Chapter 27. Age 20 July 1973 LINPAC Factory Featherstone, West Yorkshire UK
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July 1973 LINPAC Factory Featherstone, West Yorkshire UK
Bungalow – still Slam at home - cut a very lonely, Lad from
Featherstone in the summer of 1973, he had just failed his teaching practice at
Loughborough Colleges and was waiting to hear if was game over (thrown out) or
given a second chance. He had a summer job at LINPAC factory, cycled there to
stay fit, and saved petrol, from his mum and dad’s house, 32 Bedford Close
Featherstone. Next to Purston Park so heaven from the age of 14. He was back sharing a bedroom with brothers Mick
& John. When Lizie – His fiancé of
one year- stayed, they used the six-berth touring caravan sat on the drive. He had
reunited with Lizie two years earlier in the same house but that’s for later.
The LINPACK was a steel frame, 25ft eaves, metal clad,
factory/warehouse full of highly flammable cardboard. It was a cutting and printing
factory which took raw (8' x 4') sheets of cardboard, through giant printing
machines whilst also cutting the cardboard into different shapes for boxes. The
machines - from Germany - four in the factory, all different sizes, had to be
typeset with big rubber letters, loaded with paper, stand clear, press a big
green button, just above a red one, on a 3-phase (400+volts) motor, which
powered the wheels. If all worked well, often jammed, Slam, as he was known
back home and fellow workers lifted warm, razor edged, cardboard cutouts onto a
pallet. During the summer of 73 the
factory (smoking banned everywhere except toilets) operated from 6am to 6pm in
two overlapping shifts. Slams fiancé Lizie, plus a few others from Normanton
Grammar School joined him there. The pay was good but the razor-sharp carboard
left your fingers to shreds. It wasn’t macho to wear gloves, but Lizie thought
that was daft and bought her own to wear. Plus, health and safety had yet to be
invented as becomes clear…
The LINPACK had already made the headlines in the
Pontefract & Castleford Express when it caught fire. Warm cardboard chaff, the spirally bits from
trimming boxes make great kindling. Add no smoking restrictions, a westerly
wind and up the place went in flames one Friday night. The next day
Featherstone Rovers had a home game televised live from Post Office Road against
Halifax, the legendary Eddie Waring (It’s a knockout) the commentator, had to reassure
watches it wasn’t snowing in September, but the paper flakes had come from the burnt-down
factory on Wakefield Road.
Where was I? Oh yes.
Slam, Lizie et all, were given 10-minute fag breaks, every
two hours (agreed with Union) in what resembled a very un-fireproof portacabin
toilets, built at first floor level up a steel staircase. The lads, lasses had their own, toilet
comprised of two rooms, one for extraction of bodily fluids and solids and one to
sit on the floor, backs to the wall, windows open over Ackton Lane at the
junction with Wakefield Road the A655 which links Pontefract to the east with
Wakefield to the west, and have a fag. Even those who didn’t smoke would go,
sit on the floor and quickly get converted, addicted, through secondary smoking.
Friday afternoon, late July summer of 73 Slam was sat on
the same floor having a fag, with anxiety (it really has been around a while) twisting
his gut, while beating himself up for failing his teaching practice and …the
day before he had a huge row with Lizie, in Cow Lane in Sharlston, while driving
her home to Normanton, resulting in her pulling off and pretending (unbeknown
to Slam) to throw it out of the window, while screaming ‘the engagement is off’. She
then pretended to find it again five minutes later, but still said they were
done. Slams had just acquired his new
Ford Cortina mark II, which Lizie’s dad had given him as a present. It was
already ten years old but had got slam out of a hole after the wheel fell off
his Wolseley, a few weeks earlier, just after driving 60 miles up the M1 motorway.
It was plainly obvious young Slam was not in a good place. He was smoking ten Silk
Cut king-size, sometimes more, a day and spent most of his evenings in the Travelers
Rest pub, at least four pints of John Smiths bitter, where he had also worked at
Christmas for the past two years. Tomy Smales, another rugby legend, landlord
The following morning, he hears loud clang, as the postman pushes
a large envelope clear of the letter box and metal hits metal. It lands address side up, Loughborough
Colleges stamed on the envelope.. Bungalows heart is in
his mouth; however, he gets a surge of excitement in his belly, surely the A4
envelope suggests good news.
Yabadabadabadoo,
Slam, Bungalow, gets a second chance, for the second time in his short life,
the first after failing his 11+. He needs to be back in Loughborough on 4th
September to start four weeks of teaching practice. He is also in digs nearby
and is not allowed back on campus.
He begged Lizie to forgive him, she did, and they had fabulous
week’s holiday in Newquay, after buying a cheap ring in Woolies, to become ‘newlyweds’
on honeymoon. They had a ball. Still get a warm feeling, yummy.
September 1972. Soar Valley Middle School Leicestershire
Bungalow arrived at the school like he was walking onto the
pitch a Wembley knowing his career was on the line. He saved the day, the staff
and kids loved him, and he also fell in love with teaching for the first time.
He passes, allowed back on campus, back in the Towers, back in the elite rugby
squad, and back on track, or so he thought.
And the point I am making is.
Never underestimate a lad from Featherstone.
Have a good day.
Colin
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