliveries by van, but computers did not come in till after I gave up in about 1996. It was all manual work, paper and pen, rubber stamps, and lots of adding-up. We were never robbed, but we had a scare just before I gave up. The police got information that something was planned, and they stayed with me for two days, hiding in a room at the side, but I始m glad to say that nothing happened.

It was the opening of Supermarkets at Hillsborough that spoiled things for the little shops. The old folk still got their groceries from us, but the young ones had cars and went to Hillsborough, because we could not compete on prices with the supermarkets. We were too near Hillsborough, and things got difficult. I could not afford to pay anyone to work with me, and so it was a seven day a week job, and I was bringing up a family.

Christine and her Mum, Low Bradfield Post Office 238

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Then the changes began. Postal Orders and Savings stamps ended, and most people were getting their pensions and family allowances paid straight into the bank. Our monopoly on the sale of postage stamps went, so that people could buy them anywhere, and more and more post offices were being closed.

We had never owned the premises, which belonged to Sheffield Council, but eventually they sold them to the local Parish Council, who ensured it remained a post office. Mum lived at the back of the shop, and after my marriage I lived just up the road. I have only ever lived in those two houses in my whole life. I did 16 years as subpostmistress in the post office and gave up about 12 years ago, in 1996.

Now it is partly a cafĂŠ, which has helped the business along.

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Flowers and mowers

Working for Sheffield Parks Department In 1842 the ʻReport on the conditions of the Town of Sheffieldʼ for the Royal Commission on Health of Towns, the author observes, ”There are no public gardens or any open space of any extent for the people to walk and enjoy themselves in.”

By 1897 Sheffield City Council had opened six major parks in Sheffield. The City Council continued to purchase land to create many more parks, childrenʼs playgrounds and open spaces.

John Harris tried several jobs before he went to work for the Parks Department when he was eighteen, where he stayed, apart from three years working as a postman, for over thirty years. Cuts in the Department during the 80s and 90s, and the threat of redundancy led him to enjoy a new job working as a child care assistant with severely disabled children, for the last 12 years of his working life.

I was born at number 10, Houstead Road, Handsworth. At the age of five, I started school at Whitby Road School, Darnall, then later Whitby Road Annexe, next door to Darnall Fire Station. At the age of 12 onwards I went to Owler Lane Secondary Modern School, then left at 16. My father, Samuel, worked as a steelworks joiner at Firth Brown. My mother Dorothy did various jobs. Light assembly work at Dennis Flathers was one of them.

Office work

I began work at 16, this was in 1956, at a Solicitorʼs practice, Lucas, Howling & Appleby in the city centre on Church Street. I received the princely sum of two guineas a week for a 44 hour working week as a junior clerk. The office was furnished with ancient high desks and dark oak furniture, telephones and typewriters looking completely out of place in this gloomy office.

I came under the wing of a rather eccentric clerk, who during quiet periods tried to teach me how to write legal documents in old English 240

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Calligraphy, using a quill pen, which at least was in keeping with the Dickensian surroundings of the office. This exasperated the Head Secretary, who after examining my efforts, liberally decorated with blots, coldly suggested that I should learn how to type.

After a few weeks, I left for a more promising job as a junior clerk in a hospital administration centre, based at Nether Edge, the hours similar, the pay slightly more.

One of my duties involved copying committee meeting agendas using a Gestetner duplicating machine and stencils (no photocopiers in those days). One day I had 500 copies to run off, so to gain a few minutes I set the Duplicator at full speed, then nipped out for a quick coffee and cigarette, only to return to find the room full of flying sheets of paper. They were leaving the machine at such a speed, they were clearing the Stop on the tray.

Sign writer

After a time I decided that office work was not for me, so I took a job at Kennings on Leadmill Road, across from the tram-sheds. I was hoping to learn sign-writing. Pay was a little over £2 for a five and a half day week – 46 hours a week. However, most of the time was spent preparing cars for re-spraying. Paint-stripper was applied to the car, scraped off, then the car was rubbed down to bare metal using ʻwet and dryʼ paper dipped in water. You dried the finished result with a high pressure air-line, otherwise in a few seconds the car would begin to rust.

My training as a sign-writer initially consisted of watching one of the high-skilled craftsmen at work. He said “ Thaʼll not learn owt watchinʼ me, lad. Get thi sen on City & Guilds cuwerses (courses).”

