People are always asking where the old man got his big career break and was able to acquire the
coveted skills of furnace bricklaying. This happened when he was working in the Black Country in Brierley Hill. It was from there that he landed a job with a Rotterdam-based company called Derro Enamels. Without the likes of Derro Enamels the Long Post-War Consumer Boom (which floated on oceans of refrigerators and washing-machines) would never have left port!
When the old man heads off to the Continent with his American movie-style hat, American movie-style suit, Orson Wells-style loosened tie and bulky trowel-filled travel bag, the old man cuts a distinctive worker aristocrat figure. When he returns to the prefab the place becomes choc-o-bloc with bottles of brandy and boxes of Dutch cigars. The phrase "Jack is back!" is whispered in saloon bars by canny characters who are on the look out for a free pint.
It is not too long before the Derro Enamels money-fuelled euphoria subsides and the worker aristocrat image looks a little frayed at the edges. When the old man is directing enamel furnace operations abroad he does not simply get a wage: his living expenses are paid as well! When he is waiting at home to be called for his next job he no wages at all - not a cent. Derro Enamels expect him to become a luftmensch - someone who lives on air alone - and were it not for mum's prolific budgeting skills we would soon be heading for Skintsville. In Skintsville everyone is either "on the floor", about to be "on the floor", or recovering from being "on the floor." When the Secret History of the British Working-Class is finally published its title will be "On The Floor (OTF)."
On evenings with a harvest moon when the owl in Silk-Farr's Wood is hooting eerily away unexpected events are prone to happen. On one such evening the old man returned from The Green Tree with a homeless pub pianist in tow. The pianist had uttered the "OTF" phrase, and this phrase can be guaranteed to open the old man's empathic heart. Whenever I see a harvest moon or an owl gives off an eerie hoot - especially if a chill wind is whistling outside - thoughts go back to the homeless pub pianist the old man brought home from The Green Tree. Has this sad- eyed maestro managed to find a secure sofa berth for the night or has his luck finally run out with him ending up "on the floor?"