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Monday Memories – 1968.

An occasional series in which I share some significant events from my past.

At work, after completing my apprenticeship, I was designing components for eventual incorporation into the ill fated TSR2 defence project and the highly speculative super-sonic airliner Concord (Concorde if you are French). TSR stood for ‘Tactical Strike and Reconnaisance’. I’ve no idea why it was designated ‘2’. I suppose there must have been an earlier version of this aircraft. In any case it was cancelled, being deemed too expensive at the time.

There were four of us ex-apprentices within a couple of years of each other, each of whom got married in 1963 or ’64. As well as watching Hereford United football and socialising in the club’s Supporters’ Club we organised a couple of events of our own. One ‘initiative test’ involved lads being dropped off at various points on the outskirts of Chester. This was at 10pm and the task was to make our way back as quickly as possible. In another we set off at 8pm with the objective of getting as far away from Hereford as possible and back by 6pm the following day. This demanded judgement as well as initiative, determining when and where to commence the return journey so as not to be disqualified for being late. I and my partner achieved creditable results in both.

In the second we made it to a village called Misson in the northern corner of Nottinghamshire, not far from Doncaster. I remember a friendly policeman who stamped our form to confirm we had been there and treated us to a breakfast of tea and bacon butties in the kitchen of a factory making cattle feed pellets from grass. Apparently this was part of his morning routine.

At some point the company recruited a young draughtsman to augment the team of design draughtsmen. Originally from Lancashire, he was quite ambitious and would prove to have a significant, if indirect, impact on my future career.

He quickly found a better paid job with another firm based in Hereford, Denco Miller Ltd. The parent firm, Denco, had begun life just after the war manufacturing lubrication systems under licence from an American company. At some point they were approached by a refrigeration engineer called Alan Miller who saw an opportunity to use the principle of refrigeration in various industrial applications.

Denco Miller was the result of this collaboration. The company produced air conditioning plants for the burgeoning computer industry, and compressed air drying systems for manufacturing plants that used tools powered by compressed air. The company had just begun selling gas drying equipment to the nationalised regional gas companies who were converting from coal to oil as the source for gas production.

Marketed as ‘High Speed Gas’, this was a precursor to the yet to be discovered North Sea Gas. Delivered under pressure via a nationwide network of pipes, it replaced the low pressure distribution of coal gas which was stored in large tanks, or ‘gasometers’, which could be seen in every town of significant size. The nation’s town and city streets were being dug up to install these new pipes to deliver High Speed Gas to homes, and a programme was underway to convert domestic appliances to use the high pressure supply.

Denco Miller’s business was booming because of this and my former colleague was appointed as the new Chief Draughtsman and set about recruiting other colleagues. I succumbed to his felicitations, not so much a promise of higher earnings at once, but a near certainty of early promotion as the business expanded. So it was that, in February 1966, after a total of seven and a half years at the company where I had served my apprenticeship, I left to join Denco Miller.

Sure enough, within a few months I was promoted to the role of Contract Engineer. This meant I was put in charge of supervising the delivery of various projects from conception to commissioning.

Many of the new Synthetic Natural Gas production facilities were constructed as an integral part of an oil refinery and there were, at that time, a number of such projects underway in Britain. Such vast projects were managed by large companies using American project management techniques which could quite easily make mincemeat of small enterprises like ours working as sub-contractors. I was certainly not up to the job of negotiating with their Project Managers. Contracts tended to be priced low to ‘get a foot in the door’ in the hope of getting future business. My job was to screw as many concessions and payments for ‘extras’ as possible from the client, theirs to screw as much out of us as possible without paying more than the originally agreed price.

After one particularly difficult contract that lost money for the company I was ‘redeployed’ back to the drawing office. This made me determined to look for employment elsewhere – and I was in no doubt that it would have to be away from Hereford.

The first alternative opportunity I explored was as a Technical Journalist with a weekly publication called, I think, Engineering News. I went to their offices in London for an interview and was offered a job, but it would be at the same salary as I was already earning. The idea of trying to live on such a salary in London with its inflated housing costs simply did not appeal. I had responsibilities and we were managing reasonably well in our rural backwater.

