This story is complete a fictional account of love between two men of consenting age and contains sex descriptions of a gratuitous nature. If this story, or your reading it, is illegal or offensive then you are directed to delete it immediately. All main characters, environments and locations are fictitious. Any resemblance to people alive or dead is purely coincidental.
I would like to thank all those who have written to thank me for writing my previous stories - I appreciate it tremendously.
As I finish one story and start another I hope that the lessons learnt from each translate into a better story for all of us.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it.
Acknowledgements, critiques, flames or any other email can be written directly to romanticiser@geocities.com.
Forge Friend
Copyright Romanticiser 1998
Part 1 of ?
Chapter 1: Into the unknown.
The day was miserable, overcast and spitting. A cold February wind blew down the street, tossing litter in the gutter. Ginger pulled his coat tighter and dug his hands in his pockets. Walking down the street as cars passed on their way to work. He stopped at the corner of Mill Street and waited for a gap in the traffic, headlight after headlight passing almost continuously.
Using a half running, half walking gait he crossed as the cars paused, held at traffic lights up the road. Less than a month ago he'd have been going to work, Fallows' hadn't been a bad firm to work for, the hours had been regular and the pay had been reasonable. Not great but a hell of a lot better than the unemployment cheque he got now.
He'd joined at the age of sixteen, straight from school. Only three out of his year had left at sixteen, the rest going for `A' levels and then university. Quite a few of his teachers had tried to talk him out of it but when it came down to it he really didn't like the academic life.
Passing the chemist on the corner he turned down Bridge Street, his feet sliding slightly on the greasy flagstones. Passing under the broken One Way' sign, its florescent light flickering he crossed over nearly tripping on one of the new rails for Manchester Trams' and passed in front of the old driving test centre its windows boarded up with soaked plywood.
He stopped at Lovatt's Newsagents and picked up a copy of the local paper, maybe there'd be a job in there? Waiting in the line for the till with his money ready, 35 pence. The woman behind the counter smiled as she tried to get the bar code reader to accept the paper, passing it repeatedly under the bright ultra thin red line scanner and the till beeped in complaint each time.
His thoughts registering that computers were the bane of his existence, He'd lost his job to one, so had all of his work mates at Fallows'. Old man Fallows' had been sorry about closing up, Ginger couldn't really blame him for getting out when he could. Nobody wanted printing done like they used to do it, eight years spent learning a trade of engraving, typesetting and printing. Wedding invitations, letterheads, all sorts and then some bloody desktop publishing package comes along and bang, he's out on his ear.
"35 pence, love."
He passed the money and took the paper. "Thanks." Folding the paper tight he stuffed it through the neck of his coat, to keep it dry, pulling up his hood and stuffing his fists back in his pockets he went back out on to the streets.
Now he was living hand to mouth, he'd already had to sell the car. The monthly payments stopped with the last paycheque. Mum and dad had been good, they had helped tremendously but they were stretched. Six kids and only he'd left home. Fran would be leaving next month when her an Jim got married.
He remembered the Sunday meal, ten people crammed round the small table laughing and joking. Steve and Jillian would be getting married soon, well, when they eventually set the date. They were waiting for a house but with the cutbacks and the extra tax it would be another few months before they could pay the deposit on the house they'd set their hearts on.
The world was a shitty place, Gordon, John and Sophie all still at school could see how things were going and they all were going for higher education. Maybe he should have stayed on at school, but he'd loved his job. "Bloody computers."
The bright orange sign over the job centre glowed in the darkness, the glass doors illuminated by the bright lights inside. Pulling the door open he stepped inside and shook his hood off. Looking at the coloured racks of little cards he decide to go left to right. He opened his coat as he passed under the blast of hot air from heaters above the entrance, the temperature was a balmy 70 degrees, a stark difference to the almost freezing wind outside.
