Thursday 19 January 2012

Adventures during the Age Of Aquarius - Part I





When a green girl leaves her rigid and narrow home for the first time, all sorts of things can happen, particularly if this clueless innocent moves from a mid sized provincial town in one country to a vast metropolis in another country, which has recently embraced a new, swinging age of free love, drug experimentation and above all, the birth of counter-culture and social revolution.  For as long as this girl lives in the bosom of a respectable family in the new country, attends her classes at college regularly and only goes out at the weekend, she is safe. But then again, who wants to stay safe when all around the old values are breaking up and the whole world is in turmoil.

When the Moon is in the Seventh House, and Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace shall guide the planets, and love will steer the stars
This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius ....


I am, of course, talking about Friko's adventures in London in the late 60s and early 70s. College finished, a diploma safely tucked into her pocket, the age of Aquarius beckoned. At the time it was all wonderfully exciting, freedom at last. But freedom needed to be paid for: there was rent to find for a single furnished room in  grotty student accommodation and there was also the small matter of keeping body and soul together, as they said then. Before Britain's entry into the EEC in 1973 made travel and moving between Germany and Britain easier, very few occupations were open to foreigners; we could only work as housemaids, cleaners in hospitals, or in other menial jobs, and even that required a permit.

My first legal job was at a laundry, ironing shirts. There was a whole floor of a large building devoted to nothing else but washing and pressing men's shirts. There were girls, mostly foreigners and a few poor English and Irish women, standing all day at large presses, with hot steam rising from them constantly, lifting the heavy lids, arranging the shirts on the wide ironing boards by reaching far in and stretching them tightly, then bringing the lids down again on to the shirts for an exact number of seconds.  Most of the new girls had burn marks on arms and hands and if you were really careless you could burn your forehead on the edge of the lid. The current obsession with Health & Safety hadn't been invented yet. The work was piecework, you got paid per item. If you fell below a certain number of items after the initial training period, the supervisor came to speak to you to encourage you to work a bit faster. If you still showed no sign of improvement, you were called to 'the office', the encouragement turning a little more threatening. The company could afford to hire and fire at will, most of the workers were too poor to rebel and foreigners like me, who, for whatever reason, wanted to stay in the country for a while longer, had no other legal option.

I hated working at the presses. I'd never really done any physical work at all; this was me being thrown in at the deep end. I lagged far behind the other girls' output and was finally called to 'the office'. As a child I had had asthma; I promptly used my childhood illness as a reason for not being able to work at the presses. "OK", they said, "we'll switch you to the finishing line. But you'll have to have a medical examination. The works doctor will take care of that."

The finishing line was less hot and steamy. Here shirt collars and cuffs, the band at the top of backs, sleeves and pleats were finished off by hand. This was also the place where dress shirts and the shirts of people, who were paying for a superior service, were pressed. The job was no better paid, in fact, the painstaking work meant that your tally of shirts was lower than at the presses; some of the hand-pressers were really good at their work, but there were others, me among them, who achieved only creased garments, which then had to be dampened and pressed again. The supervisor kept a close eye on the slackers.

There was little camaraderie amongst the workers. I tagged along with a small group of other Germans, who, together with a group of Nigerians, men and women who worked in a different part of the factory, went for lunch to the nearest 'greasy spoon'  - small cafeterias which served a very basic lunch, a few sandwiches and tea from a large urn on the counter. There were sticky buns and slices of fruitcake under a fly-blown plastic dome for those with a sweet tooth. These cafeterias were everywhere in London, thousands of them; office workers used them, as did factory and shop workers; they were cheap and cheerful, you got what you paid for, and nothing more.

I wasn't quite as dependent on my earnings at the laundry as most of the others. Whenever I was down to my last pound Mum and Dad came to the rescue; they actually still made me a small allowance, although they constantly tried to persuade me to return home. Having these extra pounds in my pocket meant that I still had money at the end of the week to buy my usual lunch, whereas some of the others had to cut back by about Thursday. Payday was Friday. Sometimes I lent a friend a pound or two. But I was by no means well-off, just a little less hard-pressed than some.

Being a total innocent, I was usually cheerful and bright and inclined to chat with all and sundry. I was also bookish and having had an education of sorts made me quite self-confident. The Nigerians fascinated me;  several of them were well educated and articulate and I happily sat with them at lunch in the cafe, having the kind of conversation in which my German fellow workers had no interest. One of the Nigerian men invited me to join their group to celebrate a Nigerian national holiday at their home; although I was innocent, I wasn't foolhardy. I asked them to let me think it over. Besides, I had a boyfriend.

