The Enginemen, Chapter 4, 'George Munday'

Chapter 4: George Munday

George’s home was a mess. He’d complained as usual about the trail of discarded clothes and magazines that strew the floor of the cluttered living room. Not that anyone really took him seriously, neither his fifteen year old daughter, Eva, the apple of his eye, nor his buxom wife of twenty five years, Florrie, who had too many things to do, rather than worry about the temporary state of the combined lounge and dining alcove. They’d let him convert the shed in the garden into his den, where he kept his council and union papers, neatly indexed and out of harm’s way. His gardening tools had migrated to the hut on his allotment plot, for he did all his serious digging there, the prize vegetables he brought home in season far superior to those in the local greengrocer’s shop. The small back garden was turfed over, with a few flowering shrubs that needed very little attention. He’d paved over the front garden to accommodate his pale green Ford Anglia. The few flower beds remaining he’d left to his wife to cultivate.

His home was a typical pre-war semi-detached three bedroom house in a typical suburban avenue on the western fringes of Ealing. It was on a small council estate, kept neat and tidy, decorated with flowering cherry trees at this time of the year. He’d married Florrie, whom he’d met at the local church youth club, in 1936 and his eldest, Paul, had been born in 1939, just before war was declared. He’d wanted to join the RAF, but as an experienced railway fireman, he too, like James, had been retained on duty at Old Oak Common. His footplate experience was needed for the war effort, for his was a job that could not easily be delegated to women or young men passed unfit for the army. His second son, Derek, came three years later, he was the brainy one, he was now away at Manchester University studying Physics.

Paul had moved out a couple of years previously when he’d married his childhood sweetheart, Maggie, and now they had a baby son, Andrew George, making George and Florrie proud grandparents. They didn’t live far away, Paul was doing well in a local garage business with promises to take over as manager as the company expanded into other parts of Middlesex and West London. Maggie brought Andy frequently round to Florrie for her to mind for a few hours while she resumed a part time job, a chore that Florrie absorbed very willingly into her busy schedule of helping neighbours, catering on a voluntary basis for various functions at the Methodist church just down the road, and communicating with numerous brothers, cousins, nephews, nieces and in-laws who populated London’s suburbia.

George’s father, Richard, had been a Methodist lay preacher for nearly fifty years before his death a couple of years previously. He had been a model for George, he’d also been a railwayman, a signalman who’d retired from West Ealing Box in 1950 and had a strong nonconformist social conscience that had steered his son to have an interest in politics. He’d been so proud when George had been elected as a Labour Councillor immediately after the war. He himself had been a trade union official for the signalling grades for a number of years, conscientious for his members and their interests, but always anxious to distance himself from the increasingly militant opinions and activities of many of the younger men now being elected to the Union and the Council, some of whom, he believed, were virtual Communists.

Derek had just returned to college after the Easter vacation and was due to take his first year examinations in June, to determine the continuation of his course to full degree level. George had no qualms about this, his son was extremely bright and found little difficulty in keeping ahead of his work and finding time to indulge in other sporting interests. The two of them had been up to Highbury twice over the holiday period, although Arsenal’s performance was a disappointment to them both. It was a long time since the club had won any trophies, the manager, George Swindin, was rumoured to be near the end of his contract and the Board were already looking for a replacement.

Music was blaring from upstairs, Eva had shut herself in her room and strains of Chubby Checker twisting were punctuated by the rhythmic stamp of Eva’s feet. This was her latest craze, George didn’t fathom it for a minute, but he was indulgent towards his youngest and she could get away with things that her brothers never could.

“I’m on at nine o’clock tomorrow morning for the Gloucester,” George balled over the noise to his wife who was in the kitchen. “I take it Eva’s back at school. What are you doing tomorrow?” Before Florrie could answer, he added: “I might have to stop at the depot for a while when I get back. I’ve got a couple of complaints about these new turns which I’ll have to sort out if the right people are about.”

“That’s OK, I’ll be going over to Mum’s once Eva is off. I promised I’d get Dad down to the doctor’s and I’ll have to sort out whatever medicine he’s given and make sure Mum understands. If I’m not back when you get in, you’ll find a Shepherd’s Pie in the fridge. Heat it up, I’ll bring something back with me when I come.”

George went over to the television and switched the six o’clock news on. The Soviets had just put a man in space and the news had little else.

“Florrie, come and look at this, the Russians have got a sputnik orbiting the earth and they say that it’s manned.” He went to the door and shouted upstairs, “Eve, come down and see this. It’s a historic day.” Nothing happened. He shouted again, but louder.

“The bedroom door opened. “What did you say Dad?”

