A Pocketful of Holes and Dreams (11 page)

After a couple of weeks I had it all down to a fine art, and I soon found myself able to spend more and more time in the workshop, running errands to pick up things like transistors, glass valves and tubes. But the job didn’t quite live up to the expectations I’d had when I left school and ventured forth into the big wide world. Making tea and being a gofer for a group of women was not my idea of a career. And when I learnt that I had to start attending engineering college one day a week, I panicked; once again my fear of being found out reared its ugly head.

I began to look for other opportunities, and my attention was drawn to the vans that were constantly coming and going in the yard outside. Surely that would be more interesting and better for me? These were the aerial-rigging vans, and had big aluminium ladders strapped to their roofs which rattled loudly as they drove into the yard. To me, a fourteen-year-old boy, all the drivers were
real
men, tall and muscular, with leather toolbelts strapped around their waists bulging with hammers and spanners. They reminded me of the cowboys I’d seen in films, with their gunbelts slung low around their hips.

Each aerial-rigging team consisted of two men, one who was in charge and drove the van, and an apprentice, who also acted as a gofer. These lads were usually quite big, aged between sixteen and eighteen, and they had to be quite strong, as they were expected to handle the three sixteen-foot-long sections of the ladder.

I found myself watching the riggers every morning as they came to collect their list of jobs for the day and to stock up and load the van with rolls of cable and shiny aerials. To a kid like me, working outdoors, climbing up and down roofs and wearing a toolbelt around my waist seemed like such a manly job.

One sunny lunchtime, when all the vans and the aerial teams were in the yard, Frank Johnson happened to walk past, and I found myself calling after him. ‘Mr Johnson,’ I said, ‘I would really like to be an aerial rigger, just like them.’

Turning towards me with his usual smile, he said, ‘Jeff, I really don’t think you want to be like them, out in all kinds of weather, good or bad. Being a TV engineer is a far better job.’

‘Mr Johnson,’ I replied, ‘I really want to be an aerial rigger. I don’t want to be an engineer at all.’

‘I’m sorry, son, but you’re too small,’ he answered, but I was adamant. ‘Come with me then,’ he said, and we walked over to the riggers. ‘This young boy wants to be a rigger. What do you boys think?’

They all burst out laughing. ‘There’s nothing to him, Frank,’ said one man. ‘There’s more fat on a sausage!’

‘He needs to grow a bit more,’ said another, ‘put a bit more meat on him, otherwise he’ll be blown off the roof on a windy day.’

‘See what I mean,’ said Mr Johnson, looking down at me. Upset, I turned away and started to head back to the canteen.

‘Wait a minute.’ There was a shout from within the group of men behind us. We both stopped and turned around.

‘George, what’s up?’ asked Mr Johnson, directing his question towards a tall young man.

‘I’m looking for a van lad, Frank,’ he replied. ‘This lad could be OK if he can prove himself.’ Turning to me, he asked me to follow him. We walked over to his van, Mr Johnson and all the other riggers in our wake.

George took the three sections of the ladder down off the roof and told me that if I could walk over to the gates and back without dropping them I could have the job. The gate was about 50 yards away from his van, so I had to cover 100 yards in total. With my audience watching and laughing at me, I headed off, the ladders balanced on my shoulder. The further I walked, the more difficult it became. The ladders were not so much heavy as difficult to balance, one minute tilting forwards and the next tilting back. But I was so determined, I reached the gates and turned back towards the van. By now I was beginning to feel quite a lot of pain in my shoulder and arms, and my knees felt as if they were about to buckle under me at any minute. The heat of the midday sun and the sheer exertion were making sweat pour down my face and into my eyes.

As I got closer to the waiting crowd, I realized they were all cheering for me, urging me on to complete the task. I kept my focus on the ever-closing distance. About ten yards away from them, I couldn’t go on any further. Dropping to the ground, the ladders landing with a metallic crash beside me, I knelt there, my whole body aching. The encouraging cheers had subsided, and all I could hear now was, ‘I told you so.’

