www.albiestales.co.uk part two

AFTER A LONG SPELL as a pen and ink illustrator at Norwich Castle Museum – starting just before Easter and keeping him from his Art School studies for over six weeks – Albie was left in a state of utter panic with so much of his course work to catch up on, and, if that wasn’t enough, there was the forthcoming exam to contend with - the Intermediate Examination in Art and Crafts!

DURING JUNE 1959, it was with a heavy heart that Albie began his week-long round of examinations. Happy enough with his graphic design work, especially his carton and packaging designs – as he was a good draughtsman with hand-drawn lettering being his strongest point – there was one aspect of his work that troubled him greatly: printmaking!

One requirement of the examination was for the students to design and print a picture, a composition of their choice, using a blockprinting technique, either a single colour wood engraving or a multi-coloured lino-cut.

Foolishly, Albie selected the latter, which, requiring six blocks of lino for his proposed ‘work of art’ was not only extremely laborious, with all the lino-cutting to be done, but also very time-consuming – and there was, of course, a set time limit!

Whilst most students had adjourned to the canteen for lunch, after handing in their completed work, the clock was still ticking for Albie.

Eventually, aware that his time was almost up, he resorted to ‘inking up’ odd scraps of hastily-cut cardboard in order to complete his print – and it showed!

Handing in the last of his examination work, his lino-cut print – which he knew to be inferior in design and printing quality to that of the other art students – Albie began to realise it was the same old story again: too much play and not enough work!

ALBIE HEARS OF A SUMMER JOB

A few days later, when visiting his grandparents at Wyndham Park, Albie heard of a summer job at a factory in North Walsham.

“Peter Abbs from down the lane,” Granny Gray told him, “says they’re looking for students to help out in the canneries where he works!”

“That’ll keep ya outta mischief,” laughed his granddad, just back from his allotment, “do yew go along an’ hev a word with young Peter, he’ll put yew strearte about it!”

Peter Abbs, who lived a few doors away, told Albie there were, indeed, jobs going at Duncan’s Canneries, right next to the railway station, in North Walsham.

“They want pletty o’ students to help out cannin’ peas and beans,” he told the lad, “I’ll put in a good word for ya, if ya like?”

“Yes, please, Mr Abbs,” Albie replied, secretly hoping there might be some free samples of baked beans to taste! “Yes, I’d like that very much – tell ’em I can start as soon as they like, an’orl!”

ALBIE STARTS WORK AT THE CANNERIES

The following Monday morning, Albie caught the train to North Walsham, and then walked the short distance along Norwich Road to Duncan’s Canneries.

“I’ve come to see a man about a job,” Albie told the gatekeeper, who promptly directed him to the main office block.

Passing factory buildings, with clouds of steam billowing out of vents in the rooftops, at times he had to dodge empty vans and well-laden lorries as they negotiated a way through the factory complex.

Albie noticed the air was heavy with the smells from the processing plant. As he walked by one building the sharp, clean smell of fresh green peas escaped into the air, whilst from another there was the sickly sweet aroma of strawberries, so strong he could almost taste the fresh fruit in his mouth.

Pausing at the glass door to the office, Albie went inside and, at the reception desk, asked to see the manager.

“You must be Albie,” greeted a man in a white coat and hat, “I’m Mr Farman, an’ I’ve heard all about you from our Peter!”

News travels fast, thought Albie, hoping it to be good!

“I’d like you to work in the canning loft,” Mr Farman told him, handing Albie a white hat and overalls. “Put these on, an’ come alonga me.”

Making their way through part of the processing plant, where teams of young women were busily placing cans of this and that into large stainless-steel cauldrons, Mr Farman explained the basic principals of the canning process.

“The cans come down that conveyor,” he said, indicating a row of empty tins, shuffling along one after the other, “then the girls fill them with peas, the lids are sealed by that machine over there, and then they’re cooked and sterilised.”

“Wha’s all that blue dye they’re pouring in the cans?” Albie asked, noticing one girl with a large jug of cyan-coloured liquid.

