A Chancer (35 page)

Aye. Robert sniffed: Just making a bit of supper and that you coming ben?

Eh . . .

The football’s coming on the telly.

O aye, aye. Hey d’you hear the hammering?

Ah it’s only the house falling down!

Hh.

Dont worry but it’s no serious.

Tammas grinned.

Hey how did Hull do by the way I never heard the results?

Two each.

Aw good – away from home too?

Aye. Tammas nodded. Trouble is you dont even know if Rab’s playing cause there’s no reports.

Och he’ll be playing!

You never know right enough.

Come on. Robert paused a moment then turned to leave, adding: Beans and toast in five minutes.

Tammas called: Dont burn it!

You’re worse than your sister!

•••

Billy came up for him at 10 minutes to 7 on the Monday morning. Tammas was already up and in the kitchen, eating the bowl of porridge Margaret had made for him. She offered
Billy one but he shook his head. I’m on a diet, he said.

Ha ha! Margaret raised her eyebrows. If I was as skinny as you!

Billy laughed, sitting down opposite Tammas, and he said: It’s nothing personal by the way, coming up as early as this man!

But you’re quite right, replied Margaret. If I hadnt been here he’d have slept in.

Tammas continued eating, adding more milk to the bowl.

And are they sticky about time? asked Margaret.

No half! 3 minutes and you’re quartered – an hour and you’re sent home.

Honestly?

Aye. I was late twice that first week – gave the auld man a right showing up – he’s no been quartered for twenty years!

Margaret smiled; she was pouring tea, getting out an extra cup for him. And later, when they were set to leave, she palmed Tammas a pound note. The front door was open and Billy had stepped out
onto the landing. Tammas whispered, Aw thanks Margaret.

She shook her head slightly, frowning.

Naw, he said, thanks.

She closed over the door.

For the first six weeks he would be training on the job and if proving satisfactory he would be given a place on the line. Until then he was to be kept on constant dayshift.
Billy had started the fortnight before but in a different section. You’re in the rolling mill, he said, it’s supposed to be a bit of a bastard.

Tammas followed him into the factory and on to where the gaffer of the rolling section had his office. Billy grinned and left him standing at the door. See you at the canteen!

Tammas watched him walk quickly off and round a corner. It was quite a few minutes till the gaffer came out and opened the door, beckoning him to come in. He explained briefly what the job was
about then led him to the floor where the rolling machine was situated. Hey Peter! he shouted to a man. The man came across. This is the new fellow . . . The gaffer nodded at Tammas and went
away.

Tammas followed Peter to behind the roller. Peter indicated where he wanted him to stand and he said: Stay there and keep your eyes open. And I might as well tell you, they shoes you’re
wearing, they’re fucking no good. Surprised the gaffer didnt tell you.

He never mentioned it.

While he was talking Peter had picked up an enormous pair of heavy-duty clamps, positioning himself at a point to the side of the roller. There was a younger guy now standing on the other side
of it. Tammas could see his head on occasion, bobbing about. A banging sound from the roller. Peter was now crouching. A white hot copper bar of around 6’ in length and maybe 8” thick
issued from it. Peter caught the end of it with the clamps, brought it forwards to the edge of the machine; he allowed it to drop a short way onto a wee mobile iron trolley. He steadied it, still
gripping the clamps at its tip, and swung it sideways a little, pushed it into another part of the roller. Then he moved a couple of yards to his left and waited. The banging sound. He crouched, he
was farther back from the machine than previously. The copper bar issued. It was now about 12’ in length and maybe 4” thick, and was an orange colour. Peter repeated the process with
the wee trolley. And once he had pushed the bar back into the roller he turned to Tammas, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his right wrist, but said nothing. He lifted a smaller pair
of clamps and stood as before, though farther back again. The bar was much longer now, a grey red in colour, and he used a much smaller trolley to manoeuvre it back in. For the next stage he went
right up close to the machine and stood facing away from it, but looking down to between his knees, to where he was holding the clamps apart, just out from a wee hole the diameter of a golf ball.
He glanced at Tammas just as another banging sound came and suddenly he had clamped onto the end of the issuing copper wire and was running with it, heading diagonally, making towards a thing like
a kerb across the width of the floor, and behind him the wire still issuing, and he was shifting a bit as he ran, and steadying the clamps, to go thrusting the end of the copper wire straight into
a narrow gap tunnelled through the kerb. And as he thrust it in Peter was jumping over the kerb. The gap was angled so that the wire darted out directly in line to a guy who was working a different
sort of machine away up in the corner, a big circular device with a sort of cranking handle attached.