One of the German girls, a very thin, intense, blonde, with a pointy noise and narrow mouth had overheard this invitation. She was one of the best workers at the laundry, earning unheard of piecework rates. She and her boyfriend saved every last penny towards a home of their own, she spent almost nothing and brought her own sandwiches to work. She came to the cafe to have a cup of tea and because there was nowhere cheaper for her to go during our lunch breaks.

The place was busy,  break was nearly over but most of the regulars, including other local workers  were still there. As we were getting ready to leave, this girl stood up, turned to me and said, in English, not German, in a clear voice, designed to penetrate every corner of the small space: "You really need to be more careful who you mix with. And you need to stop throwing your money around. We all know how you earn it. It's all over the factory that you're the "One-Pound-Whore."






to be continued



46 comments:

  1. OMG Beware of girls with pointy noses.

    Nice piece Friko, I can hardly wait to find out how this girl came to call you a 1-PW and what you did to her. (Surely you did something??)

    Having worked in a laundry one summer I could identify with some of your experience, except I worked with guys and my laundry experience took place in a smaller establishment. Dianne

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  2. oh snap...and you leave us at that...what the heck...def some intersting life and times...smiles.

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  3. Very interesting post. I can't wait for the next installment.

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  4. LAUGH OUT LOUD! Can't wait for the second installment.

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  5. Friko. thank you so much for sharing a little bit of your life. I felt shock horror at the hard menial work you had to endure in the laundry but most of all, I felt shock horror at the loud false remarks made by that girl in the last paragraph. How dare she!! You must have felt so hurt

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  6. A bit of jealousy perhaps from pointy nose? I hope you had a quick retort, but if it had been me at that age I would have probably died right there. My guess is she felt things came easier for you.

    What hard work that must have been! I really can't imagine. We had it so terribly easy here in the U.S. I am hoping your next installment comes soon.

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  7. Ah. The nitty gritty of painful youth. I love those pronouncements . . . have all of us Sensitive Souls received them...?
    "It's all over that you are....." whatever insult a mean person wants to throw out.

    Provides proof that you can't prove a negative, dunnit?

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  8. Cow !!
    The trouble with remarks like that is you don't see them coming , so don't have a snappy reply .... and we were so green , all of us , then ! I think my Guardian Angel ran around after me , clucking and alarmed , for most of the '60s and '70s . Perhaps why she now seems to have taken Early Retirement .
    I'm looking forward to the next episode already ....

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  9. Hello:
    We have been riveted to the screen from start to finish of this most intriguing and saddening story. There are so many barriers in life caused by ridiculous prejudices and it always seems to us that they never disappear, they just change their faces from time to time.

    A one pond whore...what a reputation!!

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  10. Prejudices of all sorts showing themselves. What a nasty, sad girl that pointy nose was. I hope you recovered your composure and confidence quickly.

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  11. Oh boy!....I'm waiting for the rest of the story.
    You drew me right in, although I've never worked in a laundry (or even been in one) or eaten at such a cafeteria...but I have done physical labour on a farm and been chided for my soft hands and slowness. There's prejudice everywhere.
    Quick - write more!

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  12. Oh you are cruel leaving me hanging like this.
    Rejoinder?
    Sarcastic agreement correcting the price?
    XO
    WWW

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  13. This is the best thing I've read here--I do love a post with lots of meat hanging on its bones. I am eager to read how you handled her words and attitude and challenge to self!

    From a writerly perspective, I'd say there's a tension between the "free love" Age of Aquarius you open with and the ensuing Dickensian industrial crap labor scenario that you ended up in. Your personal events unfolded in a time of huge cultural transition, when there was a glimmer of change, but, as your story indicates, traditional life was still pretty firmly in place. This post reminds me of the tv series MAD MEN, which has been doing a tremendous job of showing viewers how the protagonist starts life in Depression-era poverty, moves through the war in Korea, benefits from post-war economic booms, rides his way with finesse into the 1960's...and then tries to stay current as the world changes faster than he knows how to. In his troubled daughter, we see the rumblings of the Age of Aquarius--and no one knows what to do with her. There's something powerful about connecting the dots between the historical periods that we tend to delineate in our minds. Personal life stories are the dot connectors.

    Can't wait to read more.

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  14. You let the line out, set the hook and now I have to remember to return,and hope I don't miss the reminder from Blogger!

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  15. At £1 I am not sure if she was accusing you of being cheap or pricey -- we need a 70s inflation adjuster... Looking forward to the rest of the story.

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  16. Oh my goodness, what a cliffhanger you left us with!

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  17. A big part of good writing is knowing when to type, "to be continued...." You have impeccable timing.

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  18. I wonder if that woman remembers what she did to you as well as you remember what was done to you ...

