By the second summer of my time at Edinburgh University I again found I did not want to spend it on the farm. Neither of my roommates wanted to leave the city either. So we decided to get a job and make some money to tide us over until school began again.
Because we were not able to remain in our original apartment as our landlady needed it, we rented a small place near the castle. Our application at the labour exchange did not seem to have very interesting prospects for students. So after a cursory look at what was on offer, all three of us agreed to work together at a local biscuit factory. We should have been a bit more discriminating, as we could see there was a continual intake of workers. This spoke to a rapid turnover, and possibly a less than perfect working environment. I don’t remember which factory hired us. Both Christies and Mc Vities had large factories in Edinburgh at that time so it must have been one of them.
At first we did not think the early start of seven o’clock would be a drawback. Leaving early, would give us more time to be out and about in the evening. To get to work we would have to catch a bus by six fifteen and be clocked into the factory by seven am. Getting off by 3pm seemed to make it worth it.
Our new place was very small and cramped. The kitchen was minimal and the bedroom had a double bed with a trundle which lived underneath it, We took it in turns to sleep in the trundle. Whoever planned to be out late of an evening needed to sleep in it, otherwise there was no other space enough for everyone to get into bed. Lack of space was our nemesis. We continuously lost everyday items under a pile of everyone else’s belongings. A cry of, ”Have you seen my……….,” would reverberate round the room as we tried to get ready to leave for work.!!
As we climbed sleepily on to our bus we found ourselves in a crowd of older ladies going to the same place. They were annoyingly cheerful and chatted amicably with each other. After a while, as they became aware we were going to the same factory, they would nod and smile but realized we were not in a conversational mood so early in the morning. Soon it became apparent they were not really too keen on this job. They regarded it as a short term means to an end. They had made plans for a washing machine or a new stove, and then would take a break.
For the first few days we were put on an easy task. We had to scoop up a row of biscuits and place them in a paper lined box. Then the box was closed and packed into another bigger box which we sealed and then piled onto a trolley. It was extremely boring, and sore on the back. My suggestion that sitting might be less exhausting was not well received.
Then we graduated to monitoring the belt as it passed by loaded with biscuits. We were to pick out any misshapen ones or other imperfect items and throw them in a bin. I found this quite mesmerizing, and on at least one occasion my vision blurred so that I fell against the stop button. As a result the whole system stopped and biscuits flew in every direction. I was devastated and full of apologies. No one seemed particularly phased by this. New people often had the same problem! As the mess was put right everyone thankfully took a smoke break.
There was nearly always music on the loud speaker, and at some point in the morning a program with popular songs. Thinking to break the boredom we started to sing along. This was not acceptable while we worked. We were told politely to please desist!!
The factory was old and not easy to keep sanitary. The floors, although continually washed, stayed remarkably grimy. The young man who delivered the creamy substance for the crème filled biscuits brought it an uncovered bucket. I hoped it was washed after each use. He was also the person charged with mending breakdowns. Sometimes he walked all over the belt with his dirty boots. As a result of these observations I was completely off biscuits for a very long time. The very thought of my Free Bag of broken ones at the end of the day made me gag!
There was a distinct gender breakdown in the workforce. All of us on the line were female and a wide range of ages. The supervisors were all men. The younger ones were almost as bored as we were and did not look particularly happy. The older ones looked resigned and were probably looking forward to a pint or two at the end of the day.
I came to really like and admire most of our fellow workers. These were a generation who had lived through the hard times of the war years. They had no doubt gone without, and scraped by on very little. This hard and boring work was for them a glimpse of a better life and they embraced it gleefully. They were also very kind to us, although we often could not understand a word they said.
The inevitable day came. I was called to the office and confronted a tired looking supervisor behind a cluttered desk. “Miss Barr, ”he said, ”I don’t think you are quite suited to this job. I am going to have to let you go!” I tried not to look too delighted. He was trying to be tactful as he went about firing me. I did my best, as I thought, to look slightly pained. I nodded in agreement, trying not to show quite how delighted I was to receive this news.
I got my termination pay check, politely declined my free bag of broken biscuits and walked home with the prospect of enjoying Edinburgh for two whole weeks before classes began. This was the first, but not the last time I got fired.
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