Man’s Estate

     The last irony was that, when I started working among architects, I gradually realised that they don’t do architectural history in the university course, at least, nothing like in the depth that we did, so I knew more about it than any architect I met during ten years in the trade.
     So in the year of our Lord 1960, in St. James’ Row, west of the cathedral church of St. Peter and St. Paul, in the offices of Gibbs & Gibbs, Flockton & Sons, Fowler & Marshall, and Shepherd, Fowler & Marshall (Sid Shepherd being the only one still alive in that lot) earning £5 per week, I came into man’s estate. I became aware of, and able to recognise, the qualified and the powerful.
     It was because blue eyed wonder boy architect, Derek Atcroft was qualified, that he was entrusted with the task of choosing the colour scheme for the closet, when it came due its centennial re-paint. The closet was carved out of the end of a long and lofty drawing office, so though a modest 3 or 4ft square, it was an impressive and monumental 15 ft high. There should have been a sign on the outer door-

Welcome to the

 Wonderful World

Of Dickens

     Atcroft, the Architect, came up with ‘Graphite’ (just the black side of Navy Blue) for the walls and ceiling, which was fine, but the door (and this is where the qualified designer shows his metal) was a bilious orange. I don’t know what the name of the colour was, but an apt name would have been ‘Diarrhoea by Sunset’

     Now enter the power element, in the person of Sidney Shepherd, Senior Partner, effective owner of the whole circus. He goes in the closet for his morning meditation. When he comes out, he marches straight up to Atcroft’s board, stops, and says, for all to hear- “I know it’s a shit house, but you don’t need to advertise the fact!” Exit Circus Owner. The next morning, the door is a different colour, and it is dry. Now that is power.

     In the short term, Man’s Estate involved having to give up green ink (a mere whim, on my part, at the time) because Sid Shepherd used it, and I was advised that persistence on my part would probably be construed as impertinence. Power again, see? It also involved eating a lot of cheese and date sandwiches, they being easily the best buy at Greasy Joan’s Wad Shop, down beyond Paradise Square.

     There was a small plus in shaves for a shilling (for that special night out) at the Cathedral Hairdressing Salon. It was a shilling well spent, cos the shave lasted two days.

     In the long term, it involved slings and arrows, no more than my share, at various hands and times. I never did have to scrabble about underground, though, nor sit coughing up coal dust. I was never at risk from strange men in strange uniforms, trying to damage, or even terminate my health.

     Yes, there are places I wish I’d never been, hurts I wish I hadn’t felt, and even more I wish I hadn’t caused, words I’d give anything to unsay. But they are all links

 in a chain, which leads to here. If you take out just one small link, then you finish up somewhere else, and I like it where I am. Though I’m sure there are still those who would call me a daft beggar.

Something for the Weekend- a Shave!