Card after card offered a possible job but it was always the qualifications or experience required that crucified him. Two years experience min.' or HNC req.' Even the dustbin men wanted qualifications. His thoughts entered the vicious circle. If you can't get a job because of lack of experience then how were you supposed to get it.
He normally avoided the red boards as they were only temporary jobs but with the wedding coming and the bills next month he'd take anything. His mortgage interest was at least was being paid, he wasn't going to lose his house but that would only last for six months.
Clerking jobs, removal firms, all paying the absolute minimum. He didn't dare take any of them, his unemployment cheque and his mortgage relief combined was greater than these wages.
One card at the bottom attracted his attention, the money was pitiful but it said `live in - accommodation supplied'. Telford, he tried to dredge his memory, where the hell was Telford. Pulling the card he went to stand in the queue of people waiting for assistance.
Standing between the poles that marked the queue line he waited looking around. Too far away from the walls to read any of the posters his eyes rested on the silvered glass between the service cubicles. His reflection easy to spot with his bright fire red hair, cut short at the sides with a dangling fringe that his hand automatically lifted back. Pale skin that hadn't seen enough sun in years and although he couldn't see them in the reflection he knew there were freckles across his nose and along his cheeks. He still had arguments trying to get served drinks, everyone looked at his thin frame, pale skin and freckles and just assumed he was fifteen or sixteen. Twenty four, three years older than the twins and he still looked like the youngest in his family.
A tap on his arm from the person behind made him look round.
A red faced man in his early fifties wearing a heavy grey overcoat said "The signs lit up, son."
He quickly looked up at the electronic notice board with the word `Service' lit up and an arrow pointing towards the left. "Oh yes, sorry." Moving quickly he followed the arrows to the bottom cubicle and entered.
Sitting at the large round, brown painted desk he waited for someone to come to the other side. The open plan office behind seemed busy with people passing between filing cabinets and computers, two women sat at desks in the middle of the office. As they worked Ginger could see the movement on their lips as they talked to each other.
A man in a white short sleeved shirt, middle thirties sat down opposite Ginger. "What can I do for you? Mr?" Ginger looked at his face, glasses, dark moustache and wavy hair that obviously had given him some trouble that morning. The badge attached to his pocket stated his name as Derick. Ginger agreed with the label he did look like a Derick, dependable if not boring.
"Masters, Geoff Masters, Uhm. It's this card." He passed the card over and the man got up.
"Give me a second and I'll get the details." Reading the number, from the top left corner, out aloud he headed off towards the filing cabinets. Pulling a drawer open he flicked through little folders and finding the one he was after pulled it out and returned to Ginger.
Opening the folder he lay it on the table "Oh yes `The Telford Living Museum'." Ginger could hear the capital letters as the man spoke.
"How long is the job for."
He scanned down the page. "Short term..seasonal..Ah! here it is. It's a nine month standard contract, training is supplied by full time employees but for the season of nine months they require people to live in and make the museum look and feel like a fully functioning town of the late 1890's."
"It says on the card `live in - accommodation supplied'. Do you know if the living costs are already deducted from the wage it says or do you have to pay it on top."
He scanned the page again and again. "It doesn't say, I think they have already deducted it as it's well below the legal minimum but I'll go and check."
He went to a computer and typed at a few keys. After a second or two he seemed absorbed in the text that must have appeared on the screen.
A minute or two passed before he came back. "All living expenses are pre-paid. The wage has no deductions but it has a minimum age requirement - eighteen."
Ginger sighed. "I'm twenty-four."
"Oh! Sorry."
"I'm interested but I need to work out if it is worth it, will I lose my house?"
"If your claiming then we should have your records on the box, have you got your national insurance number?" Ginger searched his inside coat pocket feeling for the little plastic coated card. Pulling it out with the tips of his fingers he passed the little credit card sized piece of plastic.
"OK. I'll only be a minute printing out your records." And he was gone walking off right, out of view.
