The Ball of Kirriemuir - Part 2

KEEPING THE WORKFORCE IN LINE !

My friend and former colleague Tom Cupples, who has an excellent blog himself, left a comment on one of my previous posts asking if I had ever had a job where there was no fighting, animosity or problems - the straight answer to that is NO !

A sweeping answer such as above requires some explanation. I touched on it briefly in my earlier post in that everyone 'hated' the Paint Inspector but it goes further that that when one examines the environment and types of people involved in this Industry.

Shotblasting or Gritblasting is one of the most arduous and possibly dangerous occupations around. A man is required to hold a Blast Hose (known as an Auger Line) for hours on end spewing out Iron Oxide (or Copper Slag) Abrasive 'granules' at a constant 100 pounds per square inch pressure supplied by a Blast Kettle containing up to 1/4 of a ton of grit. This is powered by a large Air Compressor supplying over 400 cubic feet a minute of air. The velocities and pressures are enormous. All the while the 'Blaster' is protected by a heavy and uncomfortable Blast Helmet which is pressurised and is subject to a continuous whistle of air inside. The 'Kettle' can empty in between 30 to 40 minutes and is refilled by a pot man who heaves and empties fresh bags of Grit into it as quickly as possible. In the 70's Grit came in 50 kilo bags but was thankfully reduced to 25 kilos in the 90's. The object of all this was to 'scour' off any rust, millscale or old coatings to bring the steel back to a 'white' condition. Once completed the object being worked on had to be sprayed in with high pressure spray units operating at about 2500 psi using specialised heavy duty Coatings. Added to the above all the spent grit had to be removed. On one occasion I had a squad of men removing over 300 ton of grit by hand. For weeks after this episode we were still exuding 'black stuff' coming from literally every orifice in our bodies.

In short this occupation required a very special, and frankly, hard man indeed. Interestingly enough the kind of guy who came into 'the trade' in the early days were usually ex -military and ex- convicts. The set up and mobilisation exercises to a job were very like the military and they also got to blast the crap out of stuff. To the men in this occupation the adage 'work hard and play hard' could not have been more true. Respect !

Squads I worked with comprised of former SAS, Commandos, Paras and other elite units. At one time in the 80's I reckon we could have retaken the the Falklands by just sending down a Blast / Paint squad as long as they were promised a bonus ! I even had - now wait for it ! - an ex member of the Waffen SS called Armin, as a Foreman. The men were terrified of him and he would take great delight in showing people his SS serial number tattooed under his armpit ! I caused a problem for myself with him when I revealed my own German antecedents. I (stupidly) told him my original name was Harry Wolff (long story !) which was the same surname as a notorious General of the Waffen SS. After that revelation he would speak to me only in German, gave me knowing nods and dodgy salutes and asked when we were invading Poland again !

Yes to be a Paint Inspector you had to be a little bit special and a little bit mad as well to survive. It took a brave man to tell that lot that their work was rejected !

The below are 'rearranged' Hagar the Horrible cartoons popular in the 70's & 80's devised by some wag who thought there was some similarity to myself - I don't see it ! The bottom one does show, however, a reasonable representation of a night in the 'Og' after a hard days work !

Back to the Tale !

I was the only member of the site management team to have the temerity to reside among the 'bears' in Kirrie. All the rest of them were more prudent and lived in outlying areas (mainly Forfar) to keep away from the debauchery, and it was safer ! I came under pressure from my beloved to bring her up, so about a month later I rented a flat in Kirrie (that meant I had 2 houses now - the other in Linwood) and we moved in. That didn't half curtail my activities, which was probably just as well. It didn't take long, however, for Linda to be drawn into the 'social scene' and she made a pal called Pam who she hung out with when I was on a 'bender'. Pam worked behind the Bar at the 'Og' and Bob Railton (the boss) fancied her like hell. Because I was there as a 'bodyguard' Bob timidly came into the Bar one night to try his luck. The Bar was heaving and Pam had no time to talk to him, so like the gentleman he is, he offered to come behind and collect / wash glasses to help out. Three new Glaswegian Welders came in and demanded he serve them. Bob could not pull a pint to save himself so he studiously ignored them much to their chagrin. Eventually one of the Welders grabbed Bobs tie in a rage and proceeded to repeatedly bounce his chin off the bar. This was somewhat amusing at first until I realised that tomorrow was timesheet signing day. With the assistance of some of the other Inspection staff we leaped in to rescue him and the inevitable fracas ensued. Another quiet night in the 'Og'!

Part 3 next Post.

The Ball Of Kirriemuir

The Site Office at Kirriemuir Compressor Station.

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Taken early 1977, standing next to me is Bob Railton who was the BGC Senior Surveyor. Bob came from Whitley Bay (a posh Geordie). He later became a Councillor in Forfar

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The 'Ball of Kirriemiur' is best described as a Rugby song of about 25 verses that cannot really be fully printed here in the interests of decency. The first 2 verses are not too bad and go as follows and should be sung in dialect:


Four and twenty Virgins came down from Inverness
And when the Ball was over there were four and twenty less
(chorus)
Who'll do it this time
Who'll dae it noo
The wan that did it last time
Cannae dae it noo
(next verse)
The Vicars Daughter, she was there,
Had us all in fits
Swinging off the chandelier
And landing on her tits !
(plus many more of deteriorating quality)


I use the above sample to assure the reader that every verse was true !
Oh my God !! Never within recent history or ever again has such a faithful reproduction of a Bacchanalian Roman Orgy ever been achieved !

