Two bob a hundred. Iâll bring you a time sheet.â
To make it pay in the manner of Archie was not part of his purpose. âGrabbingâ wasnât in him. Still, he thought, if I donât make a show theyâll smell me out and snub me for being stuck up or incompetent. So, a few days more and it was grab grab grab like the rest of them. Bert nodded a response, too grabbing and making it pay to take a hand off the levers and signal back, which concentration at the job no one understood better than Archie.
The result of putting on an act was that after a while his behaviour became normal, and Herbert had never imagined that life could be so easy and engrossing. For the first week his limbs ached even more by the end of the day, due to hour after hour of daunting repetition, though there was something satisfactory in that as well, proving that grabbing on a lathe was better than sweeping up and humping boxes for a living.
He looked on the machine as his own possession, with its handles and levers, and power supplied by a motor down by his feet. A clumsy touch and your hand got gouged, so he treated it much like the chariot witless Phaeton had tried to control on his feckless jaunt across the skies, pulling and spinning, easing here and there with calculated panache. If a thief came by and began to unbolt it from the base he would fight to the death to stop him.
Conceding his past, at least to himself, he baptized the lathe with a splash of milky suds over the turret, calling it Dominic, after his old chum at school. âHey up, Dommy,â he said every morning, ââowâs tricks today? Going to be a good lad and earn me a bob or two?â He could turn off a thousand or more pieces from clocking in to clocking out, which brought in six pounds a week. Stoppages left him with four pounds ten bob, but it was more than enough to live on. With subtle economy he was able to buy a new suit, as well as go out now and again for a pint with Archie.
Eileen was disappointed when he went on the lathe. âI canât shout at yer any more, and I shall miss yer long face.â
âThanks for nothing.â
âNothing!â she mimicked. âWhere did you get that?â â a warning that he still needed to watch his language.
âI âeard it on the wireless, duck. But I miss your nice face, as well. Iâll come and wink at yer now and again.â
âWonât yer say summat, as well?â
âCourse I will.â
So that was all right. Machines were being turned off all round, men and women crowding the gangways. Were they downing tools, or was it a ritual theyâd been miffy enough not to let him in on? Hard to believe, because Archie, already wearing his jacket, took Herbertâs from the nail and brought it over. âSwitch off, and put this bit oâ rag on yer back. Weâre going out for some swill.â
âWhatâs it all about?â
âWarâs over.â
Heâd known it couldnât be far off, but hadnât assumed theyâd pack in work when it was. ââAve the gaffers said owt?â
âFuck the gaffers. I expect theyâre blindoe already. Anyway, itâs a national âoliday. Churchill says so.â
The pub crawl took them into every place, a continual push through the crowds in each to get at the bar. In the singing and drinking Herbert lost his cap, but enjoyed himself to an even greater pitch when his mind flashed a picture of the chapel at school, where beyond doubt the poor sods were bellowing âOnward Christian Soldiersâ and slavering at the thought of an extra cake with their piss-like char.
Slipping on the cobbles near the Trip to Jerusalem he thumped Archie in the ribs out of happiness at not going down, and got like treatment on the rebound for what deep-buried reason neither could say. An old man with a blind drunk glitter in his eyes and spluttering into his ale at the bar
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