The Enginemen, Chapter 8/2

Feelings simmered at the depot for the rest of the week, the sacking was the main topic of conversation wherever you went. George Munday asked to see the Shedmaster about it and got nowhere. The man was abrupt and said if the Union wanted to challenge the action he had taken, they should wait to hear the result of the court case and lodge an official appeal and he was saying nothing else until that happened.

Keith Mountford rang George Thursday lunchtime, he had apparently been part of a procession through the court that morning. All had been fined £50 and bound over to keep the peace. The police had argued that many of the demonstrators had been violent but they could not identify which of those arrested had committed the more serious crimes with any degree of certainty so the court treated all the ordinary activists just the same. The CND rally leaders were being heard later, the press was displaying much more interest in their fate.

George popped in to see Higginson as he arrived at the depot and told him the result of the case against Mountford and asked if that made a difference to the management decision. The Chief Clerk didn’t even bother to go to see the Shedmaster, but just shook his head and said the matter could take its course. If the Union wanted to take things up, there were the usual mechanisms. George said he’d call a Branch meeting at the weekend to take the matter further.

George left the office in a foul mood. He couldn’t see why the management was being so obstinate. If Mountford had been as abusive as they’d hinted, it would come out at the appeal and weaken the fireman’s case anyway. By refusing to back down they were just making life more difficult for themselves. He’d have to call a Branch Meeting now and Sunday evening was the best time, although it would upset Florrie who was expecting him to join her at some church do, then he’d planned to discuss Paul’s investment dilemma with him afterwards. But that would have to wait. He posted the notice on the ASLEF board in the lobby, and made his exit quickly to prepare 5034 for its next duty before he could be inundated with queries and suggestions from the other drivers and firemen who were hanging about the entrance.

When he finished his turn of duty, he called on Keith Mountford on his way home to advise him of the Branch Meeting.

“You’ll be there, of course, to give your side of the affair and answer any questions from the men. Then we’ll ask you to retire while we debate what actions we should take in response to management’s stand.”

Mountford agreed and offered George a can of beer, but he refused as he knew Florrie would have the evening meal already waiting, and going cold if he delayed much longer.

“See you Sunday, then, and make sure you tell us everything. I don’t want to be accused subsequently of encouraging the brothers to take industrial action in your support only to find you’ve omitted to tell us some key fact that undermines our position.”

“Okay, boss, I’ll do as you say.”

Word went round quickly that George had had no movement from the management and had called a Union meeting. It was no surprise therefore that at six o’clock on the Sunday evening, the function room at the Royal Oak, the usual venue for Union meetings, was packed with over sixty men. They were crammed in, some sitting on the tables, some standing, and the air reeked of cigarette smoke and beer. George, as Branch Secretary, chaired the meeting, supported by Arthur Campion, Chairman of the Old Oak footplate staff LDC.

George brought the room to order and the hubbub died down, then he invited Keith Mountford to tell everyone exactly what had happened.

“What do you mean, how I got the sack?”

“Keith, tell the brothers everything from the beginning, why you joined the CND march, why you took the day off, your arrest and the interview with the Shedmaster in which you were sacked.”

Keith Mountford stood up beside George, he was clearly nervous.

“Well, it was like this. I knew some lads from the depot were going to the CND demonstration, so we fixed we’d meet at Charing Cross and have a couple of pints and then go to Trafalgar Square. I knew I was only on a spare turn, there’s usually plenty of cover, so I assumed I wouldn’t be missed that much. Only one of my mates, Ralph Beddowes, turned up, and we went to the ‘demo’ together.”

George interrupted him. “So Ralph was at the demo too. Was he arrested, why wasn’t he disciplined by management the same as you?”

“Well, Ralph, he was Rest Day anyway, so no-one picked up that he was there and had been arrested too.”

“So the governor does not know about Beddowes’ arrest? Was he dealt with in court as you were?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Keith, carry on.”

“Well, the demo was fine at first, there were hundreds there, and various people made speeches and then we were told to lie down, ‘passive resistance’ they called it, and then the police waded in and began to shove us around, told us to get up and scarper or else, and we just acted like we’d been told and lay there like dummies. I got bashed by the police, then they began to arrest us. Some people struggled and there was some violence, but me and Ralph, we did as we’d been told, and just went floppy so the police had to pick us up and carry us to the Black Marias. They were hot and angry and finding it difficult to carry us as we did nothing to help them. Eventually they got about a dozen of us in that van and slammed the door and that was that.”

George had to quieten the room as comments flew around about the police and it being a free country and all that.

“Brothers, we’ve come here to deal with management’s action in sacking Keith, not to condemn the police whatever you might think of their actions. Keith, what happened when you reported for duty on Monday morning?”