One day the manager walked into the Spray Shop to find nearly everybody missing. In a dark corner he spotted a Bentley Limousine with muffled noise coming from within. Wearily he opened the door and eight sheepish sign-writers and spray painters accompanied by copious clouds of cigarette smoke stumbled out of the Bentley, just in time to hear on the car radio the result of the Grand National horse race.

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Shortly afterwards I left to take up a job as a painter and decorator for a small firm (the name I cannot remember), and enrolled on a City & Guilds Course. Ill health terminated this job.

Sheffield Parks Department

“If you can stand the first winter then youʼll be O.K.” On recovery I began work on the Sheffield Parks Department as a garden labourer, wage then was £5,10 shillings per week for a 5 and a half day week, 44 hours a week in 1958, rising to about £7and 10 shillings.

Washing facilities were very primitive. Being the new boy I was last in line to use the tepid dirty water in a galvanised bucket, trying to get a lather on the red carbolic soap provided. Invariably the towel was filthy and wringing wet. When I complained to one of the old hands he told me that when he started in the 1930ʼs there were no cabins or washing facilities, ominously adding, “If you can stand the first winter then youʼll be O.K.”

During winter the wooden hut we used for dinner breaks and shelter during heavy rain would be dismantled in readiness for removal to other sites in the city (usually to renovate grass verges or treeplanting). We were taken to these sites by a lorry driver who used to set off with engine racing at one rev below peak while we clung on for dear life on the back of the lorry, with the dismantled hut and various garden tools.

On various occasions in a week we were visited by the Time-keeper who was uncompromisingly strict regarding punctuality. Woe betide any charge-hand who was caught letting his men leave a few minutes early. “Look at the time!” he would shout, brandishing his watch in the luckless charge-handsʼ face, stabbing the dial with his forefinger. The following day the men would sometimes find they had been deducted fifteen minutes pay from their wages. Most of the charge-hands used pocket watches, as wrist-watches were considered as being rather effeminate by some.

There were quite a few ex-colliers on the Department and when the foreman retired one of them who was well-respected was promoted to take his place. To his utter bewilderment, some of the charge242

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hands cold-shouldered him. I can only assume that he was now regarded as ʻone of themʼ and no longer ʻone of usʼ. Sadly, after a few months he resigned and continued his final years as a working charge-hand.

One wintersʼ day heavy snow began falling, eventually stopping all traffic near the cabin. Assuming there would be no visit from the time-keeper, the charge-hand let us all go a quarter of an hour early.

No sooner had we gone, when he saw the dreaded trilby-hatted figure of the time-keeper, who had struggled through the snowdrifts in his van. The time-keeper was unable to open the door of the cabin because George, the charge-hand, was holding it shut for dear life. The time-keeper stepped back and took a run at the door just as George stepped back. “He nearly went through the other bloody side”, George recounted in awe, as he told us the tale the following morning.

Postman driver

I briefly left the Parks Department to work for the G.P.O. for a few shillings a week extra, about £10 for a 42 hour week, starting at 5.15 a.m. This was in 1961. After a while as a postman I took a job as a Postman Driver - the GPO used to teach you to drive in those days.

One day I was doing a foot delivery in the Hill Street area of Bramall Lane, which coincided with the Great Gales of Sheffield, 1962. It was very difficult to stand, never mind walk, in the tremendous winds. I had a Recorded Delivery letter to take to an end-terraced house, and with my head bowed, trying to dodge flying slates and other debris, knocked on the door. It was opened by a dishevelled, haggard-looking postman. “Iʼve not come in today, can you blame me”, he said, indicating upwards. I looked up, appalled. The entire chimney stack had collapsed, bringing down the roof and the complete upper floor – I wondered how safe the rest of the house was.

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Return to Parks Department

After a few years, finding the shift work too unsettling, I returned to the Parks Department, which was now on a 5-day week. Also, unlike the GPO, you could take your holidays when you wished. 1964.

After several years I was promoted to Charge-Hand and began to work on the then new Stannington Estate, which was grouped around two multi-storey flats on Deer Park Road. In the mid–70ʼs a bonus scheme was introduced, to measure the work done. The grass mowers were fitted with counters activated by a pin bolted to the inner wheel rim of the mower, then the dayʼs start and finish counter reading was entered on to a bonus sheet.

One bright spark had the idea of fitting two pins on the wheel. He wasnʼt so bright when he submitted his bonus sheet though. Had he been mowing grass at Silverstone Motor Racing Circuit, he would have passed Michael Schumacher. When the Head Clerk saw him about his vastly inflated bonus claim, he made the lame excuse that he had worked through his dinner break.