He repeated his message. The music stopped abruptly and Eva entered the room. She was an attractive girl, brown bobbed hair and dark eyes, a well developed chest that she was proud of and was much envied by some of her schoolfriends, and long legs she made no effort to hide under her swirling skirt. She stopped and stared at the tiny spacecraft on the small screen, then a photo of the cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, appeared.

“That’ll give the Yanks something to think about,” opined George, “Kennedy was determined the USA would win the space race. First to put someone on the moon, he said. This’ll knock the confidence out of them.”

They stayed watching the extended news bulletin, then Eva looked bored and made to go back upstairs.

“Turn that radio of yours down a bit, will you love,” whispered Florrie, “we can’t hear ourselves think down here. I’m trying to sort things out for tomorrow with your Dad and we’re having to shout to make ourselves heard above your din.”

Eva grunted, which could have been a grudging acceptance. When she had gone, Florrie said to her husband, “You’re too soft with her, George. I know she’s got brains, but I’m worried she and her friends spend more time listening to the radio than doing their homework properly. And you know she’s got a boyfriend, don’t you? I’m a bit worried, I’ve heard the other girls talking about him, he seems a bit of a lad.”

“Where does she see him? Down at the club?”

“I don’t think so, I think she goes out with some of the other girls and meets him in the local café.”

“I’ll have a word with Jim Cartwright at the club. He shouldn’t be letting them off the premises on club night.”

“I’m not sure how he can stop them. I think sometimes they meet up before club starts, other times they all leave early and go for a coffee, or so they say.”

There is silence upstairs. At last.

“Well, it sounds as though she’s doing her homework now.”

“I hope so, you never can tell with teenagers these days. I don’t remember the boys being this difficult.”

“Well, you used to make it pretty plain to them that you’d take no nonsense. They knew where they stood.”

“Don’t you think Eva knows this too?”

“I’m not sure, George. Sometimes I think she pays more attention to what her friends say than us. I worry that she may get in with the wrong crowd at school.”

“The school is pretty strict. It has a reputation for good discipline.”

“Yes, but they can’t control what happens after school. I know a lot of boys hang around the gates in the afternoon, I’m sure Eva rarely comes straight home. I don’t know what they do, it’s probably quite innocent , but I do worry about her.”

“I’m sure she’s alright. We’ve given her a good home, plenty of affection, she’s not short of any material needs.”

“I think it’s different now from when the boys were at school. The kids seem to have more independence, they’ve got more money than I ever had. They seem more selfish now somehow, Eva never seems to think of anyone but herself.”

George was quiet. He didn’t like to think that Eva had grown into a young woman. She was still his darling, a tomboy who shared his love of football, teasing and bantering with each other. He hadn’t realised she now seemed so much more secretive, spent a long time in the bathroom, used her mother’s lipstick.

Later that night in bed he and Florrie chatted a while. George had tossed around a bit, then went to the bathroom for a draught of water to settle his indigestion. He was reluctant to bring up the subject of Eva again, which was what really bothered him, so he focused on another issue that had been causing him some thought recently.

“We’ve got a crucial council meeting next week. The others in the Party are determined to give planning permission to Tesco’s to open a new self-service grocery in the High Street. I’ve had a lot of objections from small shops who fear it’ll put them out of business. I’ve a mind to try to stop the application but it won’t make me very popular.”

“Isn’t it a good thing for many people? I’ll find it a godsend if I can go to one shop to get most of our foodstuffs and not have to wait in a queue to get a chatty assistant to pay some attention.”

“That’s maybe fine for you, but it’ll put many people out of work. It’s groceries now, it’ll spread to other shops and trades. It won’t be long before someone decides to have self-service for petrol and car parts, perhaps large units carrying out mass car repairs and then where will Paul’s career be?”

“I don’t know about these things, George. You do what you feel right. Don’t kowtow to Jock Smithson and his crowd just because they’re Labour. You’re respected enough for them to have to listen to you.”

“It’s not as easy as that, dear. If the Tories sense we’re divided, they’ll oppose for party political reasons and it’ll become a tactical voting issue, losing sight of what I’m trying to argue.”

“I don’t know. We can’t foresee everything. Don’t lose more sleep over it, you’ve a full day tomorrow especially if you’re staying on to deal with LDC matters afterwards.”

“It’s my first day with my own engine tomorrow. You’ve got a rival, old girl. You’ll have to behave yourself now, or I’ll give you good reason to be jealous!”

“Just you watch it”, she chortled, giving him a hug, “I’m not being sidelined for a lump of metal even if it is a bit weightier than me and you’ll spend more time with it than you will with me.”

“Don’t you worry, love. I doubt if she’ll handle all my concerns as well as you do. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”