“Well, there was a f***ing note for me to report to the boss. I told Frank as I booked on, but he said he’d been already told to cover me, so I thought, ‘What the f***!’ and went to Nellie’s office. She told me to go straight in, and the Shedmaster already had bloody Arthur Higginson with him. They asked me where I was on Saturday so I told them, and then Higginson accused me of being absent without leave. I told them I’d phoned in to say I wasn’t coming in, and he said I’d reported sick which wasn’t true, and I said ‘So what, plenty of men do that, it was my first time’.”

George interrupted again. “So it’s true that you phoned in sick.”

“Yes, I was wrong to do that, but others do that and get away with it.”

“Okay, carry on.”

“Well, then Arthur Higginson says he knows I’ve been arrested, who the hell bloody told him that I don’t know, and they accused me of being violent against the police and Doig, he gives me a long ‘what for’ on how I’m letting down the depot and all that guff, and I suppose I bloody lost my rag and called them ‘f***ing Tory stoogies and Arthur screamed at me and Doig, he goes all quiet and tells me I’m sacked and get out. Well, then Higginson, he swears at me and tells me not to swear at the governor and I call him ‘a f***ing hypocrite’ ‘cause he was swearing worse than me
And then they told me to get my cards and get off the premises and not come back. And that’s all really.”

“Okay, Keith, let’s get a few things straight. You admit to going absent, lying about being sick, and then swearing at the Shedmaster during your interview?”

“Well, yes, but everyone f***ing swears here, you know that.” A few wry smiles break out in the audience. “It doesn’t mean anything. The old boss used to swear at you and he took it too, it’s just life. This guy, he couldn’t take anything, he’s a prat!”

“Okay, Keith, I know what you mean, but he is the Shedmaster, and although he’s different you have to pay him some respect. Do you admit that what you did and said was perhaps a bit foolish?”

“Yes, in hindsight I wish I hadn’t lost my rag.”

“Are you prepared to admit this when your appeal comes up, and make an apology? If so, I think we can get the dismissal reversed.”

“If you say so, boss. I don’t really feel like it, specially not to that f***ing creep, Higginson, but if you think that’s the only way I’ll get my job back, I’ll do it.”

George then turned to the roomful of men and asked if they had any questions for Mountford. There were one or two shouted comments, mainly about Arthur Higginson’s pedigree which were not particularly helpful, but no questions of substance, so he told Mountford to go and wait in the Saloon Bar and get himself a drink, while they decided what further action they should take if the appeal was not successful.

After Mountford had left the room, Arthur Campion weighed in immediately.

“It’s outrageous. Management can’t get away with this. They were looking for an excuse, they knew Mountford was up for election to the LDC and that prick Higginson told Doig he’d found the ideal opportunity to pre-empt his election by sacking him. They don’t like his politics and he’s been victimised.”

Bert Henshaw piped up.

“But the lad was pretty foolish. He dropped himself right in it and swearing at the Shedmaster and Chief Clerk was no way to act. I know Higginson swears at us, but it’s usually banter, good-natured. I’ve never had any gripe against him.”

“Are you saying that sacking Mountford was justified?”

“No, I’m not. I think that was over the top. But I’m sure George’s suggestion of an abject apology from Mountford at his appeal will put things right.”

“Are you that sure? If management don’t want Mountford on the LDC, they’ll stick it out.”

“Why do you think it’s politically motivated?” George asked Campion.

“Well, they know he’s a card-carrying Communist, and I’ve seen correspondence on Nellie’s desk about industrial relations here. The bosses think old Truscott was too lax, they’ve brought in Doig to tighten things up. You’ll see, this won’t be the first occurrence of this sort. If you let them get away with this, they’ll be after several of us, including me. And you’d better watch your back too, George.”

“Nonsense, Arthur, you’re over-dramatising it. The lad was damned stupid and that’s the end of it. Get him to withdraw his remarks at the appeal, that’ll be the end of it. A couple of days’ suspension maybe, then back to normal.”

“If you think that’s all it’ll be, you’re more a fool than I think. I tell you, there’s more in this than meets the eye. They’ve not sent in a new gaffer for nothing.”

Others joined in the debate which raged somewhat heatedly for a good quarter of an hour. George finally brought it to a halt.

“Time we came to a decision, we’ve had Mountford waiting outside too long already. I propose we advise him to apologise unreservedly and withdraw any remarks he made to the governor and see their reaction at the appeal. I’m sure his dismissal will be rescinded.”

“But what if it isn’t?” shouted a couple of voices. “Yes, what contingency plans do we have if it goes wrong?” added Arthur Campion. “I suggest that we threaten them with a strike if they don’t play ball.”

“That’s not the way to negotiate with them. Threaten them and they’ dig in.”

“Okay, so what do we do?”