It wasn't one minute nor two but closer to five before he returned with a couple of sheets of paper. "Sorry about that, the damn laser has been acting up, if it doesn't chew the paper up then it loses the font settings." He passed back the card and Ginger pocketed it.
"Right, according to our records your mortgage is down for full relief for six months and ..." He lapsed into silence as he ran down the page. Swapping the pages over he ran down that. "OK. you keep the mortgage relief for six months whilst on unemployment but it we move you to the temporary job at 1.40 an hour then you get to keep 80 percent of the relief." Pulling a calculator out of his pocket he started tapping at the keys. "1.40 for 8 hours a day for 6 days a week, minus 20% of 74.50 works out at 52 pounds 30 pence.
Ginger didn't need to hear anymore he was only on 28 pounds 50 pence now. "OK. I'll take it but do you know if there's any holidays."
Looking down at the folder he scanned the page and said "Three days a month by prior agreement of at least 2 weeks notice."
That finished it. More money, he could now buy a wedding present and he could also go to it. "I'll take it."
"Well your lucky there, I reserved the last place when I got your details. The card only went up today but with it being live in it's all over the country."
"Where do I go for an interview?"
"You don't need one, they accept our assurances and seeing as you've worked without any problems for.." His eyes dropped to the records on the table ".. eight years. I think we can say that you are responsible."
"Thanks. Where do I sign then?"
"The application will only take a moment - hold on." He vanished again but returned in under a couple of minutes with a multicoloured form in one hand.
Pulling a pen from his pocket he hastily put a few crosses on the form. Passing the pen to Ginger he said. "Right if you just check its got your details and then sign here and here and here." His finger held the paper down and guided Ginger where to sign in each place.
He then stood up slipped the pen back into his top pocket and tearing the form across the perforations, running down the middle of form, stripping away a green section, "This is your record copy. Any problems and you come straight back" Offering his hand for a shake. Ginger shook it and took the slip of paper with his other hand. "Bye and Good Luck."
"Thanks."
Walking away he read the slip of paper The Telford Living Museum' Telford, Shropshire on 24/02/97. "Shropshire?" He stopped at the large map by the wall and looked for Shropshire "God!" After rechecking the date on the slip he looked around for a calendar but couldn't see one anywhere. The current day and date was shown on a large electronic clock fastened high up on one wall 8:55 Tue 18/02/97' A little flurry of mental arithmetic and surprised his thoughts "Shropshire? 6 days away - Next Monday. What have I let myself in for?"
...............
Part 2 of ?
The railway carriage rocked gently and from the rails a regular ticking sound as the train passed overhead. Ginger looked down at the green slip in his fingers wondering what the work was going to be like. He'd read it at least 20 times since he had boarded the train but he'd stupidly had gotten on without bringing anything to read. Regretting it and feeling bored his eyes scanned the coloured scrap of paper again. `Geoff Masters: The Telford Living Museum' Telford, Shropshire on 24/02/97'
Geoff - he'd never really liked that name he much preferred his nickname Ginger. He remembered Andy his old best friend, a smile came to his lips as his thoughts went back to when he was seven and just moving in to town with his family. Andy was his new next door neighbour, a small dark bundle of grins, arms and legs all wrapped up in boundless enthusiasm and energy.
Andy was never backward in going forward and decided to introduce himself as Geoff played in the back garden keeping an eye on his younger sister, Fran, whilst mum and dad unpacked. "Hey you, Ginger, I'm Andy - want to be my friend, I know where there is a pond with tadpoles."
That had been the start of an eight year friendship, really longer than that but Andy had stayed at school and Ginger had gone to work. The friendship had started to falter and finally peter out, work and school didn't mix. They still waved and nodded but things were different now.
Ginger looked out of the window, trying to read the names of the stations as they passed the concrete platforms at high speed. His thoughts absorbed on his friends, to be honest he didn't have many, a lot of acquaintances and drinking partners but very few he called friend. His past was scattered with people he had come to know, if not well then well enough.
