THE BRICKYARD PART 3

OThe day after the coal barge had left the foreman came to me and said “Ow du yu feel about stayin’ up all neet?”
“All night I queried?”
“Yis”, he said, “but yu can ‘ev ‘t next dae off”
 “Why do ah ‘ev tu stay up all night?” I asked
“Well Walt isn’t feelin’ tu good so app’n yu can stand in fer ‘im?’ he said.
“Doin’ what?” I asked
“Lookin’ arter the kiln when it’s lit, we bin waetin’ on this coal cummin’ an’ now it’s ‘ere wi’ can bon (burn) some bricks an’ tiles” he said.
“Aw” said I waking up at last,”You want me to do first night?”
 “Yis “said the foreman, “an’ it’s the easiest an yu gits ten bob extra at week end”
 That did it.
“Can ah nip ‘ome an’ tell me mam I won’t be in for bed ternight”
“ Yis, an’ bring some samwiches back wi’yu, yu gonn git hungry come midnight”.
“an yu might need this” he handed me a lump of wood not unlike a base ball bat.
“Keep yur eye op’n, app’n yu could ‘ev a visitor pinchin’ coal, an if yu do, clock ‘im one with that,” and he indicated the wooden club now in my hand, “an then cum an’ tell me an’ al’ ring cop shop”.
I didn’t know what I had let myself in for.
Instead of going up the lane with every one else as work finished for the day, I stood and watched as every one else took off for home.

Two blokes making tiles had stopped making tiles and were going round the drying sheds and were lifting up the wooden shutters so if it rained on the slant during the night it would not wet and ruin the tiles drying on all the shelves. Eventually they finished and it was not long after they had departed the sun disappeared and the gloom began to set in. I was alone and it began to get dark so I decided to go sit in the nearest coal shed adjoining the kiln.
A kiln is as large as a two story -house but it has no roof. At one end is a very tall doorway but no door, just the opening. Down each side of the kiln there are twelve fire holes, so a total of twenty four fire holes must be maintained whilst firing is taking place. At each side of the kiln a coal shed has been built on to the kiln to store the coal and keep it dry, and it is close by when needed. The bottom half of the kiln is stacked with dry green bricks, (green because they have not been fired yet). On top of these the more fragile tiles are stacked. When the kiln if full and ready for firing the twenty four fires are lit and kept low for the first day. Then small broken bits of tiles and other rubbish is scattered on the top to let the heat sift through but should it rain these scraps soak up the wet and turn it to steam and prevent damage to the green tiles underneath. The doorway where all the barrows had brought dry bricks and tiles from the drying sheds to be stacked inside the kiln had been bricked up. Then plastered with mud so no air could leak in and crack the tiles as they were being fired. It was very important to stick to the script otherwise months of work could be ruined, and thousands of pounds lost. I sat on the coals near the middle of the coal shed and mused, “I must stay awake all night”.
 “I must put a bit of coal on every hour”.

 God, this is boring I thought, but I don’t think He cared, well he didn’t shout down to me or give a sign so I guessed he must have been otherwise occupied. So here I was on my own and it suddenly dawned on me I had been entrusted with thousands of pounds worth of work and if I fell asleep I would let everybody down. The fires would go out, the tiles would be ruined, and I would be out of a job. So there was no way I was going to sit on the coals and fall asleep near the nearest fire, I thought if I feel drowsy I’ll go for a walk on the bank. But then I thought if I do that some one might come an steal coal, so I contented myself with walking from one coal shed to the other one at the other side of the kiln. “What was that?” and I realised I had grabbed the club and the torch and sat still listening with the hair on the back of my head beginning to stand up. I had seen something move near the doorway and in the moonlight coming through the doorway I could make out the shape of an otter.  It must have wandered away from the river and smelled the warm fires. I kept very still as the otter crept onto the coals near the first fire and it settled down and curled up.  I kept very still as long as I could, but then I had to tend the fires so I had no choice but to move. As soon as I moved the otter’s eyes flicked open and it sat there watching me as I sat and stared at it. As soon as I stood up the otter was gone, it occurred to me it might come back so I got a sandwich from my knapsack and put it in my pocket so I could offer it without having to move too much. But I never saw it again. Later I was to learn it had paid us another visit and some of the blokes left bits of bread for it, but it was wild and intended to stay wild.

Morning came and the foreman came into the coal shed, “Yu managed all right then young un?”
he asked. I told him about the otter,”Oh ‘im, ah seed ‘im afore, e’ll not ‘urt yu if’n yu leave ‘im alone”
He walked round all the fires and came back with a big grin on his face, “yu did good young’un” he said, “gerroff ‘ome tu bed”.

I had my next day off and it spoiled me, I was now looking at leaflets imploring young lads that wanted to see the world to join the navy. My dad put the dampers on that straight away, but my sense for adventure had been whetted.
Not only that but I did not want to spend the rest of my life in a brick yard, there had to be more to life than making bicycles and bricks. After my day off I was back to my old job as tram lad, pushing full skips of clay to the bottom of the slope. Since three of us were in the clay pit about ten feet lower than the road we had to look across and up a little as the foreman rode by on his bike, “Yis” he shouted.
“yis” replied the two blokes without missing a beat as they continued to dig and fill the clay skip.

