Oisin
gone but not forgotten
This is a work of fiction based on a real incident. It is set in Birmingham in 1968 but could be anywhere at any time. The names of all the characters have been changed to protect me from legal action:
THE NOTICE
It was another hot summer’s Friday lunchtime. Taking advantage of the good weather, we were sitting on the low pub windowsill watching the traffic and crowds go by. With my boiler suit rolled down to my waist to expose as much skin as possible, on one side I had Tom Ellis, on the other Paddy Mahan. We were all nursing pints of M & B’s mild.
Despite the good weather, we were aware of a dark cloud on the horizon, concerning our employment at Billings Engineering, Co. Ltd. But we were blessed with the optimism of youth.
‘Bloody hell, what’s up with the three wise monkeys?’ Vivienne Short from the Progress Office stopped to comment on her way to the paper shop.
‘You make the best of us, while you can,’ Tom raised a smile, ‘Cos it looks like we ain’t gonna be round here for much longer.’
Vivienne wasn’t the best looking girl at Billings Engineering, but the way she wore her tight skinny-ribbed sweaters and mini skirts, had sparked venomous rivalry between my two colleagues. All eyes were on her as she pushed a few strands of light brown hair away from her brow and frowned, quizzically, ‘I thought it was last in first out.’
‘Yeah, but apparently, our service is only calculated from the time we finished our apprenticeships,’ Paddy explained. Then, shifting his eyes from Vivienne’s thighs and onto us, he added, ‘Remember what the old ‘uns told us, lads? ‘…Get yourself a trade, son, and you’ll always have a job…’ Bloody hell, look where it’s landed us!’ He swung his attention back to Vivienne. ‘Anybody in your department heard anything yet?’
Vivienne shook her head. ‘No, but I’ve heard some in Despatch had letters with their wage slips this week.’
‘Well there you are,’ Tom offered, ‘maybe the old ‘uns weren’t talking out of their arses after all. At least we can do what George and Pete did, and bugger off if the pickings get too lean here. But them poor buggers in Despatch ain’t got a chance - who wants unskilled loaders?’
‘Me, go to Australia!’ Paddy took him to task, ‘I ain’t being shipped out there like some soddin’ convict!’
‘Well, whatever,’ I tried to sound positive, ‘we made a few bob to keep us going while the work was there. So at least we’ve got a bit of time to look round.’
Tom saw it in a different light. ‘Yeah, worked our cobs off with overtime and everything, and what for? To produce the best plant and machinery possible to be handed over to some corrupt regime that had no intention of paying for it. Worked ourselves out of work – that’s what we’ve done.’
‘And who gets the blame?’ Paddy joined in, ‘Not the stupid top management who negotiated a bum deal! Oh no, not them! It’s union practices that have caused the problem – factory rats like us demanding to be paid for what we do.’
‘Well, I’d love to spend my dinner hour talking politics with you lot,’ Vivienne told us with more than a hint of impatience, ‘but I’ve got to get a sandwich for myself and Woodbines for Harold Collins. He’ll have his fingers gnawed to his elbows if I don’t get back with them soon.’ She hesitated with an afterthought; ‘I’m going to the Alhambra with Linda and Jill tonight, if any of you are not too miserable to buy us a drink.’
‘Try and stop us!’ Tom grinned lecherously.
Vivienne went on her way, leaving us to watch the rest of the world go by, including the assembly line workers from Miller’s Jewellery Manufacturers. These girls were renowned for savaging any unsuspecting young male who came within six yards of them.
‘Buy us a drink, handsome?’ One particularly unattractive brunette winked at Paddy.
‘I’ll throw you a bone to chew!’ Paddy responded.
Tom was looking passed the girls. He had spotted Ray Tyler approaching.
‘How’s it goin’, Tyler? It’s an ill wind, ain’t it?’
