Mettle and Steel

I lived from 1971 to 1979 in Brigg, a Lincolnshire town in what is usually described as the North Midlands or just the North East of England.

It was a smallish place with a busy through road, two river crossings and all that I recall by way of industry was a sugar beet processing plant, and a bicycle and marmalade factory- I stress the latter were two separate business operations.

Looking back it was a happy time. We had moved with my father's job and everything was new and fresh.

They were my formative years, I realise that now.

At age 8 there was not too much to worry about giving plenty of time to pursue the most important things such as playing out, riding a bike, exploring the local area and football. My family life was blessed with loving parents and, after the arrival of my youngest brother, Mark in 1975 there were five of us children in total, so quite a houseful.

We were free, with such a stable footing in life to just get on with being children and we made the most of it.

Of course there were a few downsides. School was one of them.

I was a quiet and painfully shy child, heaven knows why what with coming from a large family, and this was a hindrance in my first few years in new academic surroundings. The town Junior School was one of those inter-war built types with a covered verandah walkway with classrooms off. A common accident would be a child walking into an suddenly outward opening. glazed door as a member of staff went for a crafty cigarette in the staff room.

I did participate in most things on offer, in the choir, drama and music groups and I was quite good at running and sports in general. In education I was a bit of a plodder but got through the very devisive bit of social engineering that was the 11-plus examination.

This took me to the Boys Grammar School, founded in the 1600's by a Cromwellian and still steeped in history and tradition including a number of boarding pupils. I think that my year intake were the first not to be required to wear short trousers.

For all the burden of heritage it was a very active establishment in curriculum and extra-curriculum activities including a Scout Troop in which I got to sail, canoe, climb, camp under canvas and legitimately set fire to things. Happy times indeed.

The teaching staff were very much in the Old School style being strict but fair but you could accept and respect them for it. In true Grammar School ethos the emphasis was on preparing its pupils to progress to a University course but the mid to late 1970's, on hindsight, was the beginning of the end for this time served path through life.

Many of my Junior School friends did not pass the 11-Plus exam and so were sent to the new, brash Secondary Modern Co-Ed Comprehensive on the edge of the town. The mother of my best friend really laid into me upon hearing that her son had not got through the selection process and I had. Her sad, anguished and angry outburst had a great impact on my innocent ears and still sits heavily with me now, some four decades later.

I meandered through senior school, not at all sure what I wanted to do by way as a job.

A bit of sound advice and guidance was needed and in the course of a Chemistry lesson, I do not remember the date or time, the teacher set the scene of how our lives might play out.

Brigg was about 9 miles from the nearest large town of Scunthorpe.

Often the brunt of jokes about its spelling such as "who put the c**t in Scunthorpe?" or a perception, typically unfounded, about its inhabitants it was a boom town around one of the largest Steel Works in Europe.

In the 1970's it expanded at a startling rate as the main employer British Steel employed thousands coming from all over the UK. The industry operated using the latest technology and the huge blast furnace buildings sprawled over and dominated the east side of the town. From the hill overlooking the plant you could see right into the fiery heart of the production process.

It was tough and dangerous work but well paid and seen as promising a job for life.

The chemistry teacher, digressing from some experiment or other with lithium, gave us a lot to think about in perhaps for the first time putting our future choices in focus.

I was fifteen and approaching the time to make a decision about staying on at the Grammar for two extra years or leaving to go to a vocational college or to find a job. He said that with plentiful employment at the Steel Works we could all leave school and after an Apprenticeship in the Furnaces, Rolling Mills or support industries would be sitting pretty with money enough to buy a car, a house and settle down as tax paying citizens. In contrast, those thinking about the academic route of two more school years and say, three to four years at University, would not reach the same earning potential for the duration and until then would be living at home with mummy and daddy, relying on lifts and handouts and constituting a drain on the finances of the nation. You could postpone indefinitely any thoughts of home ownership and perhaps, getting a girlfriend.

Confusing times indeed on all fronts. I could have done without additional angst, what with being a pubescent, spotty faced teenager at the time.

The advice and guidance, even so bleakly put, would prove to be a pivotal point for me.

I opted for the academic route but many of my friends went to work for British Steel and thrived in that heavy industry.

I  moved away from Brigg with my family in 1979 and inevitably lost touch with my friends in the town.

Scunthorpe established itself as a centre of excellence for Steel putting millions of pounds into the local economy through the pay packets of its workers and those who relied upon the presence of the manufacturing giant for support and ancillary operations from lorry haulage firms to kiosk sandwich makers.

The job for life expectation began to unravel with the short term gains of privatisation from 1988 and changes in global markets for steel, principally the emergence of China as a major producer at much lower unit cost.

It is with great sadness that I heard the news just yesterday of the imminent large scale redundancies at the Scunthorpe Steel Works by its Indian owners, Tata. This brought back to me the emotions aroused by that period in my life when decisions had to be made that would set in motion a new direction and succession of events. It is a fragile existence indeed.