George came over to where I had stopped, picking his ladders up as if they were as light as feathers before putting them back on the top of his van. I just stayed kneeling, feeling small and dejected and miserable at the thought of another year making tea and running for fish and chips. But then I heard George call out, ‘Hey kid, you’ve got a lot of guts. You weren’t frightened to give it a go. I have a mind to take you on.’ His words were music to my ears.

‘Please, mister, please.’ I looked at him imploringly. ‘Please give me the job.’

‘Hey Frank,’ George continued, ‘I like this kid and I’m going to take him on.’ The other drivers couldn’t believe their ears and told him he was making a big mistake – I was too small, not strong enough and too young. Was he mad? I’d never make a good rigger’s lad in a month of Sundays. But he just told them to wait and see.

‘In six months’ time,’ he said, ‘I reckon he’ll be the best lad on the yard!’

Mr Johnson, who’d been watching the whole proceedings, took me to one side. ‘Are you sure this is what you want to do?’ he asked. I nodded frantically, and after a quick glance at George, he said,

‘All right. You can start on Monday. And tell your mother that it was nothing to do with me!’

‘I will,’ I promised, bursting with happiness.

Mum was a little disappointed when I first told her, but once she realized how keen I was, she accepted the change. Although – knowing full well how accident-prone I was – she warned me to take extra care on the roofs.

12. Up the Ladder

My first morning with George started well. We loaded up the van with all the equipment for the day’s work, then I climbed on to the front passenger seat and we set off, me feeling really like a real man. Then he tossed me the daily job slips, pieces of paper bound with a large bulldog clip. I froze. They were covered in writing, a mishmash of letters I had no chance of being able to read.

‘What’s the address for our first job?’ asked George.

I looked over at him. ‘I don’t know where these places are,’ I said, stalling for time. I’d learnt all sorts of ways to try and hide the fact that I couldn’t read.

He threw a small book into my lap. ‘Look them up in there,’ he shouted, ‘and be quick about it. We don’t have all day.’ It was the Liverpool A–Z.

‘But I’ve never used one of these before,’ I said. I thought he was going to cuff me he looked so annoyed.

‘What’s your problem?’ he yelled. ‘Just find the bloody streets!’

I started to feel cold and shaky, with that familiar sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I always got when I thought I was going to be found out. George’s driving was becoming erratic and he was now swearing under his breath. The van veered off the road, mounting the kerb and screeching to a halt as he yanked up the handbrake.

‘Are you stupid?’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you bloody read?’

My heart was in my mouth. I just sat there, unable to utter a word. This was my worst nightmare. George was obviously already regretting his decision to take me on. My new job was over before I had even started.

Somehow we got through the day, and at the end of it, I slipped the A–Z into my lunchbox without George noticing and smuggled it home with me to study. Mum was waiting for me, eager to hear how it had gone.

Hanging my coat up, I told her. ‘It was horrible, Mum. My new boss got angry with me, shouting and screaming and getting really cross. I think he wants to get rid of me.’

‘Why, Jeff? What did you do wrong?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong, Mum. It was what I
couldn’t
do,’ I answered.

Taking my lunchbox, she said, ‘Come on, let’s have a cup of tea.’ I sat down at the kitchen table, slumped forward with my head buried in my arms. Mum opened my lunchbox and found the A–Z. ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

Raising my head a little, I said, ‘That’s what wrong with my job.’ My voice was flat with despair. ‘Mum, why can’t I read like everyone else?’

Placing my cup of tea before me, she said, ‘I wish I knew, son. What I can’t understand is that you’re so clever in so many other ways. It just doesn’t make sense.’

I explained what had happened, and as ever, she knew just what to say and do. ‘Jeff, life is full of obstacles and hurdles, and everyone comes across them from time to time. If you want to achieve things in life, you have to learn how to overcome them, whether it’s by tackling them head on or finding a way around them.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘What we need to do is work out a way we can overcome this particular obstacle together,’ she said, gesturing to the book in front of her. We sat drinking our tea for a few minutes in companionable silence, and my gaze never left her face. I loved watching Mum when she was thinking about things like this.

‘I’ve got it!’ she said a few moments later. ‘I know how we’re going to get the better of this little book!’ I couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say. ‘Every night, I’m going to write down street names and you are going to find them. Start by finding the first two letters of the name in the index, then the third, then the fourth, until there’s only one street they could match. With enough practice, you’ll be able to find the streets without really having to read their names.’

