BACK

 We men had the best of the separation. Well fed, well housed plenty of entertainment and apart from work - no worries. The way some moaned you would have thought we were in prison, starved and bored to death. Maybe that is what they told the wife it was like so that there was no danger of them wanting to stay there. What the eyes don't see the heart doesn't grieve about. Eh!! One Wife must have heard something - she met Hubby at Snow Hill station carrying an umbrella. Used it on him too.

 One of my jobs at work was to send a memo to the office granting my chaps, in their turn, an official week-end leave every 4 or 5 weeks. This would entitle them to the emergency ration card. It always seemed incongruous, I had to put my own name on the list too. Fancy granting yourself leave and a ration card. In three years, my signature was never once questioned. I must have signed thousands of requisition forms, memo's, passes etc. Nice to have power. There is one thing I could never manage. To get permission for the family to see the tunnels. That was only for V.I.P.s the really Big Ones-Generals, and those only twice.

 If my Wife could read this, she would be excused for thinking that my three years at Drakelow were more like a holiday, than three years work and worry.

 I have left industry and the War situation to the end of this "Interlude", maybe it will be the parts remembered most. First the Hostels:

 They changed hands many times. In the first place a huge camp was built to house miners and labourers on construction of the tunnels. Around 1937 I should think. As the job drew to its close (around 1942) they began to move off, many of the Huts being dismantled or demolished. Some were retained for Rover personnel and other directed workers.

 When the new hostels were ready for us, these remained vacant until the 'Yanks' took over in early 1944. After 'D' Day, or to be more accurate, a few weeks before, the 'Yanks' disappeared. The next tenants were the German P.O.W. who worked in the fields by day. The Camp was guarded by troops, but was run internally by a German Sergant Major who drilled and marched them in and out of camp. There came a time (after the War) when even that beautiful national Service hostel became redundant. I was back home long before that. I believe they were used to accommodate displaced persons from liberated Europe and later still by Asians. Local folk from 1937 -1950 saw a few changes in people and nationalities. I must go back some day to see what is there now. What must all the thousands that came that way think about it? Some, I bet, just want to forget it. The Yanks and the P.O.W. to which it was but a stageing post. The contractors team. To them one job can't be much different to another. Lastly, the directed labour force to the factory. Some of them HATED it. They didn't want to know the jobs, foremen or anything.

 This was the source of much of my labour. The batt1e on my hands was to win them over, gain their confidence. Production targets depended on a good relationship between us. Quite by chance I found the best way was to find out what they were interested in. Hobbies, anything to get them talking freely themselves. Once an easy relaxed relationship had been established, then was the time to talk about work. Some had never seen the inside of a factory. To assess their capabilities, and get them started on a job required patience, judgement, firmnes, the lot. An exercise in diplomacy in many different ways. In time my reputation for using the 'oddest' (Labour-wise) of the intakes spread.

 In consequence all the other department rejects came to my department. Each case was different. Direction of labour from unessential industries meant demotion for some. What can I say when a chap says "I've been a Foreman over 100 Women in an Electrical Works", or "I was a Works Convenor in a Carpet Works, and have an understanding with the Engineering Union that I shall have a job equal in wages" etc. etc. or "I had my own business" All sorts of stories, one couldn't fail to be sympathetic. My reply to them, had to be "I'm sorry, but you have been put under me in this department. I have got to use you on any job you are capable of after training. You will be treated the same as everyone else - but here I have got to give the orders and directions." I trust they remember me kindly. Some are not easily forgotten. Watson and Gater - one of my Brummie lads said it sounded like a music hall act. It was always Watson & Gater - Trapeze Artists. They came from Rugely. Ex-miners, they had both been severely injured in the same pitfall. Time-keeping was their chief crime in my book. At all other times two of the most loyal and hardworking men. Bernard whose wife used to crown him at regular intervals, generally at holiday times. He never was a bit self-conscious "Look" he would say, removing his cap "She's done it again" Truthful Arthur, The Donkey, The Elephant. They had all got nicknames. The Hammer Chewer. In case you don't get the ploy on that, it is - he was so tough he chewed hammers. He was a bit slow, a reject from the Machine Shop. A worker but he required constant supervision. That was difficult, sooner or later they all had to be responsible for the work they were trained to do, I put him on a grinding wheel.

 It was always a frightening moment when the time came to leave them on their own. Our Lathes went at 2,000 revs a minute and could be dangerous to a learner. It is always the unusual that can't be allowed for. One day his wheel 8" x 3/4" carbourudem burst with pieces flying all around. Miraculously nobody was hit. These bits can be lethal. Our chap stood petrified in front of the Lathe which, through weight unbalance was making a terrific noise. Albert Beer, one of the few experienced men I had got, shouted "Get down" - he couldn't move. I was at my desk some 20 yards away. Guessing what had occurred , I crept up to his lathe, using cover of the back boards of the other lathes. These 5ft high backboards are for protection against flying objects, which do occur in Polishing Shops. They were never more useful. All the shop were down low by now. A quick dash, shove him away, press the machines red stop button, get down yourself until the lathe stops. Nobody hurt. We weren' t always so lucky. Another chap was a charge-hand from No.2 Solihuill. An ex-Billiard Hall Marker - Garage owner. Glass cutters from Stourbridge. They were useful, their lathes and tools being similar to ours.

Continued