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Authors: Michael Moorcock, Alan Wall
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utter, but the word sent a chill through me more than any other oath.
It did not suit me to become an apprentice to an Armenian jobbing mechanic but my mother insisted I learn the trade. Thus, in June 1913, I became Sarkis Mihailovitch Kouyoumdjian’s ‘mate’, going with him on almost every assignment, even doing small, simple tasks on my own, and gaining my first familiarity with the nuts and bolts of engineering. My mother had been right. I began to enjoy my job. It was a beautiful summer. Even the Podol ghetto was alive with greenery and blossoms.
In one respect however it was difficult to learn from my first boss. He never gave praise and he never offered blame. His small, dark face was always set in a slight smile, his black eyes bore an expression of private amusement, no matter what the situation, as if he lived permanently in the back of his head. He was neat, swift and skilful; he was economical in everything. He rarely spoke to a customer, but would listen carefully to the problem and then purposefully set to, there and then, to tackle it if he could. In a struggle with a machine he never refused a challenge and he usually emerged the victor (even if some of those victories were only temporary). No matter how hard the job or how easy, he would devote the same grave, smiling attention to it. His expression and his manner could be irritating. People thought he displayed contempt, or at least irony. Frequently he would be shouted at by irate owners telling him not to take a job if he didn’t want it. He would ignore them, set to with his spanners, screwdrivers and more specialised tools, and sooner or later they would be rewarded. Then Sarkis Mihailovitch Kouyoumdjian would wipe his hands, still smiling, indicate that I should pack the tools, work out his charges in his head, and laconically name a price. Very rarely did even the most argumentative customer quarrel over that price. Sarkis Mihailovitch knew he was cheap and, unlike any other Armenian I have known, he hated to haggle.
I came to realise that Kouyoumdjian was enormously shy. He was a kindly man. He showed considerable patience with me and he gave me an insight into the positive qualities of Armenians. Naturally, in spite of my theoretical aptitude, I made more than one practical mistake. No sardonic word ever escaped his lips. He would gravely show me the correct way of doing the thing and that would be that.
Through him I became familiar with all Kiev’s industrial districts, although Podol was chiefly where we worked. Ukraine at that time was ‘booming’. As well as being the richest-developed part of the Empire in terms of agriculture, it was also the most heavily industrialised, with coal and iron mines feeding the factories of Yuzivka, Kharkov (where the great locomotive works are based) and Katerynoslav, as well as many other towns which had grown around the new mines and engineering plants. I should make it clear that I was not alone amongst young Ukrainians in being inspired by the wonders of modern technology. Sikorski, inventor of the helicopter, was born in Kiev and conducted his early experiments a year or two before my own. I did not, like him, have the benefit of a wealthy and influential family. Thousands of us were the first generation to see and understand the Future and in the years to come were to supply the rest of Russia and the world with many of her greatest engineers. We Ukrainian Cossacks have been described somewhere as ‘Russia’s Scots’, and in this respect, as in others, the comparison is fairly made. Kiev, however, was by no means one of the most heavily industrialised cities. It was still mainly involved in trade and banking. At this time in my life I never got to see any of the larger factories. Most of my experience was confined to light-engineering works, textile plants and so on, usually consisting of no more than one or two sheds. But in no other city would I have had the opportunity of
It did not suit me to become an apprentice to an Armenian jobbing mechanic but my mother insisted I learn the trade. Thus, in June 1913, I became Sarkis Mihailovitch Kouyoumdjian’s ‘mate’, going with him on almost every assignment, even doing small, simple tasks on my own, and gaining my first familiarity with the nuts and bolts of engineering. My mother had been right. I began to enjoy my job. It was a beautiful summer. Even the Podol ghetto was alive with greenery and blossoms.
In one respect however it was difficult to learn from my first boss. He never gave praise and he never offered blame. His small, dark face was always set in a slight smile, his black eyes bore an expression of private amusement, no matter what the situation, as if he lived permanently in the back of his head. He was neat, swift and skilful; he was economical in everything. He rarely spoke to a customer, but would listen carefully to the problem and then purposefully set to, there and then, to tackle it if he could. In a struggle with a machine he never refused a challenge and he usually emerged the victor (even if some of those victories were only temporary). No matter how hard the job or how easy, he would devote the same grave, smiling attention to it. His expression and his manner could be irritating. People thought he displayed contempt, or at least irony. Frequently he would be shouted at by irate owners telling him not to take a job if he didn’t want it. He would ignore them, set to with his spanners, screwdrivers and more specialised tools, and sooner or later they would be rewarded. Then Sarkis Mihailovitch Kouyoumdjian would wipe his hands, still smiling, indicate that I should pack the tools, work out his charges in his head, and laconically name a price. Very rarely did even the most argumentative customer quarrel over that price. Sarkis Mihailovitch knew he was cheap and, unlike any other Armenian I have known, he hated to haggle.
I came to realise that Kouyoumdjian was enormously shy. He was a kindly man. He showed considerable patience with me and he gave me an insight into the positive qualities of Armenians. Naturally, in spite of my theoretical aptitude, I made more than one practical mistake. No sardonic word ever escaped his lips. He would gravely show me the correct way of doing the thing and that would be that.
Through him I became familiar with all Kiev’s industrial districts, although Podol was chiefly where we worked. Ukraine at that time was ‘booming’. As well as being the richest-developed part of the Empire in terms of agriculture, it was also the most heavily industrialised, with coal and iron mines feeding the factories of Yuzivka, Kharkov (where the great locomotive works are based) and Katerynoslav, as well as many other towns which had grown around the new mines and engineering plants. I should make it clear that I was not alone amongst young Ukrainians in being inspired by the wonders of modern technology. Sikorski, inventor of the helicopter, was born in Kiev and conducted his early experiments a year or two before my own. I did not, like him, have the benefit of a wealthy and influential family. Thousands of us were the first generation to see and understand the Future and in the years to come were to supply the rest of Russia and the world with many of her greatest engineers. We Ukrainian Cossacks have been described somewhere as ‘Russia’s Scots’, and in this respect, as in others, the comparison is fairly made. Kiev, however, was by no means one of the most heavily industrialised cities. It was still mainly involved in trade and banking. At this time in my life I never got to see any of the larger factories. Most of my experience was confined to light-engineering works, textile plants and so on, usually consisting of no more than one or two sheds. But in no other city would I have had the opportunity of
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