Peter stepped back over the kerb, putting the clamps in their place. Wiping his brow he said to Tammas, It might look easy but it isnt.
Tammas nodded. Peter was taking out his cigarettes and he lighted one for himself, tossed the packet onto an upturned oil drum near the wall. He asked, You done anything like it before?
Naw, no really.
Tch. Peter shook his head, and he walked to the machine and picked at something; he bent to lift the heavy-duty clamps, positioned them upright at the point where the bar would issue firstly. He called: I’ll give you a shot before the break. Just watch till then. Where’s your gloves?
Gloves?
Jesus Christ. You cant expect to work the fucking clamps without them — I do it but I’m fucking used to it I mean it takes a fucking while to get the heat. You’ll no manage without a pair in the beginning.
He never mentioned it.
Peter shook his head. He went behind the roller and began to speak to the other guy. The two of them returned. Tell him, said Peter.
What?
Tell him, about the gloves and that.
Naw just, the gaffer, no mentioning them.
Fuck me!
And the helmet, muttered Peter, tell him about the helmet.
Aye, he never mentioned it either. And the shoes, nothing about them. Tammas sniffed, he took his cigarettes out and lighted one.
The other guy said, Might be a spare pair in the locker-area.
Boots?
Naw Christ I’m talking about gloves. The man grinned, You’ll have to get yourself a pair of boots. The first-aid, you’ll get them there — deduct it off your wages. Some no bad styles they’ve got. Eh Peter?
Suede. The fucking lot they’ve got. Wear them up the fucking dancing if you like!
Wouldnt be the first time, laughed the other guy.
Peter nodded. Anyway, time for another. .
Tammas followed his gaze, seeing the overhead crane down at the very far end of the floor; a big furnace door had been pulled open and the next copper bar was being dragged out in a shower of sparks.
He positioned himself nearer to the roller this time, watching everything Peter was doing. Peter made no acknowledgment till he had taken the stance with his back to it, set for the last issue. He called, Watch this yin specially, you’ve got to be fucking careful. If you pull at it you’ll fucking stretch the bastard and that’s it a binger. You’ve got to let it carry you along. If you go too slow you’re fucked, cause what’ll happen it’ll fucking bend right up behind you and it’ll fucking jam, it’ll no go through, and that’s you, another fucking binger! Peter shook his head. His cigarette was in the corner of his mouth and he moved it across to the other corner without taking his hands from the handles of the smaller clamps, not looking from the gap between his knees. Then the bang; and he was running.
By the time tea break arrived Tammas was still waiting to make his first attempt. He walked behind the machine and sat up on the oil drum. Then Peter appeared and handed him a pair of big gloves. The tips were missing on most of the fingers. He shrugged: It’s the best I could find.
Tammas pulled them on without replying. Peter pointed to the clamps and said, The main thing is no to panic.
When the bang came and the bar issued Tammas raised the heavy-duty clamps, getting them round the end as it came slowly out the roller, and he gripped them there and tugged it slightly, lowering it off but it dropped down onto the trolley and angled a bit and he had the clamps still firmly there but moving as it continued to angle then roll and his fingers were poking out the gloves and he let the clamps go and the copper bar crashed down and bounced and he had to jump up and to the side to get out its path. Peter also had to jump. He shook his head and cried: I told you no to fucking panic!
I didnt panic, cried Tammas pulling off the gloves, my fingers were fucking burning!
Fuck sake! Peter was glaring at him. Then he shook his head again and he turned away; he walked to the end of the machine and gave a piercing whistle down towards the furnace. He roared: Hey Willie! Willie! Willehhh. .
The overhead crane started to move. When it reached the rolling machine the guy who worked it pressed the button for the huge hook to descend. Peter wangled it around the tip of the copper bar which was much duller in colour now. Okay Willie! he called. And the cranedriver raised the hook just sufficient for Peter to slide the mobile trolley in below it. Peter then waved and Willie drove the crane back down towards the furnace. He glanced at Tammas, indicated the clamps and added: Okay, carry on.
Tammas got the clamps round the end of the bar and pushed forwards, working the bar on the trolley to the place it entered on the roller but in the process he nudged at the bar with his foot and the shoe burst into flames. For fuck sake! He jumped back the way, stubbing and stubbing his toe at the floor to put out the fire. Meanwhile the copper bar had rolled off the trolley and was lying flat on the floor again. Peter did not say anything. He walked to the end of the machine and gave the piercing whistle. . Willehhh! And then he cleared his throat and spat, and he turned to Tammas. I told you ye needed boots.
When the crane arrived he beckoned Tammas forwards while he motioned the driver to lower the hook; but the driver called to him: No fucking good Peter, bar’s too fucking cold.
Jesus Christ! Another bastarn fucking binger! Peter shook his head; he wiped his mouth with the back of his right wrist.
The guy from the other side of the roller had appeared. It’ll be okay, he said, they know we’ve got a learner; we just dock it off the time sheet.
Peter nodded.
The younger guy grinned at Tammas: Hot in here son eh! Mon we’ll have a fucking bevy!
Tammas looked at him. But the man was waving him to follow him and he shrugged and walked after him. Soon the overhead crane was returning with the copper bar, to put it back into the furnace.
Peter joined them. The other guy had opened a metal cupboard, bringing out a brown bottle; its glass was thick and mottled and its size was about that of an ordinary whisky bottle. He swigged a mouthful and handed it on to Peter who swigged some and handed it to Tammas. Dont drink too much, he said.
Or you’ll get a dose of the skitters, chuckled the other guy. It’s given to us for the sweat we lose. It replaces it. Undiluted; a kind of lime.
Tammas drank some. No bad, he said.
Good with vodka! Bring in a bottle the morrow and give it a buzz.
Wouldnt be the first time! muttered Peter.
Tammas smiled. He took out his cigarettes, lighted one, then offered to the other two; they both took one and he struck the match. Then the sound of the overhead crane starting up. Peter said: Okay that’s us. Ready for another crack?
Tammas looked at him.
Eh?
Just now you mean?
Got to get the hang of it sooner or later.
Peter’s right.
Hh!
Peter exhaled smoke, glancing at the approach of the crane. And the other guy said, You’re definitely better to go straight at it.
Tammas shrugged and pointed at his shoes. No with them, they’re useless — and the fucking gloves as well I mean, Christ!
You’ve got to learn but.
Aye I know.
Well.
Once I’ve got the proper gear.
Go and see the gaffer then, muttered Peter. It’s fuck all to do with me.
I will.
Aye well fucking go then!
What d’you mean the now?
No point hanging about here, no if you’re no going to fucking even attempt it.
Well I would if I had the proper gear to wear.
Ah you’ll be alright, said the other guy.
No without the proper gear.
Go and tell the gaffer then.
Aye, okay. Tammas shook his head and left them there, and he walked straight down to the gaffer’s office. A girl was in with him. She had a bundle of papers under one arm and was leaning over his desk, pointing to something on a paper he had in front of him. She was wearing a blouse and a skirt. He waited until she exited then chapped the door and entered. The gaffer gazed at him. My shoes, said Tammas, they’re useless. Look. . he displayed the toe of the burnt one. It went in bloody flames, just touched the bar and it went on fire. I need steel toe-caps.