It was not just the cost of living that deterred me from moving to London – traffic noise and fumes, over-crowded buses and Underground trains, and too many people crammed into poor quality housing seemed like a bad idea by comparison with our little house and garden a stones throw from open country.

A few months later I travelled to Cambridge to an interview with the electronics company Pye. They wanted someone to design equipment enclosures and manufacture prototypes. I would have access to a small workshop but would have to do the prototyping myself. Memories of some of the mistakes I’d made whilst working in various machine shops as an apprentice made me have second thoughts about that job.

I can best illustrate this by recounting an incident from my period in the so called ‘Short Order Department’. This was where small batches of components were manufactured, quantities that did not merit the expense of creating the tools and jigs required to produce large numbers of a particular set of components. As well as a number of basic machine tools, the department had a bench were certain items were hand made by a craftsman. Geoff was one of the nicest men I met during my apprenticeship or since.

A Scotsman, he had been mechanic to the Allard motor racing team after the war. He was not only a master craftsman but also a wonderful mentor and teacher for those of us apprentices fortunate enough to work alongside him. Upon my arrival in the department and introductions, he Christened me “Squire Parker from Peterchurch”. From then until the day I left the company I was known as “The Squire” or “Squire Parker”.

There is a technique for using a pillar drill which is one of the first, most basic things, a user learns. The object to be drilled needs to be supported so that when the drill bit exits the object it does not enter the table of the drill. Despite this, many of the old pillar drills with which various departments were equipped were peppered with holes left behind by individuals who had ignored the rules. One day the Short Order Department was treated to a brand new pillar drill. A few days later I was allocated a task which necessitated drilling a hole in a piece of aluminium. Everything was going fine until I noticed the silver coloured alluminium swarf from the drill had been replaced by dark grey slivers.

I felt the heat rise from my neck to my cheeks as I realised the error of my ways. I can well imagine that some of the craftsmen and supervisors alongside whom I had worked previously would have been unable to hide their anger at such incompetence and the spoiling of a new, expensive, piece of equipment. Not Geoff. Of course, he gave me a well deserved lecture. But he also set about finding a suitable piece of steel bar and then creating a deliberate hole in place of my accidental one. This new hole was a tight fit for the piece of rod which Geoff drove into it, filing and polishing until my mistake was completely erased.

One of Geoff’s favourite remarks was “Bloody hell’s bells (name) what d’ye think ye’re doing?”. A phrase he used that day, accompanied with a lesson on taking the trouble to do things the right way.

1154

The Foleshill Road, Coventry, offices of Courtaulds Limited, now a listed building. Image found at heritagegateway.org and copyright Coventry City Council. Permission sought

To get back to my job search, the day after my trip to Cambridge I went to Coventry for an interview with Courtaulds Engineering Ltd. The textile conglomerate was undertaking a massive investment in its many plants around the country and further afield, as well as offering the services of its Engineering subsidiary as Project Manager and Design Specialist to other organisations.

I was offered both of these jobs and chose the one in Coventry, not least because it was not too far from our original family homes in Herefordshire. It also meant a higher salary at a time when there was a government imposed cap on wage increases. I began work at CEL in June of 1968. We sold our house and purchased one in Coventry which we moved into in November. I was to spend the next 18 years as an employee of Courtaulds Group, in various locations and capacities.

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Local Radio Sharing Good News Stories #WATWB

watwic-bright-tuqblkFor this month’s #WTWB contribution I’m singing the praises of local radio for its ability to bring good news stories to its audience.

Towards the end of June my local station, Midlands 103, featured an interview with a circus performer in it’s weekly arts slot. The interviewee surprised the show’s presenter when she mentioned her work with refugees. The conversation that followed was recorded and broadcast the following week. It introduced me and the station’s listeners to the organisation “Clowns Without Borders”. A truly inspiring organisation that brings entertainment to children and families left destitute by wars in the world’s most troubled regions. Follow my link to discover more.