“Let the appeal go ahead. See what happens. If we don’t get Mountford reinstated, then we meet again to decide what further action we take.”

“Why another meeting? Let’s decide it f***ing now. Why not a couple of days’ strike if we get no joy?”

“Why two days, why lose two days’ wages? One will make them sit up and take notice. Paddington won’t like it, they’ll have the Board and politicians on their neck. It’s too small an issue for them to stand out against the media and public opinion.”

George called for order and proposed a vote. Bert Henshaw proposed a one day strike if Mountford was not reinstated, but their intentions to be held in reserve until the result of the appeal was known.

The vote was overwhelmingly in favour, with only a few die-hards who wanted stronger action abstaining. Mountford was recalled and told of their decision. As the meeting broke up and men were filtering out of the pub, George beckoned Keith Mountford over, saying,

“A quiet word with you, Keith. We all agreed that you’d been stupid to badmouth management as you did. When the appeal is held, and I’ll support you then, for God’s sake show some gumption and be apologetic for what you said when Doig interviewed you. Don’t get carried away and make it worse.”

“You’re asking me to apologise to that lot? To cringe and say it was all my fault and beg for mercy? Not f***ing likely.”

“Listen to me, Keith. Do you want your job back or not? Is your pride such that you’re willing to sacrifice your job for it?”

“Are you saying you won’t represent me if I don’t do as you say?”

“No, Keith, I’m not saying that. I’m giving you advice on how to behave if you want your job back. If you do your own thing, I’ll do my best for you, but don’t count on the outcome.”

“Okay, for you I’ll do it, George. You’re usually right, but what you’re suggesting sticks in my craw.”

“Life is like that sometimes, Keith. I’ve learned to take it over the years. That’s if you want to be a survivor.”

The date for the appeal was fixed and George found Keith Mountford fidgeting nervously in Nellie’s office. He had on his one and only best suit and his usually unkempt hair had been plastered back with Brylcreem. He made to stand up as George entered, but he gestured him to stay seated.

“Now remember, Keith, no fireworks, no swearing, right? Just a simple apology and leave the rest to me.”

Mountford nodded in reply, and as he did so, Nellie emerged from the Shedmaster’s office and ushered them in. Theo Dunstable, the Divisional Motive Power Superintendent, was in the chair, flanked by Doig and Higginson. The charge and punishment were read out by the Chief Clerk who was acting as the appeal secretary, and George was invited to state his case as to why the dismissal should not stand.

George stood, and, looking at Mountford as he spoke, declared slowly:

“Keith Mountford knows he’s in the wrong. He should not have phoned in sick when he palpably was not so. From the records, I note that this was the first time that he had offended in this way. I maintain that what he did during the time he should have been at work is irrelevant. He stood for his principles and was fined and bound over like hundreds of others at the CND demonstration. He was not found guilty of any violence. If he had been genuinely off-duty, I maintain that you would have had no case for disciplinary action against him.”

George paused for breath and to let his words sink in.

“We come then to the matter of the abuse which you say Mountford addressed to both the Shedmaster and the Chief Clerk. I have to say that I feel he might have been provoked into a stronger reaction than was appropriate, but Keith Mountford realises this and wishes to apologise and withdraw any remarks he made that you might have taken offence at. Isn’t this right, Keith?”

Keith did not stand up but stayed huddled on his chair, seeming to wish he was anywhere but where he was. He nodded at George’s words but in such a surreptitious way that the onlookers could easily have missed it. George bent down and whispered urgently in his ear “Get up and make a fulsome apology, now’s your chance.”

Keith stumbled to his feet and mumbled something. “Speak up,” whispered George, “they’re waiting.”

“Sirs, going AWOL was my first offence and I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong for protesting at the demo, the police did more wrong than me. But I shouldn’t have said them things to Mr Doig, I’m sorry I said that, I got carried away ‘cos I thought what you were saying was unfair.”

The Motive Power Superintendent looked quizzically at George.

“Hardly the sort of unequivocal apology you’d led us to expect, was it? Has he anything more to say, such as, for instance, an apology to Mr Higginson for verbal violence to him as well?”

“Not bloody likely,” said Mountford going red, “he’s a bloody hypocrite. He swears at us all the time, then accuses us of swearing. It’s not right.”

“Well,” said Dunstable to George, “where do you want to go from here? Is that the best of your case, or do you want to say anything else before we decide whether to confirm the dismissal?”

George was seething inside. The bloody fool had ignored his advice and he felt little inclined to rescue him at this late stage. However, duty called, he had to do his best.

“Mr Dunstable, sir, I know you are a fair man. This was Mountford’s first disciplinary offence, and I still maintain the fact that he attended and was arrested at the CND demonstration is irrelevant. He has apologised to Mr Doig. I’m sorry that he hasn’t apologised to Mr Higginson, but there was some truth in his remark, however intemperate you think it may have been. I suggest to you, gentlemen, that summary dismissal was too severe a punishment for the offences of Keith Mountford, and that you should substitute a less severe penalty in this instance.”