Ray looked puzzled. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, if we all get the bullet, you’ll have a good reason to cancel them wedding plans you’ve got with Olive Oyle.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. Ray had been going out with Helen Groves for a couple of years. He was besotted with her. Because of her build she had been compared with Popeye’s girlfriend but this was the first time I’d heard her referred to as that in front of Ray. As a way of escaping the embarrassment and the outbreak of violence that seemed imminent, I waggled my empty glass at my comrades.
‘Just got time for one more, if you’re up to it…D’you fancy one, Ray?’
They all nodded the affirmative. I had barely rounded the corner on my way to the bar entrance when I almost bumped into Mickey Reynolds, a laid back Black Country bloke and deck foreman, noted for his dry sense of humour. He was heading back from his lunch break carrying a length of rope – the sort of thing used for lashing down lorry sheets.
‘Where you going with that?’ I quipped, believing the intention obvious.
‘Gonna ‘ang me bloody’ self, what d’ya think I’m doin’?’ he replied irritably.
‘Oh,’ I shrugged, ‘just wondered… Make sure you clock in first though, otherwise you won’t get paid,’ I jibed.
When I returned to my perch on the windowsill I was relieved to discover that, far from indulging in hostility, Tom and Ray were chatting away quite amiably.
Aware that our drinking time had been cut short by my longer than expected wait at the bar; I was rushing to get my pint down my neck when Paddy pointed out the futility of having any loyalty towards our employers.
‘What’s the rush?’ he asked. ‘The worst they can do is sack us and it looks like they’re gonna do that anyway. Let’s have another after this and see if we feel like going back then.’
Tom put the damper on these plans by reminding us that we would only be entitled to redundancy payments if we were actually made redundant and not sacked for a misdemeanour.
Even taking onboard Tom’s advice, we were a few minutes late making our way back to work.
To avoid detection, we sneaked into the works via a back loading bay, leading through to the metal stores. This was always a dimly lit area but coming in from the brilliant sunlight made it even more difficult for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I followed Ray in this state of half-blindness, with Tom and Paddy bringing up the rear.
The line suddenly came to a halt and concertinaed when Ray froze at the sight of Mickey Reynolds’ lifeless body dangling from an overhead girder.
THE END
THE NOTICE
It was another hot summer’s Friday lunchtime. Taking advantage of the good weather, we were sitting on the low pub windowsill watching the traffic and crowds go by. With my boiler suit rolled down to my waist to expose as much skin as possible, on one side I had Tom Ellis, on the other Paddy Mahan. We were all nursing pints of M & B’s mild.
Despite the good weather, we were aware of a dark cloud on the horizon, concerning our employment at Billings Engineering, Co. Ltd. But we were blessed with the optimism of youth.
‘Bloody hell, what’s up with the three wise monkeys?’ Vivienne Short from the Progress Office stopped to comment on her way to the paper shop.
‘You make the best of us, while you can,’ Tom raised a smile, ‘Cos it looks like we ain’t gonna be round here for much longer.’
Vivienne wasn’t the best looking girl at Billings Engineering, but the way she wore her tight skinny-ribbed sweaters and mini skirts, had sparked venomous rivalry between my two colleagues. All eyes were on her as she pushed a few strands of light brown hair away from her brow and frowned, quizzically, ‘I thought it was last in first out.’
‘Yeah, but apparently, our service is only calculated from the time we finished our apprenticeships,’ Paddy explained. Then, shifting his eyes from Vivienne’s thighs and onto us, he added, ‘Remember what the old ‘uns told us, lads? ‘…Get yourself a trade, son, and you’ll always have a job…’ Bloody hell, look where it’s landed us!’ He swung his attention back to Vivienne. ‘Anybody in your department heard anything yet?’
Vivienne shook her head. ‘No, but I’ve heard some in Despatch had letters with their wage slips this week.’
‘Well there you are,’ Tom offered, ‘maybe the old ‘uns weren’t talking out of their arses after all. At least we can do what George and Pete did, and bugger off if the pickings get too lean here. But them poor buggers in Despatch ain’t got a chance - who wants unskilled loaders?’