Pulling a packet of mints out of his pockets his hand searched inside for one, pushing all the empty wrappers around as his fingers quested. Down to his last four, a quick check of his watch - 10 more minutes to go. The train screamed, shuddered and rattled. Ginger turned and watched as another train passed on the nearby tracks, flashing past in a few seconds as it sped in the opposite direction.
Leaning back, his head resting on the padded seat, his mind wandered to last night's meal at mum and dad's. The quietness, almost sombre occasion, of his leaving. Mum didn't think of his house less than a mile away as leaving but this was different. His Dad giving him fatherly advice, which he intended to ignore. Not that it wasn't good advice - it was, it just didn't seem relevant. He'd been working eight years, he knew how you had to behave, keep your nose clean and so on.
After dinner he'd gone home unable to handle the strain of his mum about to cry and his dad with just another anecdote. He'd kissed his sisters and mum, shook his dad's offered hand, waved to his brothers and left. He hadn't slept well that evening, disturbed by the way his family had treated him - as if they weren't going to see him again.
The 6:02 train had been right on time and if it was still on time then he'd be there in under five minutes. Time to get his suitcase down.
...............
At the railway station Ginger had tagged on to some university students that were also going to the museum and grabbed a taxi ride with them. It pulled to a halt by a large entrance way. Two large stone pillars supporting two large wrought iron gates. A long tall brick wall stretched either side as far as you could see down the road.
One of the Museum gates was open and a collection of about 40 to 50 people were stood around just inside it.
Carrying his suitcase he climbed out of the taxi and walked over to the group.
A neatly dressed woman in her 30's ticked off something on her clip board and as the group from the taxi joined up with the rest she said "Right - now if you'll all follow me, I'll take you to the dormitories and you can drop off your bags."
Marching up the slight incline the group followed. The passed green fields sign posted as car parks and little booths, closed up tight against the winter weather.
At the brow of the hill the view looked down on to a village. Ginger tried to discern the details but at the distance it looked a lot like other villages. As they got closer the differences started to make itself apparent. The main street was cobbled and rutted with tracks. The guide turned off and started to head off to a small row of nine, two story terraced cottages on the near side.
Stopping outside one of the cottages the guide waited for the stragglers to join the group before she spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, this building will be your home for the next nine months. Please take care as we enter, the ground floor is identical to houses of the period and some of the objects are irreplaceable. Your dormitories are upstairs, cottages one, two and three are the ladies'. Numbers four, five and six are the entrances, communal kitchen and eating area. Finally, seven, eight and nine are the gentlemen's quarters."
As she opened the door she turned back to the group. "Please follow me upstairs." She walked in and the group followed in single file. The doorway opened out into a small kitchen, An unlit, black iron range stood built into one wall, the chimney breast above it. A small dresser of crockery and a wooden table set out as if the owners had just stepped out in the middle of cooking.
Following the trail of people, Ginger climbed up the narrow, steep stairway, the haversack, of the person before him, knocking his suitcase down as he tried to climb with it held in front. The dark tunnel of stairway opened out into a narrow corridor running along the length of three of the cottages.
The windows were boxed in, blocking any view and the only light was from a large florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. Following the line of people he entered the kitchen and eating area. The room was crowded with everyone standing. Ginger moved around trying to make room for those still coming along behind him.
Although he couldn't see her through the mass of people filling the room he heard her voice. "If you'll take your bags through and select your beds. I'll give you a few minutes and then I'll expect you outside Mr. Bently the manager will be waiting to give you a tour, and a description of your duties."
Reversing direction, Ginger turned and followed the last out. As he walked out he saw painted on the wall `an arrow, pointing left, with 7 to 9 and an arrow, pointing right, with 1 to 3.' Following the men Ginger walked down the corridor and through a door. Passing two small rooms of four beds, two bunks below and two above, already taken. The third room was a communal bathroom with gleaming while tiles. As he looked in he saw a row of shower heads at the end.
