Sometimes in life, things just have to be done. Results must be obtained, projected outcomes must be realised, aims must be achieved and goals must be scored. I've come to realise that it doesn't matter if other people think it is impossible. If your need is sufficient and you have enough will power, it will get done. Knowing this helps me a lot in my life, not least when I'm travelling. Quite often, I come up against obstacles which at first sight seem insurmountable but by applying some logic, creativity and a bit of push and shove, with a stubborn refusal to admit defeat, there usually turns out to be a way round. I've grown used to this now but I first learned it in my early twenties and the guy who taught me it was Gordon.
Gordon was what you would call a 'big guy'. Not that he was excessively muscular. He was tall and slim but not skinny. Definitely not skinny. He had forearms like Popeye, complete with tattoos, and hands that looked as if they could hammer in nails. A mop of dirty-blonde hair which cast his eyes in permanent shadow and a heavy, usually unshaven, lower jaw added to the picture. You would be quite justified in concluding, as many people did, that he was 'a scary big bastard', if you didn't take the time to get to know him (and many people didn't). If you were brave enough, however, to get close enough to see his eyes beneath the shadow of his fringe, you would notice that when they caught a glint of light, usually reflected from a beer glass, they would sparkle and shine. If you took the trouble to try and strike up a friendly conversation, you would often be greeted by an enormous smile and, although he tended to bark and growl rather than speak, there would be no mistaking the warmth in his tone.
Gordon started his working life as a plumber, a fate, he claims, that came about because of his tendency to spend schooldays down at the snooker hall, instead of in school or college. He was quite artistic, and his art teacher persuaded him, and the art school authorities, that enrolling in art college would be more worthwhile than continuing at school. Apparently, Gordon quite enjoyed the art classes but couldn't get rid of the niggling feeling that it was all 'a bit poofy'. And of course there was always the snooker hall. Later, after he had been thrown out of the art college, a friend of the family got him a start as a plumber on a 'take it and be grateful son, because it's all there is' basis. He hated it but, fair play to him, he stuck it out for years before packing it in.
After a bit of travelling and a few false starts, Gordon decided that he fancied getting into the antique world. He had dabbled on the edge a few times, mostly while handling stolen goods, and it appealed to his artistic side. The antiques world was already a fairly heavily populated place and most of the obvious and interesting areas were well under the control of established inhabitants. Gordon realised that he would have to find his niche and, not wanting to be seen to be getting involved in anything which might be thought of as being 'a bit poofy', he decided to go for architectural antiques and he became rather successful at it.
'Architectural antiques' range from things like fire-places, doors and windows, through staircases and columns, to complete historic mansions. As far as Gordon was concerned, the bigger, heavier and more difficult to move around the better, as it dissuaded his competitors from getting involved and left him and his team to 'get on with it' in peace. My first meeting with him was when I got the chance to become a member of his team. I was introduced to his wife in a coffee-shop one lunch-time and she happened to mention that he was looking for workers. I was looking for work and although I had never done anything connected with antiques, Gordon's wife assured me I would be just the kind of guy he was looking for and set up a meeting for the following lunch time.
'Kin ye sand doors?' Gordon yelled at me five minutes after
we had met.
'I've never done it,' I replied truthfully, 'but I'll give it a go.'
'Good man. Ye kin start the morra mornin' at half past eight if ye want.' he
shouted. And that was it. I started working as a member of Gordon's team the
next day and the awe with which I had first regarded him was quickly replaced
by respect. The work, although often heavy and difficult, demanded skill, creativity
and a lot of lateral thinking and Gordon was afraid to tackle nothing. His standard
reply to any enquiry regarding his services was, 'Aye. We'll dae it.' followed
shortly by 'When, where and how much?' Then we would all sit down and put our
heads together and figure out how to do it. The construction and installation
techniques for most of the items we were dealing with were lost arts involving
processes from many different disciplines. We would often go to the library
to look up books. We would examine old photographs. We would sometimes find
retired tradesmen and pick their brains over a few beers. No job was too big
or too complicated. One time we carefully took out an entire stair-case, complete
with landings and banisters, from a large country house which was being demolished,
and installed it in another equally large country house which was being renovated.