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  19. Isn't it fascinating how indelible some long-ago cruel remarks can be so many years later? I certainly have my own memories of green youth in the Age of Aquarius. But OMG -- your first job and this pointy-nosed woman -- eek! So terrible!! I'm really looking forward to the next installment!

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  20. "But freedom needed to be paid for." Ain't that the truth! Nothing easy about your Age of Aquarius, was there? I'm eager to learn more. I suppose we can't hope for that co-worker to get her comeuppance . . .

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  21. Love that "to be continued..." Very nicely done!

    That's a great description of the laundry, too, and the slightly cautionary mention of the burns suffered there. You should have seen me, learning to use a heat gun. I still carry some of those scars.

    Scars from a heat gun or laundry press still aren't as bad as scars from unkind and destructive words. I'm anxious to read what comes next!

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  22. Oh, wow! Now that sounds like something that would have happened to me! There were times that being open and friendly gave people the wrong impression, that's for sure. Myself--after a moment of shock, I would have burst out laughing and told her that my folks sent me an allowance. Of course, knowing me, they would have already known that long before then--ROFL! I'm just dying to hear what happened!

    This is written so well. I felt like I was right there with you. :):)

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  23. Thank you for sharing your fascinating life and times which are just similar, and just different enough from my own to hold me spellbound-


    Aloha from Waikiki
    Comfort Spiral

    > < } } ( ° >

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  24. Oh my...sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me...but the pointy nose girl sure was trying...anxious to hear "the rest of the story" and how you zapped her!

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  25. Brilliant. You're at your autobiographical best, Friko.

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  26. friko - such a fascinating piece of writing. write the rest of the book pleeeeease!!!!! steven

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  27. A one pound whore??? Oh my!!! Women and their wagging tongues!! Still the same way too!!
    Can't wait to hear the rest of the story.
    Hugs
    SueAnn

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  28. Jesus Murphy! Don't make me wait too long for what you did to her.

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  29. Sickening! Why are people so mean?

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  30. I'm waiting! People can call me just about anything they want as long as they don't call me late for supper.

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  31. Dear Friko,
    I'm looking forward to the next installment of this time in your life. I'm wondering if the woman is envious or jealous or righteous. In other words, what do you think motivated her remark.

    Your story reminds me of working at a warehouse owned by a big department store in Dayton, Ohio. I used a machine to put price tags on clothing. The pay was so miserable, even for 1971, and the young sprout of a manager so arrogant that I tried to organize a union among the women who worked there. But of course, the company would have fired all of them and they needed the job to survive. I was just doing the work until "something better" came along. So many people we have met in our lives. They have touched our lives; we have touched theirs. And we hope always that this relating was for the good.

    Peace.

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  32. I am sure the next episode is at your finger tips - don't keep us waiting to long. Jane

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  33. Please don't leave us hanging! I'm already pulled in -- I want more!

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  34. Brilliant story-telling, Friko! I'm reeled in, hook, line and sinker!!

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  35. Oh Friko, we must be close in age, as I remember well the age of Aquarius, and what I was doing at that time!

    While I didn't get around to finishing college (then) I did work in a "sweat factory" sewing collars onto jackets eight hours a day . . . an abysmally boring job. I then worked for Western Electric with a sort of gun object that spiraled wires onto a circuit board. I was called into the office and accused of sabotaging their equipment. (I spent those equally boring days wearing those huge radio headphones from early 1970's and obviously not paying a lot of attention to my blueprint!)

    I can't wait to hear your snappy comeback in the next installment.

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  36. Grinning . . . I can hardly wait for what's next!

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  37. Oh, you're such a tease ... I look forward to the next installment!!

    But the strange juxtaposition of the social freedoms abounding in the Age of Aquarius being played out against a backdrop of hard work in a laundry? That's left me with a lingering bizarre mental image!!

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  38. Ah, now I understand better! Reading backwards I am! Even today, Blondie's attitude towards anyone "different" is not uncommon. Ignorance is not against the law unfortunately, and last I heard it was in as plentiful supply as ever!

    Hurry up with installment #3!

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  39. A wonderful story, Friko, from a time when I too had just finished university. However I married straight after graduation and never experienced life as a young single woman in those days.

    Mind you, some of the jobs I did to earn money in my university vacations were of the same hard and boring kind as your laundry. Working in the finishing section of a paint factory was the worst.. those tins were heavy!

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  40. Oh, those painful first jobs. They always teach a life lesson, even though we don't always know it at the time.

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  41. As we say in the U.S., " Whoa!" That was a surprise ending for your reader. I wasn't expecting that outburst from anyone. I can imagine how unnerved you were.

    (I'm way behind on my blog reading and have a hard time reading off my computer due to my recent head injury, but I have to read these posts.)

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  42. Only a fellow German could be that way. That's why we left back them
    n. Here's to the change with time.

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