I believe that I have been extremely silly at various times in my life, for no better reason than part devilment and part showing off. For example in around 1970, I was given a young labourer called Mark, and told we were to be given the job of replacing the decorative copper flashings around the front bay over the roof of a twelve story block of flats called “The Mount” in Lower Clapton Road. As the plumber I was told that a winch hoist had been installed and all the materials including a bench were waiting on the flat roof. It was a nice sunny day so I thought that’s great. On the way to the job, in my car, Mark was very showing off about how tough he and his mates were and then he insisted on showing off his recent tattoo, a gross looking gargoyle effigy that could have been his girlfriend for all I knew, but boasting about how hard it made him look, triggered something in me.
On arriving at the job, Mark said that he had never been in a hoist before. I borrowed the caretakers short double eight rung ladder to get up and into the large hoist that had been left freely swinging about ten foot in the air. The short two foot long ratchet pins were left lying in the base of the hoist so I engaged them both at either end of the two ratchet gear mechanisms and dropped first one side and then the other until the hoist was firmly on the ground. I told Mark to put the ladder back in the boiler room and when he got back I showed him how to move the small lever on the ratchet from down position to up. I also said that I expected him to keep up with me as we pump the ratchets that raised both ends of the hoist together. Things started off well enough but as we got higher and higher Mark started making small whimpering noises. I deliberately began to increase my rate of pumping the mechanism at my end of the hoist and as a result my end was rising much higher than Marks. At about floor seven Mark asked if we could stop. He was a very pale colour by then and I said something like I thought you were telling me how hard you reckoned yourself to be! I’m scared he confessed and don’t want to go any higher – please, please can we go down?
Of course I agreed but was not ready for Mark to collapse on the floor of the hoist in an almost fetal position staring at the toe board leaving me to move between both mechanisms as I pumped us both down but Mark was a very different person when I drove him back to the depot that morning. Later with a nice kid named Lloyd, a plumbing apprentice, we both easily finished the new sheet copper flashing.
However some weeks later, I was given another roof job in Palatine road, only a six story block, with a sharp angled sixty degree pitched roof. Tasked to identify and fix the rain water ingress I took “Big Bertha” our treble extension rope pulley ladder. I was quite strong in those days. I managed to get Bertha up to and just under the iron gutter but found my strength lacking to bounce the top of the ladder both out and over the gutter. I did eventually manage it but pulling on the ropes at the same time as lifting the second ladder piece was horrendously difficult by myself. After an epic struggle I did manage to push the ladder both up and over the gutter level but only by one rung which was the absolute maximum of Bertha’s reach.
For such a step roof I should have taken a duck-run board but decided I would just see if I could spot where the problem/s were. I climbed up the ladder and decided to take a chance so, scrambled over and onto the steep “double Roman interlocking cement aggregate tiles”. A quick inspection showed a number of cracked and broken tiles towards the bottom eves tiles but to see how badly damaged they were I had to go right down near the roof edge. It was at that point I thought what a bloody fool I was, as any small slip would definitely result in my death. So, sitting on my bum I went back up the roof and over to about ten feet – where I had left the ladder sticking up. I thought of how pathetic Mark had appeared and now I was basically scared that my time might be up. I decided to sit still and thing about what my options might be! There were people in the street below and I thought of the ridiculous I would go through, back at the depot, if I shouted out for one of them to call the fire brigade. No I thought, I can’t do that but how do I manage to jet back onto the ladder? I inched my way down but was in a dilemma as to whether to approach it from the left or right which either way meant I would have to swing a leg out and over empty space, with just one hand on the ladder. Needless to say I did eventually get safely down but decided I would no longer take silly chances at heights.
You were just dishing out what the wicked crane driver had dished out to you (incident described in post of August 16). Empathy is a slow-growing plant.
Heartwarming and fascinating-pure nostalgia for me as I worked in Hackney area during the80s
Hi Peter, where were you based in Hackney. Mike.
Hello Mike, I was based in Kingsland Road, Youth Office next to Geffrye Museum, but I covered most of Hackney for my sins. Keep up the gems
All the best, Pete