‘Me, go to Australia!’ Paddy took him to task, ‘I ain’t being shipped out there like some soddin’ convict!’
‘Well, whatever,’ I tried to sound positive, ‘we made a few bob to keep us going while the work was there. So at least we’ve got a bit of time to look round.’
Tom saw it in a different light. ‘Yeah, worked our cobs off with overtime and everything, and what for? To produce the best plant and machinery possible to be handed over to some corrupt regime that had no intention of paying for it. Worked ourselves out of work – that’s what we’ve done.’
‘And who gets the blame?’ Paddy joined in, ‘Not the stupid top management who negotiated a bum deal! Oh no, not them! It’s union practices that have caused the problem – factory rats like us demanding to be paid for what we do.’
‘Well, I’d love to spend my dinner hour talking politics with you lot,’ Vivienne told us with more than a hint of impatience, ‘but I’ve got to get a sandwich for myself and Woodbines for Harold Collins. He’ll have his fingers gnawed to his elbows if I don’t get back with them soon.’ She hesitated with an afterthought; ‘I’m going to the Alhambra with Linda and Jill tonight, if any of you are not too miserable to buy us a drink.’
‘Try and stop us!’ Tom grinned lecherously.
Vivienne went on her way, leaving us to watch the rest of the world go by, including the assembly line workers from Miller’s Jewellery Manufacturers. These girls were renowned for savaging any unsuspecting young male who came within six yards of them.
‘Buy us a drink, handsome?’ One particularly unattractive brunette winked at Paddy.
‘I’ll throw you a bone to chew!’ Paddy responded.
Tom was looking passed the girls. He had spotted Ray Tyler approaching.
‘How’s it goin’, Tyler? It’s an ill wind, ain’t it?’
Ray looked puzzled. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, if we all get the bullet, you’ll have a good reason to cancel them wedding plans you’ve got with Olive Oyle.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. Ray had been going out with Helen Groves for a couple of years. He was besotted with her. Because of her build she had been compared with Popeye’s girlfriend but this was the first time I’d heard her referred to as that in front of Ray. As a way of escaping the embarrassment and the outbreak of violence that seemed imminent, I waggled my empty glass at my comrades.
‘Just got time for one more, if you’re up to it…D’you fancy one, Ray?’
They all nodded the affirmative. I had barely rounded the corner on my way to the bar entrance when I almost bumped into Mickey Reynolds, a laid back Black Country bloke and deck foreman, noted for his dry sense of humour. He was heading back from his lunch break carrying a length of rope – the sort of thing used for lashing down lorry sheets.
‘Where you going with that?’ I quipped, believing the intention obvious.
‘Gonna ‘ang me bloody’ self, what d’ya think I’m doin’?’ he replied irritably.
‘Oh,’ I shrugged, ‘just wondered… Make sure you clock in first though, otherwise you won’t get paid,’ I jibed.
When I returned to my perch on the windowsill I was relieved to discover that, far from indulging in hostility, Tom and Ray were chatting away quite amiably.
Aware that our drinking time had been cut short by my longer than expected wait at the bar; I was rushing to get my pint down my neck when Paddy pointed out the futility of having any loyalty towards our employers.
‘What’s the rush?’ he asked. ‘The worst they can do is sack us and it looks like they’re gonna do that anyway. Let’s have another after this and see if we feel like going back then.’
Tom put the damper on these plans by reminding us that we would only be entitled to redundancy payments if we were actually made redundant and not sacked for a misdemeanour.
Even taking onboard Tom’s advice, we were a few minutes late making our way back to work.
To avoid detection, we sneaked into the works via a back loading bay, leading through to the metal stores. This was always a dimly lit area but coming in from the brilliant sunlight made it even more difficult for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I followed Ray in this state of half-blindness, with Tom and Paddy bringing up the rear.
The line suddenly came to a halt and concertinaed when Ray froze at the sight of Mickey Reynolds’ lifeless body dangling from an overhead girder.
THE END