When petrol prices began to substantially increase in the late 70ʼs, a move nearer home seemed prudent, so I transferred to another new estate at Totley Brook. After a few years I fancied a change, so I finished up at Abbeydale Grange School and entered into a voluntary Course on Groundsmanship, becoming qualified in the first stage.

This was not recognised by the Parks Department, so consequently no extra pay was forthcoming.

After about three years at Abbeydale, a very attractive job came up situated at Ash House near the edge of the moors. Granville College needed another grounds-man. As the work had to be of a high standard, and being responsible for the maintenance and upkeep of a cricket square and 5 pitches, I kept my charge-hand status. At first I was working on my own, also there was a considerable amount of extra evening and weekend work, which suited me. Iʼd recently moved house and the extra money was very useful in 1979.

Eventually I had an assistant who started four and a half years after I did. His name was Peter. His work was excellent.

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The college sports pavilion at Ash House in Dore was supplied with a telephone which was constantly ringing – inevitably people wishing to contact Granville College and not the sports pavilion, and usually during my lunch break. So to ease the exasperation this caused I devised various names of fanciful organisations.

When one lady rang and asked for the college she was informed that she had contacted Inflatable Aircraft Carriers Ltd, then I supplied her with the correct number for Granville College. Seconds later she rang again – to be told she was speaking to the Hallamshire Choral Society for Massed Parrots and Mynah Birds. Yet again the correct telephone number was supplied. Incredibly she rang a third time – “Is that Granville College?”

“No Madam” I replied, “This is – “ “Not you again”! she shrieked, and hung up.

After 14 thoroughly enjoyable years, in the 1980ʼs things began to change. At first we were not too badly affected, being urged to strictly economise in the use of materials and tools.

Then the real threat of privatisation arrived, resulting in myself and the gardener at the Council-run Residence at Whirlow Court, being incorporated in, and based at, Whirlow Park, with staff so reduced that Whirlow, along with other parks and open spaces in Sheffield began to look very neglected.

Added to this, our working hours were changed – longer hours in summer – 7.30 a.m. to 5 p.m., and shorter hours in winter with a 4 day working week to adjust the 5 day summer and 4 day winter weeks to that of 37 hours. Overtime also ceased – any extra time unavoidably worked was deducted from a normal working week at a later date.

What I found really hard to take was the enforced drop in the standards of work. The reduced budget no longer allowed football pitches to be rolled, spiked or marked out with twine to create arrow straight touch lines. Because of the massive reductions in staff, everything had to be done as quickly and cheaply as possible – or not at all. Also it seemed that every 6 months we were all threatened with redundancy.

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This was a very miserable time, and I was thankful to take redeployment as a Child-Care Assistant, after being constantly threatened with redundancy. This was in 1993.

Child Care Assistant

About mid-December I received a telephone call asking me to attend an interview at Norfolk Park School (for Special Needs).

I canʼt remember much of what was said, but at the end I was called back into the headmistressʼs office. She looked at me and smiled – “We would like to offer you the post of child care assistant starting on January the third ” For a few moments I was speechless – thoughts whirling round in my mind.

How did I arrive in this situation? Have I made the right decision?

Would I be able to cope with this radically different work?

No longer would I be on my own working on football pitches in the fresh moorland wind, or repairing cricket wickets in the hot summer sun. I loved every minute of it, from the early morning cycle ride to work, through the woods, to hosing down the mud-spattered shower blocks at the end of the day.

So I was enormously relieved and grateful to accept the post of child care assistant at Norfolk Park Special School. The work could not have been more different. Instead of working mainly on my own I was with a teacher, another care assistant and a class of 7 children.

This doesnʼt seem like many children, but if one needed the urgent attention of the nurse, and another required a nappy change (this was a school with profound and multiple learning and behavioural problems), you would be very busy trying to cope with one crisis after another.

Vastly different from the structured day in my previous job, where only the weather altered your daily routine. I found the first year difficult and stressful, soon becoming convinced that I had made a bad mistake.

So I began looking around for another job and soon discovered there were very few suitable jobs I could do, especially as I was over 54 246

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years old. I would also lose my pay protection, which was part of the redeployment agreement at that time.

Fortunately circumstances changed and with a little more experience I began to enjoy the job, being able to feel I was becoming more useful. One of my jobs was to set up some ʻclimbingʼ equipment to create a small obstacle course to improve the muscle co-ordination of one of the children (who I shall call Jack).

