The Cable Factory.

The Cable Factory.

Just out of school

Sixteen and as green as a summer lawn

A bumfluff chin too sparse for shaving

The braiding machines were noisier than was safe

For uncovered ears.

If unsure, I was to pass a hammer,

The noise too loud to hear

Anything

The fitter

Roy Hess had to say

In his machine gun accent,

Fresh from Byker.

He wore a full set of dentures

Brilliant white

In the gloom

As we ferreted about

Beneath the drive shaft

Refitting belts

Without stopping the line

Ignoring the danger.

I still wear the scars on my hands

From the sharp-edged leather bands

He looked like the ancient mariner

But was probably in his forties

Old was old back then

Maybe it always is.

There were stacks of reels

Bobbins filled with twine

Even bigger stacks of cable

Waiting to be braided

We ate lunch together

Perched on top of a mountain

Of vulcanised rubber

The extruders were deemed a step up

For the apprentice

Engineer

More complex operations

Meant more could go wrong

In a heavy steel rolling machine

Safety bars could be disconnected

Even the fitters kept the motors

Running

I argued politics with union reps

Too lazy to fight

For better conditions

When they could opt out of working

For a living

By attending a meeting.

Nobody ever said a word

Nobody would hear them if they did

Today they would wear ear defenders

Back then safety was a barrier cream

For your hands

And goggles for the welder.

Who always seemed on the verge of collapse

Carrying an acetylene torch

Smoking a cigarette hidden in a cupped hand

Sitting on an oxygen tank

Why didn’t he ever go up in smoke

Perhaps some people did.

If we banned naked flames

Their proliferation

Would be stifled

And the smoulder of solder

Would be the only smell

Of note

In the welders' corner.

I often wonder if Roy’s teeth

Clacked when he spoke

I never heard him clearly

Over the noise.

My mother-in-law

Took hers out when she ate

Wrapping them in a napkin

Which she placed next to her plate.

One time when we were eating out

In a Chinese restaurant

She knocked them to the floor

Where they skittered around

Under a table

They were none too pleased

Clacking in time

To the chatter from other tables

And the laughter from ours.

It was a different world

When old people knew their place

And didn’t ride bikes wearing lycra

Or enter the Great North Race

Skydiving for fun

Skinny dipping in winter

Completing a bucket list

Before kicking it.