“Oh, you don’t miss a trick, do you?” Mr Farman laughed. “Tha’s to make the peas look nice and green and appetising when you open the can – but, don’t tell anyone, ’cos tha’s our little secret!”

At the end of the processing plant, was a steep steel ladder, with safety hoops all the way to the top.

“Follow me, but, take care!” Mr Farman told Albie, as they began to climb the ladder to the canning loft. Once at the top, Albie paused for a moment to catch his breath.

“Here, in the canning loft,” Mr Farman told him, “you’ll be responsible for keeping the girls on the process line supplied with empty cans, from these here boxes!”

Albie then noticed the cardboard boxes, piled one on top of another – like giant building bricks – all tightly packed and reaching high into the roofspace, at least thirty feet above his head!

“You’re to climb to the very top,” said Mr Farman, pointing to a tall wooden ladder resting against the boxes, “then, starting with the highest box, drop it down here!”

“But, won’t the tins get all dented?” asked Albie, with a puzzled look on his face.

“No,” laughed Ronnie, “you’ll have someone to help you – to catch the boxes – but, where hev that boy got to?”

Outside on the flat roof, next to the canning loft, Richard Waters was having a quick smoke before starting work.

“Dick,” shouted the manager, “where the devil are you? Come on, boy, we’ve gotta get started!”

Stubbing out his cigarette, the lad sheepishly made his way through a small door and back into the canning loft, much to Albie’s surprise.

“Why, Muddy!” he laughed, “fancy seeing you here!”

“You know each other, then?” the manager asked the pair, only to discover they had both been at the Paston School and were now students at Norwich School of Art. “Small world, en’t it?”

“But, before you say it’s like old times,” he called back, heading for his office, “get those cans movin’, will ya, we’ve a factory to run!”

ALBIE GOES UP IN THE WORLD!

“I hen’t got a head for heights,” Muddy Waters told Albie, indicating the tall ladder, “you’ll hatta go up there an’ pass the boxes down to me!”

Moaning under his breath, Albie began the climb up to the heady heights of the canning loft, keeping his eyes closed for most of the time as he, too, suffered from vertigo! At the apex of the roof, under the tightness of the eaves, he found it not only claustrophobic but also unbearably hot with little or no air.

With the summer sun high in the sky, relentlously beating down upon the hot corrugated-tin roof, there seemed little respite for the lad as he began removing boxes from the top of the pile and dropping them down to his fellow art student.

“Catch,” he shouted, as he dropped the first box, followed by a crash and the tinkling of cans as they spilled out and rolled across the floor. “Butterfingers!” he laughed, “Catch ’em by the corners, then you won’t drop ’em!”

There was a definite technique to catching the boxes, Muddy discovered, doing just as Albie had suggested and, soon, the floor became littered with boxes of cans.

The two friends then began opening each box, removing the empty cans, and transferring them to the narrow conveyor belt en route for filling and processing.

This went on non stop, until, late in the afternoon, the factory hooter sounded announcing the end of the shift – and, by then, Albie and Muddy were both well-and-truly ‘whacked’.

The well-rehearsed change-over, resembled a painting by L S Lowrie with matchstick men and women fleeing the factory and streaming out of the main gate – like some mass break-out. Others, though not quite so keen at starting work, were attempting to negotiate a path through the emergent crowd of pedestrians and cyclists all homeward bound.

Albie was caught up in the jostling throng, and in danger of being swept away by the tide, as he made his way to North Walsham station.

Eventually, his train arrived, and he only had one thought in mind: bed, or, perhaps, firstly to wash away all the dust and grime from the canning loft, and rid himself of the sickly-sweet smell of strawberries!

Finding an empty ‘first-class’ compartment all to himself, Albie pulled down the blinds and settled back in luxurious comfort, courtesy of British Railways. Then, he nodded off to sleep.

THE FIRST OF MANY FOR THE LAD?

“Hello, boy Albie,” said the familiar voice of Peter Abbs, roughly shaking the lad by his shoulder. “How was your first day at the canneries then?”

