|
|
21: All Out Lads! The ASLEF strike of 1982 which began on Monday July 5th had its origins in an earlier NUR dispute over the introduction of flexible rostering. After two days the NUR strike began to collapse and many branches returned to work. It was a humiliating situation and after several emergency meetings it was decided that ASLEF, the staunchly militant driver's union, would become involved. Our General Secretary was Ray Buckton, a typical locoman of the old school. On one occasion, during the short dispute, Ray was attacked by an angry commuter on the London underground. But as we were threatened with dismissal the ensuing strike lasted only two weeks. On our return we would be reinstated in groups and each man would lose his seniority. That was fine by me but not for long-serving drivers who were expecting a golden handshake and a railway pension. At Coalville we were 100% behind the action, with the backing of drivers in the NUR. But not all depots fared so well: we heard of drivers leaving depots and flashing their wage packets at the pickets. When the strike ended plans were presented to single-man the bulk of main line work. History was repeating itself. The strike of 1955 also lasted two weeks and ended with a pay rise for the drivers - but the firemen received nothing. Though the 1982 strike wasn't about pay, again it was the second men who would bear the brunt of managerial revenge. They would book on for turns and receive no work. The only job still double-manned was the odd mainline turn, shed, ferry, and the Bardon shunt. Luckily no one suffered in the long run and although it was a frustrating time we would all eventually be absorbed into the system. The line of promotion meant that we were all drivers in waiting. It was ironic that two weeks later the head of the BR board, Clifford Rose, passed away. It left a nasty taste in our mouths. The months after the strike were bleak ones for us. Rumours of redundancies were everywhere and small groups of second men walked around the town and the yards gloomily pondering the big question. Salvation came in the shape of specials to run coal to top up at the power stations after the dispute - and specials required a second man. In 1984 four of us received letters informing us that we were to attend the MP12 (driver training) course. To say we were over the moon would be an understatement. The letter also said that all books – i.e. rule book, sectional and general appendix, working manual, electrified lines, traction manuals and a host of others would be required. My plastic carrier bag just couldn't cope under all that weight and I had to invest in something sturdier. On the morning of 5th March 1984 we met in Room 36 at Wyvern House, platform 1 at Derby. Our instructor was again Bernard Willis, along with several others who would take various aspects of the course in the coming weeks. I wouldn’t be seeing Coalville depot for six months, so along with our free passes to Derby I would be saving a fair bit of money. Alongside us four Coalville men were five from Leicester and five from Derby. We were eased gently into the course, but as each day went by our heads were becoming choc-a-bloc with rules and regulations. Most of us revised at home or on the train, though none would admit to it. Men who'd already done the MP12 course warned us that unless we were prepared to revise we'd simply fail and have to do it all over again. And so, as we went deeper and deeper into the rule books, the enthusiasm we’d had at the beginning started to wane a little. As the days went by we got more fed up and confused, so much so that we would end up daydreaming or doodling on our pads to stem the boredom. And yet we knew we would have to know it all to stand any chance of getting through the 3-day examination in front of the loco inspector. The Derby lads were by far the cleverest of the bunch, or at least they were seen swotting up the hardest. They were affectionately known as the A-Team, while the four of us Coalville lads had counter-named ourselves the Z-Team. At break times, while Derby lads were busily revising and taking notes, we would nip off for some liquid refreshment or play Nuclear War games with Craig’s cigarette papers rolled around a pencil and marked either USAF or USSR. The object was to take each other’s bases out. ‘You’ve got no hope of passing this course,’ the Derby lads would say, shaking their heads at our antics. But we had to let off steam somehow and it was only a bit of light-hearted fun. The pressure was tremendous and I heard that two or three courses before ours one bloke had committed suicide over the pressure. One lunchtime Bernard came in and caught us in the middle of another game. ‘Tony – what are you doing?’ To his bemusement I explained that I’d just taken out all of my rivals bases in the south. Towards the end of each week we would dine out at the Alexander. It was pleasant to have a meal with our shandies, but once back in the classroom with a full belly and the sun shining warmly through the windows it was increasingly hard even to stay awake, let alone take in any learning. That summer of 1984 was a hot one, and if some unfortunate person did nod off the instructor would pause and wait for one of us to slap the culprit. ‘Thank you for joining us,’ the instructor would say as the bloke woke and looked around in embarrassment. ‘Is it alright if we carry on?’ At the end of the day though, even with all these incidents, we worked very hard and the instructors knew it. On the wall of the classroom hung a large working model of a loco fuel pump. One part of it was called the helix and this wooden piece, the size of a baked bean tin, found its way into a different bag every night and must have visited the homes of everyone who was on the course more than once. So every night we would all look up to the fuel pump, see that the helix was missing and then search our bags for the offending piece. We were glad to complete our Rules & Regulations – it had been a headache from start to finish. Little did we know that the Engine would be just as bad. The basic traction in our area was the Class 47 (or four and a half in railway terminology). The basic stuff was fine, until you started going deeply into the air-braking, fuel, water and oil systems. The electrics side of it was even worse, with parallels, series parallels, main and auxiliary generators, traction motors, exhausters and compressors. We went through the lot. Sometime during all this was 2-week Basic Electrics course – this one even worse than the previous two. It’s nice to know that BR liked to train its drivers efficiently, but to me it seemed like a bit too far. We were meant to be train drivers, not electricians! The first day we managed to grasp it, and we even kept up for half of the second day, but as they went deeper and deeper into the subject they just lost us. Even the instructors admitted it was hard going – so what chance had we got? We just sat there and let them ramble on. I’d be sitting there thinking about what jobs I had to do on my motor scooter when I got home, or where I would be going out to that night. The one fun aspect of the Basic Electrics course was a circuit board made up by some bright spark to demonstrate the functions of fuses, lights, switches and contact breakers. We were encouraged to tamper with this board and one break time I managed to blow the thing up. I don’t know what I did, but there was a shower of sparks, a bang and a puff of smoke. Anyhow, we managed to struggle through the fortnight and then began our revision period for everything we had covered. Anything we still didn’t know, now was the time to ask. The inspector who was to pass us out was keen on the Engine - so back we went through it all again. Recite the firing order of the 47? I once woke up from sleep in the early hours doing just that. The 4-stroke cycle - induction, compression, power and exhaust. We certainly earned our wages from then on... |