At the end of each lesson I would say – “Well done Jack, youʼve worked really hard …..I shall now say the magic words…Back to class!” and off he went. One day I made the ʻcourseʼ really tricky as he had improved so much. We both walked into the hall and Jack looked at what he had to cope with. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said – “Back to class?”

After a shaky start, I had 12 happy years working with children who had profound learning difficulties and behavioural problems, until my retirement in 2005.

The Parks Department was set up in 1940, and was active in promoting food production and concerts and shows in the parks during the war, and after. In 1951 it took on looking after the open spaces on Council housing estates as John Harris describes. With the Council house building programme in the 1950s, 60s and 70s, many more groundsmen were employed. The 1980s and 1990s were hard times financially for the Council, with cuts and redundancies especially in the Recreation department. In 1966 the Parks department employed 718 ʻWorkpeopleʼ and 58 ʻStaffʼ. By 1988 the Recreation Department employed 1,300 people including sports workers, but they were making plans to lose 40 jobs a year through ʻnatural wastageʼ, and to redeploy about 40 people each year for the next three years to start with. In 2008 ʻParks, Woodlands, and Countrysideʼ employ 200 ground staff and 90 office staff. Weston Park has recently been returned to its former glory.

This has been made possible by local volunteers and grant aid.

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From 1970 Steve Paige 驶worked in most of the parks, gardens and cemeteries in Sheffield始.

He worked and trained alongside the apprentice gardeners, in a national scheme set up in 1959. The scheme ended in the 1980s. He worked at many parks, including Weston Park, the first municipal park to be opened in Sheffield, in 1874, a hundred years previously, and at Norton Nurseries, where nine commercial style nurseries were built between 1955 and 1962 to supply plants for most of the parks and Council buildings in Sheffield. The nurseries were finally closed down in 1999.

To be a Garden Boy

I left school in 1970 to go on a Preparation Course at the Handsworth Training Centre. This was known as the Skill Centre and was set up to train people in different jobs. I was trained under the Garden Instructors. They had a small greenhouse and we also made things like flagstones and rustic furniture. These items were sold commercially, which helped to pay for some social activities.

Eventually, they arranged for me to go to an interview for a full time job. First, I had to go to the Youth Employment Centre in West Street to collect a P60 Form. Then I had to go to the Recreation Offices in Meersbrook Park Road, where I met Don Williams who was the Curator of the Botanical Gardens. He told me that there was a vacancy for a Garden Boy to work in Shiregreen Cemetery.

They had apprentices learning to be professional gardeners and I was able to work with these for some of the time. We spent a lot of the time setting out bedding plants during Spring, Summer and Autumn. My main jobs as a garden boy were to mash tea, get dinners, and clean the cabin out. They also used to give me money to go on errands to the local shops, but they often argued saying I had not brought the right change back. We used to get paid weekly and a van would deliver the brown paper packets of cash, escorted by a Parks Patrol man.

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We sometimes had to help the gravediggers to fill in the graves. That was especially bad in winter when it was raining or snowing. Hands and feet got really frozen and sore. I could also smell rotting bodies, which made me feel ill. When the weather got very bad, we sometimes went inside the church and made sure it was clean and tidy.

Mr Williams was in charge of training for all garden boys and apprentices, and when he came to check up on how I was getting on, I told him I did not like it there. He arranged for me to transfer to Weston Park where I got on well with the men who worked there. We would sometimes go over to Crookes Valley Park to help the men there.

Later, I went on a training course to learn more skilled jobs. We learned how to prune roses and larger trees, how to sow seed properly and how to lay turf. We also looked at machinery like grass cutters, and learned how to mark out football and cricket pitches.

Boys who were especially good at all these tasks were allowed to become apprentices.

We also spent some time at the Norton Nurseries where we learned other skills like grafting roses, preparing flowerbeds and potting up plants. There were also routine chores to do like washing plant pots.

Some were plastic and some were clay. One clay pot had been broken and the pieces fastened back together with wire. I decided to throw it away, but the supervisor went mad at me when he found out.

It was a valuable pot which had been accidentally damaged and which he had carefully restored.

I went back working in various parks and gardens. In winter, we had different jobs to do like, repairing fences, mending floodlights, cleaning out the dams etc.

One job, which can be quite nasty, is cutting the grass with small machines. Sometimes they would scatter dog dirt at you or occasionally, the decomposing bodies of small animals.