Peter stepped back over the kerb, putting the clamps in their place. Wiping his brow he said to Tammas, It might look easy but it isnt.

Tammas nodded. Peter was taking out his cigarettes and he lighted one for himself, tossed the packet onto an upturned oil drum near the wall. He asked, You done anything like it before?

Naw, no really.

Tch. Peter shook his head, and he walked to the machine and picked at something; he bent to lift the heavy-duty clamps, positioned them upright at the point where the bar would issue firstly. He
called: I’ll give you a shot before the break. Just watch till then. Where’s your gloves?

Gloves?

Jesus Christ. You cant expect to work the fucking clamps without them – I do it but I’m fucking used to it I mean it takes a fucking while to get the heat. You’ll no manage
without a pair in the beginning.

He never mentioned it.

Peter shook his head. He went behind the roller and began to speak to the other guy. The two of them returned. Tell him, said Peter.

What?

Tell him, about the gloves and that.

Naw just, the gaffer, no mentioning them.

Fuck me!

And the helmet, muttered Peter, tell him about the helmet.

Aye, he never mentioned it either. And the shoes, nothing about them. Tammas sniffed, he took his cigarettes out and lighted one.

The other guy said, Might be a spare pair in the locker-area.

Boots?

Naw Christ I’m talking about gloves. The man grinned, You’ll have to get yourself a pair of boots. The first-aid, you’ll get them there – deduct it off your wages. Some
no bad styles they’ve got. Eh Peter?

Suede. The fucking lot they’ve got. Wear them up the fucking dancing if you like!

Wouldnt be the first time, laughed the other guy.

Peter nodded. Anyway, time for another . . .

Tammas followed his gaze, seeing the overhead crane down at the very far end of the floor; a big furnace door had been pulled open and the next copper bar was being dragged out in a shower of
sparks.

He positioned himself nearer to the roller this time, watching everything Peter was doing. Peter made no acknowledgment till he had taken the stance with his back to it, set for the last issue.
He called, Watch this yin specially, you’ve got to be fucking careful. If you pull at it you’ll fucking stretch the bastard and that’s it a binger. You’ve got to let it
carry you along. If you go too slow you’re fucked, cause what’ll happen it’ll fucking bend right up behind you and it’ll fucking jam, it’ll no go through, and
that’s you, another fucking binger! Peter shook his head. His cigarette was in the corner of his mouth and he moved it across to the other corner without taking his hands from the handles of
the smaller clamps, not looking from the gap between his knees. Then the bang; and he was running.

By the time tea break arrived Tammas was still waiting to make his first attempt. He walked behind the machine and sat up on the oil drum. Then Peter appeared and handed him a pair of big
gloves. The tips were missing on most of the fingers. He shrugged: It’s the best I could find.

Tammas pulled them on without replying. Peter pointed to the clamps and said, The main thing is no to panic.

When the bang came and the bar issued Tammas raised the heavy-duty clamps, getting them round the end as it came slowly out the roller, and he gripped them there and tugged it slightly, lowering
it off but it dropped down onto the trolley and angled a bit and he had the clamps still firmly there but moving as it continued to angle then roll and his fingers were poking out the gloves and he
let the clamps go and the copper bar crashed down and bounced and he had to jump up and to the side to get out its path. Peter also had to jump. He shook his head and cried: I told you no to
fucking panic!

I didnt panic, cried Tammas pulling off the gloves, my fingers were fucking burning!

Fuck sake! Peter was glaring at him. Then he shook his head again and he turned away; he walked to the end of the machine and gave a piercing whistle down towards the furnace. He roared: Hey
Willie! Willie! Willehhh . . .

