Jean with Fiona, Lesley and Margaret in 1961

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After demob from the RAF I had no idea what I wanted to do, but a director of a local iron foundry lived nearby, and it was through him that I got a clerical job in their general office.

There were two iron foundries in the town at that time. Both were very busy, their products being sent all over the world. My job was to assist in calculating bonuses, and in preparing and paying out wages.

I worked with two older men. One of them was always smartly dressed, looking just like a salesman in a gents’ outfitters. Then I found out that he had a Saturday job in a big Glasgow store. The other one had a glass eye, and he would cause new office girls to have hysterics by taking his eye out and laying it on the desk.

There were two directors. The one I knew was very pleasant and easy to get on with. The other was a bit of a terror and his main purpose seemed to be to try to catch any one smoking. Most of the men obeyed the rule, but the elderly cashier didn’t. His desk was in a corner of our big room surrounded by a partition about 7 feet in height, and for much of the day smoke could be seen floating above. The opening of the door of the directors’ room could be clearly heard from the general office, and a smoker had about 10 seconds in which to conceal any evidence. This was usually successful, but on one occasion the cashier failed to stub out his cigarette properly, and his waste paper bucket was set on fire!!!

The unpopular director had a particular dislike of the switchboard which was located in another corner of our room. Sometimes, if the operator was away from her desk, there would be a lot of buzzing from the machine. If he was passing he would rush to it, and manipulate every switch he could find. When the buzzing stopped, he would walk away satisfied.

There was a third director who had retired, but he still got his pay packet every week. I was given the task of delivering his envelope each Friday. (Yes, salaries were weekly, and even he was paid in cash.) One Monday morning I was called into the Secretary’s room and was told that he had just phoned to complain that he didn’t get his money on Friday. Consternation! I put my hand into my jacket pocket and produced the envelope. I had forgotten to deliver it! I apologised profusely, and that was the end of the matter.

While I was there, the company built baths for the workers, and this was considered a very progressive move. There was an opening ceremony (no, the directors weren’t the first to use the facilities), and a special tea was held in a nearby hall for the special guests during which I played grand hotel music on the piano.
I worked there for two years and then tried something very different - organising secretary of a Glasgow community centre.

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Coltness Ironworks, Lanarkshire was the scene of an amazing rescue on 8th July 1909. 

Two steeplejacks were working at the top of a 180ft chimney stack when one of them was overcome by fumes which were constantly being emitted from the mouth of the chimney. The man was lying unconscious on a 20 inch-wide platform, and his shocked workmate hurriedly made him safe by lashing him to the planking. Now he too was beginning to feel the effects of the gases and began the perilous descent.

David McWhirter an engineer at the Works hurriedly joined the gathering crowd at the foot of the chimney, and, despite the fact that he had had no experience of heights, started to climb the ladder, followed shortly afterwards by his assistant William McLelland. 

David reported that “As soon as we got to the tackle we fixed the steeplejack in a bosun’s chair, but the fixing was a mighty difficult task and not by any means free of danger. There was not enough room to allow our freight to pass between the platform and the chimney, and so there was nothing for it but to put him out over the edge of the platform and let him swing free.” 

David shouted the order to lower away and the steeplejack was safely brought down to earth. 

Later both David and William were presented with the Edward Medal First Class from King Edward. 

The connection between David McWhirter and our family is through the Armours. David’s wife was Ann Armour 1869-1935. 

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Jean and I a few days after my 56th birthday

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Thought I'd let my doctor check me,

'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . .

All those aches and pains annoyed me

And I couldn't sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder

But he wouldn't let it rest.

What with Medicare and Blue Cross,

We would do a couple of tests.

To the hospital he sent me

Though I didn't feel that bad.

He arranged for them to give me

Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,

My aging frame displayed.

Stripped, on an ice cold table,

While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,

For fungus and the crud,

While they pierced me with long needles

Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,

Probed and pushed and poked around,

And to make sure I was living

They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,

Their results have filled a page.

What I have will someday kill me;

My affliction is old age. 
(Anon)

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Leonard Lewis, a friend of ours, 
who died on 2nd December 2005 aged 78.

He and I met at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire where we were doing our National Service. We soon became friends for we shared a keen interest in all things connected with entertainment. We joined the station concert party where he was a jack-of-all trades and I provided the music. For one of our shows we had the professional assistance of Ralph Reader of Gang Show fame who was on our station planning that year’s RAF Pageant at Olympia.

One of our cast was a civilian worker Bunny Shayler, a comedian who had his own small group of entertainers outwith the RAF. Leonard and I joined them and we did quite a number of shows around Oxfordshire. I remember going to one village in the wilds where, on our arrival at the hall, Bunny was greeted with “Are you the man from the BBC?” (He rather traded on the fact that he had once been on BBC Midland Children’s Hour). Not long afterwards though, he appeared on radio in Hughie Green’s “Opportunity Knocks”, and I was one his supporters who accompanied him to the live broadcast in the Paris Cinema, London.

This is a photo of Leonard with me taken sometime in the late 1950s. 

After demob Leonard worked in rep at Morecambe and Ashton-under-Lyne before going to the Library Theatre, Manchester. I met up with him again when he came to Glasgow to join the BBC as a TV production assistant. He and his wife Jean and their three little girls came to live in Lenzie.

In 1963 his work took him back to England, and his family followed. From then on, his name appeared regularly in Radio Times as director or producer of Z Cars, Softly Softly, When The Boat Comes In, The Good Companions, Flambards and others. 
Before he retired, he was the executive producer of the long-running BBC soap "Eastenders."

When Leonard died, the playwright Alan Plater wrote a very fitting obituary which appeared in the Guardian on 11th January 2006. 
www.theguardian.com/media/2006/jan/11/broadcasting.obituaries

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Take the time to laugh - it’s the music of the soul.

Take the time to weep - it’s the feeling of a generous heart.

Take the time to read - it’s the source of knowledge.

Take the time to listen - it’s the strength of intelligence.

Take the time to think - it’s the key to success.

Take the time to play - it’s the freshness of childhood.

Take the time to dream - it’s a breath of happiness.

Take the time to live - because time quickly passes and never returns.

Follow your path -

Go, live and become!

The last line will mean more to people in France for “Va, Vis et Deviens” is the title of a film released in 2005.

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THE NEXT POST WILL BE ON SATURDAY 5th AUGUST

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