Things are quiet in the workshop this week as I take the opportunity of the Christmas and New Year period to tidy up and re-organise things a bit.
As I have said elsewhere, I do not normally share family photos on social media, mainly to safeguard individuals' privacy but also because I think it's important that people have the opportunity to say whether or not their images or information can be shared. We are all aware no doubt that once something has been posted to the Internet, the owner really has no control over where it goes and what other people may choose to do with it. GDPR is meaningless.
That said, I am making an exception to my rule here as I am publishing this as an item of historical interest just as much as tribute to my dad, who died a few years ago. Dad was one of this world's quiet men. Strong and principled but not one to make a fuss about things, one of nature's pragmatists if you like. What will be will be. He didn't have an easy life, something that has become clearer and clearer to me as time has passed, but I never heard him complain or bemoan his situation.
Dad went straight from school to an apprenticeship at a local brewery in the town where he (and I, mostly) grew up. After five years he was a fully fledged cooper, making and repairing barrels and casks for the brewery's ales. In due course, however, breweries up and down the country started moving over to aluminium casks, which were easier to clean and maintain, as well as better able to withstand the necessarily rough handling as they were transported around town and dropped into pub cellars. Obviously, this had an impact on the noble profession of the cooper and effectively cut short Dad's coopering career. He had his own complete set of coopering tools which he held on to long after he stopped working as a cooper. These he kept in a huge chest - which he had made himself as an apprentice piece - in a shed at the end of the garden. When inevitably we moved house he left them there, finally acknowledging, I suspect, that they were never going to be of any use to him again. I often wonder what became that chest full of tools.
I am publishing this photo now, certainly as a tribute to the quiet man I hugely loved and respected, but also as an historical document. It shows a skilled man working in an environment that has long since largely disappeared. I honestly have no idea when this photo was taken and I've had to do some work on it to bring out some of the background. This is historically and culturally important in it's own right and illustrative of 'men's work' of the time. Cue sociological discussion. I think it's a fascinating insight into the world of male work, as well as a giving a nod to the skills developed through time-served, indentured apprenticeships.
As usual, any comments can be sent to me at visionfield300@gmail.com.
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