Albie replied sleepily that it was OK, but he was tired, so very tired, hungry and could do with a cuppa!

“We can do better than that,” Peter replied, as the train steamed into Cromer Beach Station, “Let’s go in the refreshment room for a ‘quick ’un’!”

“But, I’ll miss me train to Sheringham,” said Albie, reluctant to leave the comfort of his seat. “I don’t wanna walk home...”

“Don’t worry, boy,” replied Peter, “you’ve tons o’ time, arter all, the engine’s gotta turn round!”

With Cromer Beach being a terminus, trains departing for Sheringham had to travel back up the line until they reached the Runton junction, where the line parted company with the Norwich line, enabling them to continue westwards along the coast.

To do this, the steam locomotive had to ‘run round’ its train of nine or ten carriages, with this procedure taking the best part of fifteen minutes! This was also a welcome moment for the engine crew to slake their thirsts, after the long, hot, steamy journey on the footplate from Norwich, and where better place than in the station’s refreshment room!

“Make mine the usual, Fred,” laughed Peter to the man behind the bar. “Young Albie here, well, he’ll jist hev a half to wet his whistle!”

Half of what? thought Albie, watching as a small glass was placed under a tap and a large handle pulled.

“There yar, my son,” laughed Fred the barman, placing the lad’s glass on a soggy-looking mat on the bar. “Git yar laughin’ gear ’round that then, boy!”

Albie ventured a tiny sip of the heady, golden brown liquid, but what was it, he wondered?

Suddenly, his mouth was filled with the bitterest taste he had ever known – so tart, in fact, as it made him feel quite bilious!

“Tha’s a good brew o’ best bitter, that is Fred,” declared Peter, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “D’ya want another one, Albie?”

By then, Albie was half out of the door, with his face turning a delicate pastel shade of green.

“No, thanks,” he managed to say, gagging at the taste of bitter on his tongue, “one’s enough for me, besides, my train’s now gorn’!”

However, the engine driver and his fireman had other ideas, propped up, as they were, against the bar.

“Go on then, Peter,” they said, “we’ll join yer in another quick half – arter orl, we’re got all o’ five minutes yit!”

A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT FOR ALBIE

“Hello, Albie,” said his mother as he opened the back door, “had a good day at work, did ya?”

After his experience in the refreshment room on Cromer station, and the bumpy train ride home, Albie still felt quite queasy and unwilling to even think about his first day at work, let alone talk about it!

“I dun’t fare too well,” he groaned, sitting up the table with his head in his hands, “I think tha’s somethin’ I musta et.”

“Yew certainly dun’t look at all well,” commiserated his mother, putting a steaming plate of meat and two veg in front of him. “Tha’s a shame, an’orl, ’corse there’s a lovely rabbit for ya tea...”

That did it! Albie suddenly leapt up from the table, rushed out of the backdoor and dived into the sanctuary of the outside toilet – and there he was to remain for the next ten minutes!

“Feelin’ better now, Albie?” asked his mother, putting an arm around her ashen-faced son. “Best to get it off your chest – besides, your colour’s comin’ back already!”

Sitting in an easy chair in the kitchen, Albie nervously began sipping a milky cup of tea, that his mother said ‘would calm his stomach’, and tried nibbling on a plain water biscuit.

“Oh, yes, lest I forget” said his mother, taking an official-looking letter off the mantlepiece and handing it to him. “This came for you this mornin’ – but, whatever can it be?”

Albie knew only too well what it was, his exam results, which he’d been dreading for quite a while – but what news did it contain?

Nervously, with shaking hands that, at first, seemed unable to perform the simple task of ripping open the envelope, he extracted a single sheet of paper headed ‘Ministry of Education – Intermediate Examination in Art and Crafts’.

With a pounding heart and through tear-filled eyes, the only wordiing he could only see was: FAIL – and what a bitter disappointment it was for the lad!

NEXT: Was nothing ever left to chance, Albie wondered?

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sculthorpe Spyplanes

Please sign Albie’s guestbook as I would love to hear your comments –
or email: