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I spent the whole of this period at Grubb Parsons, a subsidiary of the main company. Here I learned my trade in a world of sophisticated scientific instruments, huge astronomical telescopes and the company of some real engineers. At this time Parsons was a forward thinking employer who believed in further education. I was encouraged to study engineering at the local polytechnic.
During this period I met some real characters. There was Gordon the production manager; he was a whirlwind of nervous activity chasing production targets while consuming sixty cigarettes a day (remember this was 1960 when just about everyone smoked). I thought Gordon was a bit weird until I learned that he had been a navigator on Lancaster's in WW2. I don’t think he ever recovered from the strain. There was Don Henry, a sophisticated young engineer who sported a cravat and used phrases usually only heard in costume dramas. Bernard the alcoholic labourer who devoured so much paraffin (used for cleaning mirrors) that it was banned from the works. Almost everyone was a character in those days. …………………………………………
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The car I learned to drive in. This is the Ford Zephyr in two-tone grey. |
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A modern naval gun. The 5” calibre Mk 42. This gun can fire a shell every 4 seconds! |
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I was chosen to be one of a small team working in a new department dedicated to the production of spectrometers. Although these were hand-built to the highest standards we were still expected to produce them at a rate of one per week—each! During the next few years I was often chosen for special tasks to assist other departments. (I was never too sure whether this was a compliment to my skills or a punishment for some past transgressions!) One I can recall was the manufacture of a transmission grating which involved winding thousands of turns of wire strands (wire so thin it would snap if you looked at it hard) on a machined frame. Most of the specials were like that, experimental, complex and demanding.
At this time working on the shop floor was on a contract basis. The company paid a set amount, something like £12 a week and you made your salary up to a living wage by working on contracts. It worked like this: The foreman would give you a job, perhaps 40 brackets to make. If it was a regular task there would be a set price, say 15 shillings. There was a standard rate which all workers tried to achieve, lets say 4 shillings an hour. So you knew you had to make those forty brackets in less than 4 hours to book in your money. Of course, the brackets had to be correct and the inspection department was there to make sure every one passed the test, if some failed you had to make them again so you would lose money.
The real fun came when the job was new, a price had to be fixed. Enter the Ratefixer (yes, that was his title). It was his job to evaluate the job and set a price. This usually led to some heated arguments when his estimate of the time needed was different to the worker’s. You tried very hard not to upset this worthy, he could make your life a misery of toil and low wages. I recall one occasion when I fell foul of his temper. I had been given a large instrument panel to make. It involved sawing out numerous apertures by hand. The Ratefixer gave his estimate of the time needed which I strongly contested. At this time disputes could only be resolved by asking for a “demonstration” (or put another way, you would say “I’d like to see you do it in that time”)
The Ratefixer counted up the number of inches of cut needed (it came to several feet). He then took the saw and hacked away furiously until he had cut one inch, using his stopwatch, he then multiplied the few seconds by the length of cut and arrived at a numerically correct, but physically impossible time for the job. He walked away whistling, another score settled! I think it took a special type of person to become a Ratefixer. For a start you didn’t have to mind the fact that everyone hated you! It helped if you had no personality (or humanity come to that) and had a strong sadistic streak!
I would imagine that some of the younger generation would find this all a bit strange, being paid by results, what an odd idea, wouldn’t go down well these days! But times were tough in those days (where have you heard that before—it seems like every generation tells the next one that times were hard when they were young) if you didn’t work hard, you didn’t earn much, it was that simple. Mind you there were compensations, you could have a good night out drinking with your friends and a meal to follow, all for ten shillings (50 pence to our younger readers).
And so on to 1970, there were many memorable events in this period, some happy, some sad. I got married in 1967 (not sure which category that goes in!) so the last three years of the decade were busier than ever as we put a home together. One event, that I recall, showed how industry and commerce could be very different environments. Pat, my wife was seeking employment having moved away from her home to live with me. Pat had always worked in offices but she accepted an offer of clerical work at a company which made metal boxes. She started at 9:00 am and quit at 12:15! Apparently the noise was deafening (to someone from an office background) and there was no way she could stand it. Happily she found a job as a civil servant soon after.
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