Journal 7
Friday July 18th '80
In this my 7th book of my life’s story, I have come to the last chapter of paid employment and had reached, at the end of book 6, of the introduction to the staff and surrounds of the 'Howard Wall' tape measure factory at Skelton.
I accepted the job and was asked to commence work at 8 am Monday and continued there for eight years until retiring on my sixty fifth birthday, eight years later in 1958.
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Now I think I'll try and explain the work of a tape paint machinist, tho' I shall probably find it a little difficult to make clear as it was rather intricate, yet simple really when one got the run of the job.
Frame Work
A slight idea of a frame of tape.
Actually a full frame made 120 tapes, 60 on either side.
The sort legs of the frame are for stacking one above the other to a height of 20 frames. Warm air thro’ the stacks of frames for drying, in damp weather warm air is increased.
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Using the machine
There were two painting machines, the other one run by a man Tom Plumb, whom I had known from boy-hood, originating from Carlin How and who instructed me how to go about it. A tank standing over the worm of the machine had to be filled with two pails of white lead paint (four gallons).
The two of us lifted the pail from behind the machine and poured it carefully into the tank. The paint was prepared by a Saltburn man (Albert Sanderson), another of whom I had a lifetime’s knowledge, the mixture of white lead, linseed oil, turpentine and driers, he mixed it in a pug-mile like contraption, each pail of paint being examined by Percy Dye before using. Occasionally he would add a little oil or turps and whip it up with two sticks, like playing a kettle drum. Over the tank of paint were several fitments, thro’ which the tape had to be drawn. The first was a flat circular metal turntable, like a gramophone takes its records. The new raw tape reeled like cinema film with a central hole for placing on the disc. Undoing a pin from the tape end and taking it by the finger and thumb of his left hand, drew it steadily upwards. A flat metal bar, notched at the bottom, drawing the tape through the notch, he pushed bar down and tightened the thumbscrew – drawing tape towards the front end of the tank, keeping it over the paint all the time, to the last over the tank.
A little hinged metal frame, when opened it showed two bicycle brake rubbers, one above and one below. The tape drawn between the two rubbers allowed a piece of canvas on the floor to catch drips. He took a wire hook from a box and a two and a half pound weight, hanging the hook to the top of the bar of the rubbers. He said “That’s the weight for first coat painting”, the same drive belt that turns the frame over and over, also turns the smaller wheel, thus taking the tank of paint from right to left of the machine at the same time spacing the painted tapes as the frame turns over.
He drew the painted tape thro’ the weighted rubbers keeping it taut, with his left he raised the empty frame to a level position and pressed the tape over a sharp little spike at the corner of the frame. Raising the frame a little higher round and pressed the starting button and movement started. No noise, frame rotating on its stand. The paint tank with its flat disc (record like) of tape, moving slowly left. Tom started up his machine, came back to me and said I remember “Simple David, isn’t it when you know how, now that’s life”.
When the whole disc of tape is drawn off the table, the machine has to be switched off with one hand, the other catching the end of the spool as it comes through the rubbers and tied to the side rod of the frame.
Specials
Tom stopped his machine and came to show me how to lift the full frame off, carry it away and bring an empty one back.
The frame had to be raised to an upright position, the housings (brass) left and right opened easily by just turning up. Then standing across in front of the newly painted tapes, there would be about four feet of room between the standards on which the frame stood and the two cylindrical brass rods on which the carriage containing the paint tank – disc – rubbers, when tom said “just a minute mate, you’ve a big -------- and if you knock the tank off you’ll have a right old mess”. He released a catch holding the carriage in running position on the worm and pushed the whole affair and replaced the catch.
I got hold of the upright frame, raised it steadily off its axle boxes and set it on the floor. Tom instructed how to carry it away so as not to swing the wet tape. If they touched edges, they had to be sand papered when dry. Tom thought I would do the job easier than him as I was broad and made me a longer arm reach.
When we came to a vacant space between stacks, Tom took one side and I the other and laid it down on its little four inch legs. I found it easy going and at the end of the day, I had a stack of twenty and a second one of fifteen.
When Percy came round checking the amounts just before home time, he said “look. you’ve done very well Mr. Taylor, look should I call you Dive”. After that it I was Dive or oftener ‘Old Dive’ from all the cockneys, even Mr Collins (Peter) and Mr. McCrombie, the engineer and the old lady Miss Wall when they came up from London at times.