The fourth room only had one occupant and Ginger stepped inside, Putting his suitcase on the first top bunk. He looked around for cupboards but found only a small lockable four drawer cupboard at the end of his bed. He was quickly followed by two other men who stepped in and took the other bunks.
"Where am I supposed to put all my clothes?"
"Weren't you told not to bring any? They supply them so that you blend in with the period. You only need your own clothes for going out of here and getting home."
Ginger turned to face a thin faced man of about nineteen, dark almost black wavy hair brushed back and bushy eyebrows. His nose whilst not being too prominent was pug like, turning up like a ski jump. "Oh! Hi, my name's Ginger."
The young man's eyes flicked up to Ginger's hair and then he smiled. "Name suits you, mine's Phil." They shook hands.
"John"
"Peter"
Ginger and Phil turned to face the two men who had also chosen their room. John was tall, well built and was probably just eighteen, Mouse brown hair that was cut short surrounded a strong pleasant face.
Peter was almost the exact opposite, he was small, wiry with blond hair that touched his shoulders, His face was pointed, full of sharp angles and his dark eyes glittered with intelligence, his age was hard to tell probably twenty to twenty five.
Whilst Peter and Ginger shook hands, Peter talked, fast "I brought a lot of clothes as well. We'll have to ask where we can put our cases. We'll probably look stupid."
John his mind faster than his body implied "Just bung them under the bottom bunks, out of the way."
Ginger and Peter pushed their luggage under the beds and now that the queue of people had passed they all walked back down the corridor to the first entrance, down the stairs and out in front of the cottages.
Ray Bently was a large man, late forties to early fifties. White hair combed up and back, greased. His face was one of those jovial red cheeked faces.
He stood talking to the lady, with the clipboard, waiting while the group of new recruits all piled out of the dormitories.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Ray Bently, I'm the Manager of the museum and I'm responsible for ensuring that all the facilities of this place, match the period in which were set."
"If you'll follow me, I'll take you on a guided tour so that you know your way about. Keep close as I'll explain things as we go along" He turned and started to walk towards one end of the town. As a group the new interns massed behind Ray, listening to his voice as he strode towards a large grey stone building.
"This museum is a living museum set in the early eighteen-nineties. If any of you are wondering `why then?' and not a later period it is because of the motor car. The biggest change to civilisation after the industrial revolution was the invention of the internal combustion engine. Before the car the only way to travel was either by foot, horse or train. The train handled all major goods movement but people didn't generally move around, except by foot or horse."
"Families stayed close to each other. In the cemeteries you'll find generations of families, hundreds of years, and then nothing. They didn't die out, they moved away. Whole communities were created by the railways but with the emergence of the car the people mixed far more freely. It was the death knell to local accents, cultures and traditions."
"Each and every village or group of villages had it's own smith, printer, baker and so on. All the things people needed were mostly made locally. The train certainly affected all of the communities bringing in mass produced goods but it was only with the car that the people become mobile."
He stopped at the large stone building. Grey slabs of stone and gothic arched windows were his backdrop as he turned to face the group. "This period is the only one where you'll find the local craftsmen in their workshops with mass produced goods available in the local store. There were local constables, a post office, a doctor available almost every where. That building.." he pointed to a squat single story building covered in white stucco. "was, is a cottage hospital. The empire was at its height and the people lived in a fairly sophisticated style, if you could afford it."
"Your jobs for the next nine months is to live in that style, when we open the gates to the public in two weeks time this village will function as it would have in 1893. Some of you will work in the craft shops, some of you will be working in taverns and shops. Some of you will be in the hospital or in service in a couple of the houses. Wherever you are you'll do the work just as they did it then."
"Before any of you ask apart from a few highly skilled jobs you will all get your chance to try different things. You may be the drunk in the tavern or you could be the coal man. You could be serving tea to a merchant, you could even be the merchant being waited on hand and foot."