“Do you want to say anything further, Mountford?”

The man had another chance. George willed him to stand up and say the words sticking in his throat, but he would not. He just sat there staring out of the window at the ‘King’ class locomotive that was noisily backing past the office on its way out of the shed, drowning any word that would be spoken.

Silence descended once more. Mr Dunstable looked at George and again at Mountford. Nothing was said.

“Thank you, George, that will be all. Stay outside while we deliberate.”

The two of them filed into Nellie’s cubicle which she had thoughtfully vacated, although she’d left a couple of cups and a pot of tea ready for them.

“You fool,” said George, “why didn’t you apologise like I told you?”

“I did,” muttered Mountford, “at least I did to Doig, much as I hated to. There was no way I was going to apologise to the other bugger.”

“Well, I did my best for you. We’ll just have to see if they back down. I’d give it 50/50.”

“What if they won’t? Will the lads carry out their strike threat?”

“That’s what they voted. I’m not sure what they’ll say if I tell them that you didn’t follow our advice to make a fulsome apology to both parties.”

“You won’t tell them that, will you? They’ve already voted on the action they’ll take, it doesn’t need another meeting.”

“You’re right of course, but I won’t pretend I like your attitude. I will do my job, but you could have made it a lot easier.”

Meanwhile raised voices were heard from the Shedmaster’s office. George’s guess was that Dunstable was for reducing the punishment and the other two were standing out for the sacking to be confirmed. After another couple of minutes they were called back inside.

The Motive Power Superintendent looked George in the eye and said that his arguments had been listened to, but in the light of the attitude of the defendant, their decision to dismiss Mountford was final, the appeal had failed.

Mountford burst out with a torrent of abuse, but George quickly told him to shut up and get out, saying that he’d see him later. When Mountford had gone, George sat down and said to the three managers, with obvious regret:

“Sirs, I have to inform you that the ASLEF Branch took the decision on Sunday last that if the appeal failed they would have no option but to take industrial action. I’m sorry it’s come to this, Mountford did not help himself, but in my view his behaviour, though reprehensible, did not warrant so severe a punishment as summary dismissal.”

“George, you can’t be serious about this, surely? You saw the man’s attitude yourself, how can Mr Doig here maintain the respect he needs to run a major activity such as this if he and his staff can be demeaned in such a way?”

“Mountford put his case to the men and they voted for strike action if his appeal was dismissed. I have to say, sir, that many are sceptical of the motives behind the sacking. Mountford was a candidate for the LDC and many allege that he’s been picked on because of his politics and a fear that he will challenge management with more vigour than some of us more experienced Union officials.”

“That’s a nonsense, George, and you know it.”

“Do I, Mr Dunstable? I wish I had your confidence. We have a new Shedmaster and it’s early days to build the necessary trust, the trust we had with the former gaffer. And I’m sure Mr Higginson here has no wish to face militants like Mountford at LDC meetings.”

“You’ve said enough, George. I’m sure you don’t expect me to change our decision because of the threat of strike action.”

“Then I’m most sorry, sir. The footplate staff at Old Oak Common will be on strike for 24 hours starting at midnight Sunday night next.”

“George, that’s only four days away. That doesn’t give us much time to solve this problem and give notice to the public.”

“I’m sorry, sir, the solution is in your hands now. You have not announced the result of the appeal to anyone else. You can change your minds and I’ll call off the strike.”

Philip Doig, who’d hardly said a word throughout the whole proceedings, could contain himself no longer.

“I’ll not give in to threats. It’s sheer blackmail. Tell your Branch that and get them to pull back from the brink. I’m sure Arthur’s with me on that, aren’t you, Arthur?”

The Chief Clerk, whatever his feelings, had no option but to support his boss. Theo Dunstable looked very uncomfortable, but could say little that would undermine his local managers.

“Thank you, George. I know you have your job to do and I don’t envy you. I’ll not let this issue come between us on a personal basis, but you know I cannot bow before a threat of industrial action. You must advise the Shedmaster of exactly what actions you will take that will impact on the public and you, Mr Doig, will do everything in your power to keep trains running next Monday, informing the Divisional Passenger Train Office of any likely outcome and possible train cancellations for publication by Friday midday latest.”

“I’ve told you, sir. No Old Oak driver or fireman who is a member of ASLEF will report for duty between midnight Sunday and midnight Monday. If the case of Mountford’s dismissal is not resolved after that, the Branch will be recalled to decide what further action to take.”

Dunstable and George Munday looked at each other with a degree of sympathy - both knew that they were being outwitted by increasing extremism on both sides.