(On my first day as an apprentice motor fitter I had no idea what was to happen. After arriving at the Road Motor Engineer’s Department in Duddeston Mill Road, Saltley, I stood around with a group of other new apprentices.)
“”All right you four lads, come down here and get your clock cards.”
The balding middle-aged man, wearing a clean blue boiler suit, was standing in the entrance to a small office situated next to the weld-mesh separated workshops that looked like large ‘cages’. We all obeyed immediately and walked towards the office. He called our names in turn and handed us a clock card each.
“Go and clock on now and remember to do it every morning and to clock off every evening when you finish, otherwise you won’t get paid. There is a number on your card to coincide with a number on the racks on each side of the clock. Don’t put your cards in the wrong slots, do you understand?”
We nodded apprehensively and walked back to the clock clutching our cards. The area was now beginning to get crowded, with men arriving singly or in groups, clocking on and changing into their overalls next to the individual lockers that lined the wall on each side of the clock.
Observing the clocking on procedure for a few minutes, we realised that it entailed putting the clock card into a slot under the clock face and moving a large lever, which was situated at the side of the clock, sharply downwards. This action produced a single chime from a bell inside the clock, thus indicating the success of the operation. One of the new lads moved forward and clocked on quite easily, soon to be followed by the rest of us. We placed our cards in the correct slots on the racks and wondered what was going to happen next.
The man in the clean boiler suit called us to his office again and said, “Have you clocked on properly?”
We nodded in unison.
He then said, “Right, I’m Sid Bartlett, the foreman of the repair shop. This bit here,” waving his arm around to indicate the area he was talking about.
“The general foreman, Mr Goodman, will be here any minute and he will tell you what to do next, so go and wait by the clock again.”
We dutifully shuffled out of the foreman’s small office, walked back to the clock and stood in a small group watching the other men clocking on and saying good morning when similarly greeted by them. We then took the opportunity of introducing ourselves and telling each other from which part of the city we hailed. After a few minutes we ran out of conversation, so we stood silently waiting for Mr Goodman.
Suddenly, a tall, balding man with the remnants of ginger hair around the sides and back of his head and dressed in a brown cow-gown (a Midland term for a long, brown coloured coat-like overall similar to a doctor’s white coat), walked across from the other side of the huge workshop and pointed at us.
“Right you lads, gather round. Have you clocked on?” he enquired in a mild, but noticeable, Cockney accent.
We all nodded.
“Good, follow me and I will show you around and then I shall decide who goes where.”………”
African Tales 