Walking home with Walter and Percy (a little leg tired, standing by the machine different to walking) they told me that the bonus of three pence per frame was paid on work over forty five frames per day. It wasn’t long before I was earning more (my bonus) than Tom and I felt there was a little jealousy creeping in on Tom’s part, for not only was I making more tapes, but doing special lines and different colours (emulsion) for which a better rate was paid, but we remained good friends and workmates, helping one another until I retired.
Tom worked till sixty seven but only lived about two years after.
The Specials I spoke of had to be guided (spaced) on the frame by hand. These varied in width from three- eights to one and a half inches. The three eights were wire lined and were used in little cases, drawn out they went back by pressing a little button. The plastic cases were celluloid pictured or named to suit the buyer and the girls assembling them made good money. (Berlie)
The worlds gone mad
I think it was during this period that I realised the difficult times this old country was heading for. Selling out of the General shop, the fish shop, pony and flat etc. for a meager few hundreds and in nineteen thirty eight, buying a new semi-detached in a lovely area for less than five hundred, coming to selling, before moving to Saltburn it brought roughly four times its original price. On buying at Saltburn it was just the same and that was just over a period of twenty five years. Now another twenty five years on you’d have to talk in tens of thousands to buy either of them, mad, but there the world’s gone mad.
The bright side I believe that we had together in Saltburn were some of the happiest times in our lives, my wife enjoyed to the full until she passed in nineteen seventy seven after nearly sixty five years companionship and marriage. We were a year short of sixtieth in marriage.
A Full life indeed.
Retiring
After moving, I got a Raleigh bike and really enjoyed the run over the ha’penny bridge (now gone) and the run home, now facing the sea breeze and better still – all downhill.
I continued there until my retirement, age of sixty five, on the tenth of March, nineteen sixty eight after a very pleasant period, during which I had helped as trainer and first aid man to the football team and taught we went to Redcar baths two evenings per week.
I was presented with a nice standard lamp (still in my possession) Mister Collins tried to persuade me to continue, but I had developed phlebitis in my legs and the Dr advised against it. Leaving there I was to take over with Saltburn F.C. in the same capacity, which I did until I was seventy five.
1982
This is Jan 2nd 1982
I don’t know how long it is since I last wrote anything, but it seems a long time. I think the real trouble is to find something which to write about and would be of interest to you my descendents.
I am still at home, in my own comfortable at Loftus but just imagine my new year’s day. Mrs. P called over the intercom 9.30am. then no mail, no milkman, no newspapers. Bed at 9 and I don’t know that I saw anyone passing by but I had a good Xmas and Jessie with gifts and shopping, David and family Xmas Eve morning, cake and drinks, swapping gifts. 2hrs.
Marjorie and family called before going up to her mam’s for tea, exchanged gifts, cake and cheese, sherry and port, they didn’t stay long.
Jolly Sailors Inn
Now what has really given me the desire to write again was the simple memories returning simply from seeing the last nights newspaper in big print the name of an Inn. ‘The Jolly Sailors’, the pub. Stands below Freebrough Hill on the main Guisborough to Whitby road, I haven’t mentioned the weather we have had for the past few weeks. You my decendents will remember for a long time the year of 1981, unemployment, crimes, riots, strikes and violence. On top of the Britain has been blanketed deep in snow followed by terrible floods and loss of life, of homes, of farms and cattle, now the crux, the snow and the Jolly Sailors. I have in connecting one with the other and my reason for writing.
The newspaper mentioned earlier spoke of the wonderful hospitality shown at that little Inn. Two buses had ditched some miles away and passengers and crews had had a rough trek to the pub and warmth.
Quite a few workmen trying to get to their work and others making for home had had to leave their cars and join the company in the pub and a big barn at the rear . The following morning the police found a thirty five year old man who had decided to stay in his car, dead, frozen in that below zero temperature.
Now quite a change from 1982 back 100 years and still at the Jolly Sailor Inn. In the spring of 1888 or 1890 a pony and gig left Brotton, the occupants, male and female in their Sunday best, roses in their lapels. My parents, dad at forty and mother at twenty two from Loftus they drove thro Moorsholm to the foot of Freebro’ Hill to the Jolly Sailors for lunch or should I say a wedding breakfast, stayed a while and then home by Guisborough and the Skeltons to what in those days postal address
45 Skelton Lane, S.O. i.e sorting office. Now it’s 45 High Street, Brotton, Saltburn by Sea, Cleveland County and a code number.
That home was a Taylor home for a hundred and twenty years.
I think that closes the Jolly Sailors episode.
The End of Diaries
Sept 1980 overheads at 10 Beech Grove.
Approx
Rent £5.60.0
Electric £5.10.0
Home help £2.80.0
TV Rental £2.10.0
Total £16.40.0
End of Diaries