Homage to Labour

I can’t think of a better day to revisit the piece I wrote in 1980 in praise of two workmen who all but remodelled my kitchen in two weeks — flat — leaving a first-rate cabinet maker to complete the work in the following few weeks. In common with many other readers, I’ve been wondering which company has been paying for full-page advertisements in the daily press in praise of the human mind. Day after day that anonymous advertisement appeared — with no single word of explanation. It wasn’t natural to keep us guessing so long. When would that mysterious advertiser reveal all? Why was it hiding its light under a bushel of expensive newsprint? On Tuesday May 7 (1980, remember) I was still wondering why that company was being so shy about the brains behind the business. On Thursday, May 16 I knew  not who, but why, the advertiser was keeping so quiet about such a resourceful thing as the human mind. The reason was — and is — that I had just learned the lesson that when you have a good thing going, you keep quiet about it, because everyone’s going to want it. So I intend to keep quiet, very quiet indeed about the human minds that have been at work in my home for the past two weeks. This is how it happened. On May 7 two young men followed the contractor into my home and straightway began ripping my kitchen apart. I could see how much they were enjoying their work. One attacked the cabinets with a crowbar, the other started knocking out walls with a small sledgehammer — and I began to wonder (too late, as usual) if my kitchen had really been as cramped and inconvenient as I’d been saying it was in the past12 years. Three hours later the winds were whistling through what had been solid walls when I’d sat down to breakfast. At lunchtime our young architect dropped by to see how the work was progressing. As he walked in the front door his mouth fell open and he staggered slightly from shock.

“Eh, eh!”, he cried, “I’ve never seen men work so fast since I was in Switzerland.” From him, that was praise indeed. But there were even more surprises in store for him — and me. Although the workmen in the houses around us began to pack up to go home about 3 30 pm, our men showed no signs of calling it a day. They worked steadily and at the same pace until it was well past time for me to cook the family dinner. At six o’clock they swept up their mess — and my husband suggested Chinese food. Before I had time to wash the breakfast wares the next morning, my men were at work again. There were new walls to build, arches to form, tiles to be laid and not a moment to lose. Yet, at the same time, a wall is a thing of beauty and precision. To watch both those men at work was to understand why Winston Churchill wrote a whole book in the subject of bricklaying, and the art, skill and craft of the mason.

Those men needed no music while they worked. They rarely spoke to each other. Their lunch break averaged 15 minutes. Their concentration was fierce as they strung lines, consulted spirit levels, made moulds for arches, cast a new floor and laid tile over it. Our architect frankly admitted that they knew more about the work than he did. I should explain that he was still at University in the UK studying architecture and ours was a holiday assignment remodelling a kitchen in an old house. He said once our workmen knew what he wanted them to do, they needed no more supervision. By midday, May 16, their work was finished and my kitchen completely transformed, all ready for the electricians and the cabinet maker to start work. We’d had a few small problems with the plumbers. I’d lost five pounds in weight running around keeping the masons supplied with materials, and the good God alone knew where half my kitchen equipment was stored in the selection of supermarket cartons stacked around what could only be laughingly referred to as a dining room. Those who have already experienced, lived through the turmoil of renovating an old house will know that the rest of the house looks more like a jumble sale than the comfortable home it was three weeks ago and, God willing, will be again before the year is out.

As for me, I’m happy to admit that these last ten days have been a revelation. One can’t have masons in the house without there being a mess — but I didn’t mind it at all. It was a pleasure to see two men take such pride and — I think — joy in their work. And, as that anonymous advertiser wrote, the pride shows in every tile so precisely placed and every wall so carefully constructed. I’m proud of our kitchen and very, very proud of “my” masons. And, as I warned you before, I’m, not going to tell you who they are or where to find them. Anyway — there’s a long waiting list for their services. However ... I suspect there’s no waiting list for the gang of four to six men (it varies) and two water ladies working on a project less than a mile away from my home — but you don’t need me to fill in the details on that scenario. But it goes to prove that whoever that anonymous advertiser may be, the company is quite right to be proud of their people and to tell the whole of TT that a good job of work is built on pride in work well done, recognised and appreciated — be the workman a mason or a managing director.” And that, I think applies to Labour Day, 2003, as well.