This was obviously a morning greeting and saved breath, one acknowledge the other without the rigmarole of a lengthy empty conversation. Besides it saved the foreman stopping, getting off his bike, coming down into the clay pit, just to pass the time of day then having to climb up the bank again remount his cycle. So the foreman continued on his trusty iron steed and the two blokes continued filling the cay into the skip. The spades these two blokes were using were unique in that they were re- worked. The spade would be bought new, but then the heavy blade would be cut off leaving about one inch of original blade. Then an old shop sign would be scrounged, this would be made of sheet steel, and very strong and stove enamelled on one side. The new blade for the clay spade would be cut to size from this old metal sign, usually ex Oxo or Bovril, or somebodies Special Tea. The baked enamel would then be removed by chipping with a ball pointed hammer, drilled and finally riveted to the bought altered spade. The user now had a spade which was much lighter had a much thinner blade and for cutting clay all day it was a delight to use.
So the drill to filling a skip was to dip the spade in the water bucket, cut into the clay, with draw the blade and cut again. The second cut being at right angles to the first would release a block of clay about a foot square and about 16 inches long. Dipping the spade in the bucket of water lubricated the spade so the clay didn’t stick. On a hot summers day these two clay diggers would perspire freely so they would have a bottle of cold tea to swig at when the need arose. It was not a job I would want to do for the rest of my life so I comforted myself I could leave any time I felt like it.

Or so I thought, my Mum had other ideas, “you’re not leaving there until that bike is paid for,
Thomas me lad”, she chortled.
I stayed put for a while and got to know all the ins and outs of brick and tile making and I used to ponder why no one had thought to make life easier. What I mean is the way bricks and tiles were made. Take tiles for instance, a lad would wind a handle on a huge cast iron box and the effort would be passed through a chain of gears finally pushing the clay through a die, which was usually made of brass and costly. Reminded me of mum icing a cake. But this thing was about a hundred years old, why could not some one come up with some thing new, it took two blokes to move it only a few feet. The latest thing to be modified was what was called the receiver. This device had two wooden arms that jutted out from the mouth of the die and it had wooden rollers covered with felt. The clay would be squeezed out of the die in the shape of a tile. When it reached the end of the receiver the lad would stop turning and turn back the handle to take off the pressure. Then the bloke at the front of the machine would drag a thin wire across the clay tile.
That would separate it from the rest of the clay tile. Then picking up what looked like a kid’s catapult but with a wire strung across the two arms he wiped it across the front end and that trimmed the tile to shape and size. He also made a hole through the knob for the nail. Then reaching down he would pick up a wooden fork from a bucket of water and offer it under the tile and gently lift it off and put it on the shelf to dry. The wooden fork was made up of the handle which fitted into a block of wood approx 2”x2”x 8” From this block of wood two flat pieces of wood shaped to the contours of the tile are fitted, these two pieces of wood are covered with felt and since the fork is kept in a bucket of water the felt is always wet. It comes as no surprise when a novice try’s his hand at tile making, for the tile to slide off the fork and is useless.

The next step in good tile making is to put the tile on the shelf to dry. There is an art in withdrawing the support of the fork and leaving the tile standing with a good arch to its back. If when the fork is withdrawn the tile sags then it is useless. This was a back aching and boring job but it paid well. To get to be a good tile maker took years of practice, and if the reader smiles I would point out that all tiles had to fit each other so any discrepancies would be dumped.
Only the good tiles were burned in the kilns. The kiln would burn for a week. Once the kiln is full all the fire holes are prepared with a small fire made with paper and a few sticks to which a small amount of coal is added. These small fires are maintained for 24 hrs and the kiln is sealed and plastered with mud to stop any air leaks. The only entrance for air then is via the fire holes and it exits through the open top of the kiln. As soon as the fires are lit and the plastering is finished some one has to go on top of the kiln to throw small bit of broken tiles and other debris on to the stacked tiles because should it rain they would be destroyed before they were hardened.

That job was a bit unpleasant because now the kiln was lit a lot of smoke and sulphur had to be endured. After 24 hrs the fires would be added to and the heat in the kiln would rise. The fires would be increased until by the end of the week the whole fire hole would be full of fire. With 24 fire holes going flat out everything inside the kiln looked like the pale yellowhot sun. Then all the fire holes would be bricked in and plastered over with mud and the whole thing would be left a few days to cool down. Once the foreman gave the O.K. to take away the bricks in the doorway we could see if our venture was successful. Usually there would be cries of “it’s a goodun’” But on odd occasions some tiles would be cracked or distorted due to a cold air leak in one of the fire holes or the door way. The popular tile made was the old fashioned pan tile, but some yards experimented with French  and Dutch tiles. I left the brickyard, I was getting restless. I wanted to join the Navy.

       T.O.B.1997© Tam