The overhead crane started to move. When it reached the rolling machine the guy who worked it pressed the button for the huge hook to descend. Peter wangled it around the tip of the copper bar
which was much duller in colour now. Okay Willie! he called. And the cranedriver raised the hook just sufficient for Peter to slide the mobile trolley in below it. Peter then waved and Willie drove
the crane back down towards the furnace. He glanced at Tammas, indicated the clamps and added: Okay, carry on.

Tammas got the clamps round the end of the bar and pushed forwards, working the bar on the trolley to the place it entered on the roller but in the process he nudged at the bar with his foot and
the shoe burst into flames. For fuck sake! He jumped back the way, stubbing and stubbing his toe at the floor to put out the fire. Meanwhile the copper bar had rolled off the trolley and was lying
flat on the floor again. Peter did not say anything. He walked to the end of the machine and gave the piercing whistle . . . Willehhh! And then he cleared his throat and spat, and he turned to
Tammas. I told you ye needed boots.

When the crane arrived he beckoned Tammas forwards while he motioned the driver to lower the hook; but the driver called to him: No fucking good Peter, bar’s too fucking cold.

Jesus Christ! Another bastarn fucking binger! Peter shook his head; he wiped his mouth with the back of his right wrist.

The guy from the other side of the roller had appeared. It’ll be okay, he said, they know we’ve got a learner; we just dock it off the time sheet.

Peter nodded.

The younger guy grinned at Tammas: Hot in here son eh! Mon we’ll have a fucking bevy!

Tammas looked at him. But the man was waving him to follow him and he shrugged and walked after him. Soon the overhead crane was returning with the copper bar, to put it back into the
furnace.

Peter joined them. The other guy had opened a metal cupboard, bringing out a brown bottle; its glass was thick and mottled and its size was about that of an ordinary whisky bottle. He swigged a
mouthful and handed it on to Peter who swigged some and handed it to Tammas. Dont drink too much, he said.

Or you’ll get a dose of the skitters, chuckled the other guy. It’s given to us for the sweat we lose. It replaces it. Undiluted; a kind of lime.

Tammas drank some. No bad, he said.

Good with vodka! Bring in a bottle the morrow and give it a buzz.

Wouldnt be the first time! muttered Peter.

Tammas smiled. He took out his cigarettes, lighted one, then offered to the other two; they both took one and he struck the match. Then the sound of the overhead crane starting up. Peter said:
Okay that’s us. Ready for another crack?

Tammas looked at him.

Eh?

Just now you mean?

Got to get the hang of it sooner or later.

Peter’s right.

Hh!

Peter exhaled smoke, glancing at the approach of the crane. And the other guy said, You’re definitely better to go straight at it.

Tammas shrugged and pointed at his shoes. No with them, they’re useless – and the fucking gloves as well I mean, Christ!

You’ve got to learn but.

Aye I know.

Well.

Once I’ve got the proper gear.

Go and see the gaffer then, muttered Peter. It’s fuck all to do with me.

I will.

Aye well fucking go then!

What d’you mean the now?

No point hanging about here, no if you’re no going to fucking even attempt it.

Well I would if I had the proper gear to wear.

Ah you’ll be alright, said the other guy.

No without the proper gear.

Go and tell the gaffer then.

Aye, okay. Tammas shook his head and left them there, and he walked straight down to the gaffer’s office. A girl was in with him. She had a bundle of papers under one arm and was leaning
over his desk, pointing to something on a paper he had in front of him. She was wearing a blouse and a skirt. He waited until she exited then chapped the door and entered. The gaffer gazed at him.
My shoes, said Tammas, they’re useless. Look . . . he displayed the toe of the burnt one. It went in bloody flames, just touched the bar and it went on fire. I need steel toe-caps.

Mm.

And the gloves as well. That guy Peter got me a pair but they’re all holes and the heat comes through. Murder when it touches the bare skin, the clamps.

Aye well you get all that stuff in the first-aid. Did Peter no tell you?

He says I’ve to see you.

Christ I dont have it. I dont have anything here, it’s all kept in the first-aid.

I’ve actually got a pair of boots in the house with steel toe-caps.