Then, at the beginning of July, I was visiting Hereford and had the radio in the hire car tuned to BBC Radio Hereford and Worcester. On the morning show we heard an appeal from a couple of women who were hitch-hiking from Norfolk to Wales to raise funds for a rehabilitation charity. They had secured a free bus ride from Stratford-upon-Avon to Worcester but needed to get to Hay-on-Wye before the end of the day. Within minutes someone phoned the programme to say they would meet the women at Worcester bus station and drive them to Hay (about 45 miles).

Again, I was prompted to find out more about the organisation. My link will take you to a brief press release about the women’s journey. Whilst you are there why not take a look at the work they do and the testimonials from former clients?

Have you got a good news story to share with the world? Here’s how to join in:

1. Keep your post to Below 500 words, as much as possible.

2. Link to a human news story on your blog, one that shows love, humanity, and brotherhood. Paste in an excerpt and tell us why it touched you. The Link is important, because it actually makes us look through news to find the positive ones to post.

3. No story is too big or small, as long as it Goes Beyond religion and politics, into the core of humanity.

Place the WE ARE THE WORLD badge or banner on your Post and your Sidebar. Some of you have already done so, this is just a gentle reminder for the others.

5. Help us spread the word on social media. Feel free to tweet, share using the #WATWB hashtag to help us trend!

 

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Coincidence: #atozchallenge

On Saturday I told how the family moved house in 1956 in order to live with my mother’s new partner. The house had previously been the home of the village’s Baptist Minister. It was one end of a block that was originally built to accommodate a small school and schoolmaster’s house as well. The school had long since merged with the village school and been converted into a home. For a number of years all three had been rented out to tenants but, when the tenant of the former manse left, the trustees decided to sell all three. The former school and master’s house were sold to the sitting tenants and the former manse to us.

The village is named for the Church of St Peter which was established in Saxon times on the banks of a small river. The Normans enlarged the church and allegedly gave the river its name: Dore, from the French d’or, literally ‘of gold’. The river’s valley they called Golden. A couple of miles upstream from the village is a smaller community called Dorstone.

DSCI0550Downstream are two hamlets, Vowchurch and Turnastone. Legend has it that two rival land owners both wanted to build a church there. One is alleged to have said “I vow I’ll build a church before you so much as turn a stone.”Alongside is a photograph of Turnastone church. The combined population of these communities would have been, in the 1950s, no more than 1000.

Coventry

My wife and I were married in Turnastone church in 1963. Five years later I obtained a job as a Design Draughtsman working for a large company in their Coventry head quarters. I worked in an office with about 30 other designers and engineers on the top floor of a three story building with similar sized design offices on each of the other two floors.

One day I was chatting to a colleague and remarked on the fact that, although his name sounded Welsh, he did not have a Welsh accent. He explained that his father was Welsh but that he’d lived most of his life in England. “We did live in Herefordshire for a while,” he added. I asked him where exactly in Herefordshire and he surprised me by saying that is parents had run the village shop in Dorstone for a number of years in the early 1950s.

Cleethorpes

At the time I thought that quite strange but it was nothing compared to what happened years later in Grimsby. The large company I had joined in Coventry operated manufacturing plants throughout the British Isles and, in 1979, I became a Project Engineer at their plant in Grimsby. We purchased a house in Cleethorpes. I became involved in local politics and, in 1985, was elected to the County Council.

Some time later I was invited to address a meeting in Grimsby. I began my speech with a brief outline of my background. Later, when we were mingling and enjoying refreshments, an elderly gentleman approached me and asked what part of Herefordshire I had lived in whilst growing up. When I told him he replied: “I used to live in that village. My father was Baptist Minister and we lived in the Manse.”

Grimsby is some 200 miles from Hereford and yet, here we were, two people who had each lived in the same house in a tiny village, at different times, many years before. Such a coincidence appearing in a work of fiction would have the reader struggling to suspend disbelief. Use the comments to tell of a similar coincidence from your own life or an example of a novel, play or movie whose plot you think relies too heavily on coincidence.