Kirriemiur was a sleepy small town about 6 miles west of Forfar with a population (in the 70's) of about 5000. It had 3 claims to fame, it was the birthplace of J.M.Barrie, author of Peter Pan, the fact that the female population outnumbered the men by 3 to 1 and had about 11 pubs within an area not exceeding a square mile

Then one day 300 Construction and Pipeline workers descended on it like a horde of invading Viking Warriors. Kirriemuir was never the same again - There was an instant baby boom and the amount of kids starting primary school in 1981 with Geordie accents was uncanny.

The High Temple of this den of iniquity was the never to be forgotten Ogilvie Arms Hotel whose motto was "We Never Close" - this in an era when Pubs were supposed to shut at 10.30 pm and all day opening was still in the distant future. The High Priest and Priestess of this paradise on Earth were a couple called Bruce & Isabel - Bruce was a little chunky man of about 5'4" tall and Isabel a big lass of 5'10". She had a very pretty face and it was rumoured she had been a model prior to contracting some glandular disorder which resulted in a huge weight increase and complete hair loss, hence she always wore a blond wig. The only crime that could result in being 'barred' from the 'Og' (pronounced 'OAG') was in fact knocking off Isabels wig - It was the only Pub where, if there was any trouble, they locked you in !

I arrived at the Kirrie Site on the 1st Friday of July 1976. later that day I asked Bob Railton (who was in charge) if I could leave early to look for 'digs'. Now, I must have some sort of natural 'homing' instinct to seek out the worst of places (depending on the way you look at that) and my path led me unerringly to the Bar in the Og at 4.45 pm just before opening time. The Barman, named Davy Bulloch from Lanark, was busy cleaning glasses. He, as I discovered, was probably the best Barman in the world and his word was Law ! On one occasion when I was getting particulary out of hand he took my wallet, car keys, passport etc and locked them into the Hotel safe saying that I wasn't to get them back until Monday morning ! After considerable pleading he relented slightly and gave me £20.00 of my money back to 'keep me going'. Now that is what I call a Barman !! (Requiem in Pace ! Davy).

Davy informed me that Bruce wasn't in yet and would I like a Pint while I waited. I went to pay for this but he said that was Ok - on the house. I had nearly finished my Pint when a scruffy lad about the same age as me arrived. This was 'Manny' a complete nutter and as hard as nails - he was interested in the fact that I came from Glasgow and offered me a Pint as well. I felt then it was appropriate to offer them one back but Manny declined saying matter of factly - "Naw ahm ganging tae a Gang Bang, dae ye want tae come ?" - to say I was astonished was an understatement, I'd only been in the place about half an hour ! - The lady in question (whose name I cannot reveal here) was apparently a Sexual Athlete of some note and was said to have left 14 guys exhausted on the floor and left them to go to the Pub saying they were all 'gay boys' !

I declined this dubious invitation more due to the fact that coming from Glasgow I was well aware of the dangers of 'entrapment' and possible mugging in an as yet unknown area. It later transpired that this turned out to be absolutely genuine ! More guys piled into the Bar and further free Pints were offered (strangers were a rarity in the Og apparently) and by 8.pm my legs were starting to give way. Bruce arrived and negotiations started re dig money.

"35 quid a week full board" says Bruce hopefully,
"I'll be here for a while" says I with a poker face
"Ok 25 quid" says Bruce quickly (too quickly I thought)
"Done" says I and handed a chuffed Bruce 2 weeks up front.

It turns out Bruce needed me as much as I needed him - As the Og was a hotel it had Residents Licence which meant that as a Guest I could have further 'guests' after hours - I suddenly had more new 'friends' than I could 'shake a stick at' !

This got out of hand a few months later when the Forfar Police decided enough was enough (the Kirrie Police would not come near the place) and staged a 'raid' at 1 in the morning. I saw Bruce being 'huckled' down a corridor by 2 big 'Polis' with his wee legs dangling in the air. Isabel appeared and prevented any further progress with her considerable bulk and a huge row ensued. I rushed to the Bar and with the aid of some of 'my' brawny shotblasters and welders we went into Kirrie Square and turned the Police car over onto its roof ! (the blue light was well #&!#ed I can tell you).

A Police Sergeant, attempting joviality, came into the bar wringing his hands,
"Hah hah very funny lads, c'mon give us a hand to put it back !"
He was met with a hail of abuse, crisp packets and beer bottles at which he completely 'lost it' and called for re-inforcements. An ugly 'stand off ' followed during which, in the confusion, Bruce managed to escape. After a while the Police retreated to lick their wounds and rescue their Vehicle from the square. Apparently Isabel agreed to 'keep the noise down' and the Band set up in the (large) Gents Toilets - I know - unbelievable !!!

The 2nd part of this saga continues next Post.