We would also break the pond ice so that the ducks could feed themselves. One of our biggest jobs was when they sent us up to 249

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Forge Dam, which had silted up. We had spades, picks and crowbars to clean out all the silt. We wore big waders to try to keep dry but occasionally fell over and got soaked. The café ladies kept making us tea to keep us warm.

I have worked in most of the parks, gardens and cemeteries in Sheffield and it was generally good working for the council.

ʻRepairing the pitch at Beighton Sports Groundʼ

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Glossary

Glossary Annealing Backer Beck iron Bellows Blank Bosh

Bull week Burnish Calender

Capstan lathe Chamfer Cogging

heat treatment of steel to soften it, by heating and cooling slowly. operator who receives material which has been passed through a rolling mill. He returns it to the roller if more rolling is required.

a beak shaped tool, also the pointed end of an anvil, used for bending metal.

A leather construction, which can be compressed, which forces the air within through a metal tube (a twyer or tueiron) into a forge or blacksmith始s hearth. a stamping of metal requiring further work to finish. a container of fluid, ie water, oil or similar. Used for quenching a heated item for rapid cooling, this is often referred to as hardening or tempering.

the week prior to a recognised holiday when workers would work at maximum production to receive maximum money.

a smooth steel tool used with much pressure, by hand, to bring a high polish to an item, which then resists corrosion.

machine in which cloth or paper is pressed by rollers to glaze or smooth it.

a machine for shaping revolving metal into a required shape with a series of pre-set cutting tools. a bevel or angle.

using a power hammer to form a required shape.

Forging or rolling steel.

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Glossary

Cross roll

a method of extending width of metal sideways, for forming extra width for spoon bowls.

Datal

a person paid by the hour/day/week, as against piecework (paid by the item). Also a slang expression for someone slow or dilatory.

Cuckoos

Donkey stone Drawing Fash

Fashing Fettling

work rejected, and sent back to be put right.

a fairly soft fawn coloured stone, used for decorating steps and window sills of houses. Sometimes whitening was used instead. reducing the diameter of steel wire or rod by forcing through steel dies.

a rough edge produced during manufacture of an article. removal of this unwanted protrusion

cleaning metal castings with a pneumatic chisel.

The Finishing of metal

1. Grinding first process in the finishing and polishing of a metal piece.

Gritstone or sandstone grinding wheels were used until they were replaced by synthetic abrasives (carborundum) in the 1920s. (grinder)

2. Glazing the next process, using a wooden wheel covered in leather or hide, dressed with glue and emery. (glazer) 3. Buffing following process, polishing the metal further using a wooden wheel, and a hide surface dressed with buffing sand (pumice). (buffer)

4. Polishing Final process, using cloth dollies, and polishing compound.

A dolly being a number of calico discs clamped together and revolving on a spindle.

Firth Staybrite

a patented form of stainless steel, an alloy with nickel and chrome, which lacks cutting properties.

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Fly press Gaffer

Ganister/ gannister

Glossary

a hand operated machine, sited on a bench, used for cutting, punching and bending small items. foreman, manager, supervisor, or often the boss.

a mixture of grit or hard sandstone and fireclay found with some coal seams, eg at Parkwood Springs, used for making crucible pots and furnace linings.

High speed steel a steel alloy containing cobalt, capable of cutting and drilling other materials at high speed, without losing its hardness or temper, used for making tools.

Linishing

Little mester

Milling machine Pickle Pyrometer Sheffield type press Shot blasting Special steels

a method of finishing a metal piece by applying it to a (linen) belt covered in abrasive material. a self employed craftsman.

a machine for shaping a piece of metal by using revolving cutters.

to immerse metal items in strong acids to remove oxides, and scale.

an instrument for measuring very high temperatures, eg in a furnace. a machine, with a flywheel approx 4-5 feet in diameter, driven by a motor and a heavy 5-6 inch width belt. Rotary motion is converted to reciprocal motion to press metal into a required shape, using steel dies.

using a violent blast of air to force shot or sand onto a material to remove oxide, paint to produce a better finished surface. steel alloys used in the tool and aero industry, also stainless steel.

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Stamping Tapping Teemer

Glossary

shaping metal with a heavy hammer, free falling, but raised by a power driven belt and pulley. (hammer driver) pouring molten steel or iron from a furnace.

a man who pours molten metal from a crucible or a ladle into a mould allowing it to cool into a permanent shape.

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