As the roles he played out ran through Ginger's head he wondered how it was going to work. The group started to talk amongst itself. Peoples voices laughing and joking at what would be an interesting job.
"Right OK. OK. Cut the chatter, I'll go through the village and show you where everything is. But I must mention that each craft shop, pub, and so on has it's own manager, when you are placed with that person you will answerable to them and then to me. I won't introduce you to everyone as it would take too long, but before the two weeks are up you'll pretty much know everybody."
"Behind me is the Squire's Manor, the home of the Magistrate who was responsible for common law justice. This is where you'll find me and Mrs Cunlif. Mrs. Cunlif is responsible for money, payments, schedules and is my deputy when I'm not available. She will also attire you in clothes to suit the period, and the job you currently hold. Work starts at nine and the gates open at nine thirty. You will live eat and work the period until the gates close at six. Any major infringement of the period will result in a fine deducted from your pay. Frequent discipline will result in dismissal."
Walking through the group of people Ray walked towards the cottage hospital.
"Across here is the hospital as I've already said. Doctor Williams is resident here all year and he will teach and train any who will work for him. He is a real doctor so if you have any medical problems, he's your man."
"Walking down the main street we now pass a couple of houses that are kept in running order for visitors to view. The pub on the corner is the Bull and the landlord is Dan Shepard."
"Over here is...." The group followed him around from pillar to post as he walked them around the village. Ginger listened to the words being spouted. The man was filled up with enthusiasm for the period and his voice carried that enthusiasm out. The group picked it up, fed on it and got fired up with the interest. Ginger listened as the period became clearer, his old school days had been filled with Roman History, and the Industrial revolution told by a teacher who no longer cared. His thoughts returned to Ray and his words, He'd be one hell of a teacher.
"That's pretty much it. You'll get to see the place better this afternoon. Now as I've said we work six days a week and were open every single day come rain or shine. Mrs Cunlif will post the roster in the main dormitory kitchen so you'll know where to report. Each of you will get 2 weeks in each position. We quite often find repeat visitors so we don't all swap roles at the same time. Half will change on one Sunday the remainder on the next Sunday. I want you to look around get used to the place. Tomorrow we start running as if the gates were open. Half of the village will be working whilst the other half will try to catch them out. Then we'll all swap roles and so on until opening day."
Ray held out his hand "Mrs Cunlif" and she passed him a sheet of paper. "There are a couple of exceptions to the normal routine and the highly skilled craftsmen are those exceptions. No one can possibly work in these trades for a couple of weeks and appear to be proficient, so I'll just read out the names of the people who are going to learn a trade. First Kevin Butler?"
Ginger looked across the group and a lanky lad with dirty blond hair in front of him raised him arm and said "Here!"
"Right your in the bakery. Next Gary Holmes?"
A plain young man dressed in a dark blue anorak said "Here!"
"Your in the Forge. Tracy Dougan?"
A pretty girl with dark long hair answered.
"Your with Mrs Cohen, the seamstress. And lastly, Geoff Masters."
Ginger was surprised and raised his hand wondering if he was going to be doing. "Here!"
"Your with David McDonald, the printer. With that done I think we'll call it a day and take a break. Look at the roster and go and see Mrs Cunlif at the Squire's house for your clothes. I don't want to see anything modern after lunch. Look around and get yourself familiar. You four craft people need to meet your patrons and introduce yourselves.
...............
Part 3 of ?
Chapter 2: A dog's life.
Walking back to the dormitory surrounded by people, Ginger ruminated on his proposed job for the next nine months. It would only be a little different to what he'd done for the last eight years.
A hand landing on his shoulder made him jump and turn around rapidly as Peter spoke. "Well if it isn't our lucky printer. How does it feel to be picked out for special treatment, you get to learn a job that's useful."
"Not really, I already am a printer, it was my job for eight years before I was made redundant last month."
"Oh! I thought you were at university like me."
"Nah! I didn't like school, hated it with a passion. I got out as soon as I could."