One of the biggest jobs Gordon landed was just after I had joined the team. It was the restoration of a whole mansion. The house had been stripped and left derelict for years, then the large rooms had been partitioned off and let to students as small bed-sits for a few more years. Finally a guy bought it with the intention of completely restoring the building, filling it with fine furniture and opening it as a luxury hotel. Gordon got the contract for all the architectural work. And there was a lot. Fireplaces, plaster mouldings, balconies, oak flooring, stained glass windows and garden fountains were just a few of the things we dealt with. Up until then I had worked under fairly close supervision and if anything became a problem or was beyond my knowledge, Gordon would step in and say 'Dae it like this.' or 'Just gie it a wee blast wi' the blowtorch and it'll loosen up.' This time however, because there were so many different jobs spread around the house, we were often working on our own or in pairs.
Because the owner was shelling out so much cash on the project, he wanted things up and running as quickly as possible to pull back some of his investment. This meant we were working to a very tight schedule. No sooner had we finished the big dining hall than the owner was hiring it out for functions. We worked to get one wing of the house finished so that wedding party guests could use the rooms at the weekends when there was no drilling and hammering going on. Every Friday we would all sit down together, usually in the bar, which had been one of the priorities at the very beginning, and we would plan what had to be done the following week. Once it was fixed and down on paper that was it. It had to be done. People were booked in on the evening it was due to be finished. Sometimes we worked eighteen hour shifts and Saturdays and Sundays just to make sure it was all done to schedule.
When we were working on the first wing of the house, I was teamed up with two guys, Joe and Derek, to install an enormous, Victorian, gilt-framed wall mirror. The thing was about four metres high and weighed a ton, and our job was to fix it securely to a wall on the first floor landing. It was Friday evening and this was our last task but we were struggling. Even with two guys to hold it while the third drilled holes, the weight was causing difficulties. The wall had been re-plastered and beautifully and expensively wallpapered, but beneath the plaster was two hundred-year-old cement which turned to dust as soon as it was disturbed. When we didn't hit cement, we found solid granite which burned out drill bits without giving an inch. We had laid a sheet on the new carpet to stop the dust getting everywhere. Ours really was the last job of the day. When we finished we were expected to vacuum the carpet and leave no trace of the recent work. To the guests arriving in a few hours the hundred-year-old mirror was to look as if it had been hanging there for a hundred years. We were having problems. The dust was getting out of control. There were sweaty hand-prints on the new wallpaper and the mirror was no nearer being hung than it had been when we began.
Then Gordon appeared on his evening round, checking to see if
everything was in order. It wasn't, of course and it was already past time to
finish up for the weekend. 'No finished yet lads?' he asked.
'Well, see, it's like this Gordon..' we all started at once, '.. the cement
under the plaster's rotten and the screws won't hold, or else were hitting rock
and…'
'. Woa! Stop. Hold it right there. Listen!' bellowed Gordon and we stopped.
And listened, silently and attentively.
'Look. Ah don't want tae hear it. Okay?' he continued. 'Ah don't want tae know.
It's Friday night and there's people due in the rooms any minute. Just get the
fuckin' mirror on the fuckin' wall. Ah'll be doonstairs in the bar. Don't come
doon till you've finished.' Then he turned and walked off down the stairs muttering,
'Mammy, Daddy, save me.'
We looked at each other with red faces, unsure what to do next. Joe slowly picked up the drill and started changing the bit. Derek began sweeping the dust into a manageable pile, while I started knocking on the wall trying to find a sound area we might have missed. Slowly, haltingly, we resumed our seemingly impossible task. Just over an hour later, with damp overalls and dusty faces streaked with sweat, we walked into the bar to the stares of the well-dressed local Friday-nighters. 'Finished lads? Well done!' Gordon shouted across the room. 'What'll yiz have tae drink? They're on me'.