The shop-floor was effectively a village community with the usual cast of characters. Each operator lived in his own small area containing a machine, a secure locker (sometimes several), a wooden duck board to stand on, and some form of seating. Seats varied from elderly office chairs on casters (liberated from offices) to wooden boxes. Individual areas were separated by lockers, work racks, and miscellaneous sheets of cardboard on which were pinned examples of physically improbable graphics. Engineering fashions such as product cells or machine groups were not yet in vogue, and machines were collected together by type: rows of lathes, milling machines, etc. Running along the ceiling were the vestiges of an overhead pulley drive system. The work mix contained 'good' jobs and 'bad' jobs. Delivery of new jobs into the communal work rack initiated a dash to examine and select 'good' jobs for one's own work rack. It was not unknown for jobs to be spirited between individual work racks, and the pecking order in any section soon became obvious. Position of the apprentice in this pecking order was understood by everyone. Each operator was responsible for his own machine, although a maintenance crew was available for repairs, and an elderly gentleman visited occasionally to remove swarf. Some machines were lovingly cared for (five minutes were allowed each evening for cleaning), but most looked very sad for themselves. The village had its commercial representatives. Everyone knew which two operators (those with three lockers) could supply cigarettes and other gentleman’s items. Everyone knew the village bookmaker, and during three months in the tool room my duties included daily delivery of the leather bag with a time lock to the garage for transmission onwards. Village policing was the role of the Foreman in his white coat and pocket full of pens. He was not a disciplinarian [trade unionism was strong], he was not an organiser [the role of the production control department], and not an instructor [some of them were legendary in their ignorance]. I eventually decided that his role was to sign bits of paper and be squeezed between ‘them upstairs’ and the shop steward. Supervision was a career I intended to avoid. Smokey Checked by Norton 2004 before transmission with Mozilla Thunderbird