It was a simple plan, but a good one. For the next week, we spent hours and hours working together at the kitchen table, until I was finding the locations on the maps in a matter of seconds. Not only was I speedy, but I started to enjoy it. That little book was no longer a demon but a friend. And having mastered the art of giving directions from one address to another, I began to plan the whole day’s itinerary for George before we set off. He was so impressed at how quick I was in getting us from one job to another, he told all the other drivers I knew Liverpool like the back of my hand!

The next hurdle to overcome was moving the ladders. It wasn’t the weight so much as the difficulty of balancing them. I was just about in control, but it must have been the most terrifying sight to any pedestrians walking by: a little lad, well short of five foot, hurrying along with sixteen feet of metal balanced on his shoulder.

The biggest change, however, was that I now had a proper job. I was part of the adult world, and I soon learnt to toughen up. George was more than happy with my work and how quickly I picked things up, though you wouldn’t have known it from the way he treated me. We’d be in the van, driving along, when suddenly I’d feel his clenched fist crashing into my shoulder or my thigh. It hurt, but if I ever asked him to stop, he’d just tell me to stop being such a wimp. He’d been thumped when he was an aerial lad, so that was the way, as far as he was concerned, that aerial lads were ‘trained’.

About six months after I’d started working with him, George and I were out on the road. I was making up a lashing kit to fit around the chimney stacks. I usually spent the time in the van getting everything ready, which made the installation process quicker once we got to the job, and I’d almost finished when, out of the blue, I felt George’s fist coming into contact with my leg. It was the hardest blow I had received to date. And without thinking, I hit back.

Unfortunately for George, I still had the metal bracket in my hand, and that’s what made contact with his forehead, cutting the skin above his eyebrow and making him yell out in pain.

Looking over at him in shock, I saw blood gushing down the side of his face. He let go of the steering wheel and clasped his head in his hands, moaning and swearing. He was muttering over and over again, ‘Just wait till I get my hands on you!’ I cowered in my corner of the cab, pressed up against the door, desperately trying to work out how I was going to get away from him.

Luck was on my side. The van was out of control, careering across the road and going up on the grass verge dividing the dual carriageway. It lurched forward then ground to a halt, so I opened the door and threw myself out, then scrambled to my feet and ran away as fast as my legs would go. All I wanted was to get as far away as possible. I thought George wanted to kill me! I didn’t slow down until I was well and truly out of sight.

It took me two hours to run home, and of course, as soon as I got there, I told Mum all about it. ‘I’ve had enough, Mum,’ I said. ‘I’m packing it in. Chances are I’ll be sacked anyway, for nearly killing him!’

‘You did the right thing, Jeff, standing up for yourself like that. I’ll have a word with George or Mr Johnson in the morning, and we’ll get to the bottom of it all.’

George normally picked me up at 8.30 sharp every morning, but I wasn’t expecting him the next day, and there was no way I was going back to work. But the following morning, I heard George beeping the van’s horn, as he usually did. I opened the curtains a fraction and peered out into the street below. I could see my mother talking angrily to George, and wagging her finger at him. From what I could see, she was really laying into him.

This went on for a few minutes, then she returned to the house, while George drove away. She had hardly closed the door before I was down the stairs asking what had happened.

‘Well, it’s quite simple,’ she said. ‘I told him that if he ever laid a finger on you ever again, I’d swing for him.’ I looked at Mum standing in front of me, and an image of her taking on George sprang to mind. Talk about David and Goliath – but there was no doubt in my mind that my mother would be the winner!

When George picked me up the next morning, we weren’t quite sure what to say to each other. But once the day’s work got underway, we soon started talking, and before long it was almost as if nothing had ever happened. Our relationship had altered subtly, however; George showed me more respect, and he never hit me again. As time passed, we became good friends and enjoyed each other’s company, and we worked really well as a team. He took great pleasure in telling the other riggers that I was brilliant at my job, and it was quietly recognized on the yard that I was the best aerial lad. He’d boast that he didn’t even have to get out of the van, that I could take care of everything. I was a valuable asset, and George certainly knew it.