Peter's voice became awed and questioning "How old are you? You look a lot younger than me and I'm only twenty one."
"Twenty-four, twenty-five in two months."
"Jesus! You'd never know to look at you. Seventeen tops."
Ginger laughed "Don't tell me about it. You should see the trouble I have getting a pint in a pub."
Separating into single file they strode through the cottage and up the stairs. Entering the communal kitchen Ginger strode towards a group of people with mugs in their hand. "Any coffee."
A girl in a pink windjammer pointed at a steel tank sat on the side. "Coffee, milk and sugar over there by the water boiler."
He thanked the girl and walked over to join the short queue in front of the water boiler. Picking up a mug he put in the instant coffee and sugar as he waited. When the last person moved away he looked down at the water boiler. A stainless steel cylinder two foot high by one foot across, a small pull tap at the bottom. Ginger filled his mug and moved aside to pour in the milk from the plastic carton left on the side.
Looking up he saw a cluster of people looking at a large sheet of paper fastened to the wall. The roster he presumed. Sitting at one of the empty tables he watched all the people around him as his coffee cooled to drinkable temperature.
He saw Peter separate himself from the cluster and walk over to the water boiler. John's tall frame walked in through the door, looked around, briefly watched the huddle by the roster and then walked over to his table and sat down.
Ginger was curious at John's lack of interest. "Not going to look on the roster?"
"It'll wait. I don't see any point in scrumming down now."
Peter joined them. "Well I'm a working at the carpenter's." Looking at John he continued "What you going to be?"
"Don't know, haven't looked yet. I'll go after I get a drink." He stood up and then sauntered off towards the fridge.
Peter's fast paced voice pulled Ginger away from abstract thoughts he'd lost himself in. "Against your name it says Printer but you get Thursdays off. I get Saturdays. I wonder what there is to do around here"
After the drinks and waiting for Phil to appear, Ginger, Peter and John gave up and headed over to the manor to get attired for the period. One Jacket and waistcoat, two pairs of trousers and five sets of shirts, vests, underpants, socks and a pair of boots. He was also measured for and handed a half height top hat and told that appearing outside without it would result in a fine.
Lastly he was handed a pamphlet of behaviours, manners and unacceptable practices with instructions to read it and inwardly digest. He was also asked by Mrs Cunlif. "Do you want to change your money into the museums coinage, outside money wont work."
"What money do we use?"
"Librae, solidae and denarii."
Ginger's mouth dropped open "Huh?"
"Librae, solidae and denarii, L.S.D. Pounds, shillings and pence." Then she stunned Ginger silent as she rattled off the coinage. "2 farthings to the ha'penny, 2 ha'pennies to the penny, 6 pennies to the sixpence, 2 sixpences to the shilling, 2 shillings to the florin, 2 shillings and sixpence to the halfcrown, 5 shillings to the crown, 2 crowns to the sovereign and 2 sovereigns and 1 shilling to the guinea."
"Am I supposed to learn that?"
"Well it would be good for you to learn but as long as you remember 4 farthings to the penny, 12 pennies to the shilling and 10 shillings to the sovereign. Or 20 shillings to the pound with translates to 240 pennies to the pound." She ended smiling as Ginger struggled trying to follow her and then laughed. "Don't worry, the last page of your pamphlet explains it all. Most of the time you will have to deal with less than a crown."
"We would love to change peoples money back to the proper value of the day but as most people can't comprehend the difference in values we don't bother. For the sake of ease we translate at 2 new pounds to the shilling or 16 new pence to the old penny. We know it isn't strictly correct for the period but it gives the people a taste of what money was like."
"OK. I'll change a tenner." Ginger held out his hand with a ten pound note in it.
"Right here you are. Here's a half a crown, one shilling, two sixpences, five pennies, a ha'penny and two farthings."
The coins weren't heavy at all even though the halfcrown was thick and large. He weighed his hand up and down.
"They aren't the real coins, the real coins are hard to get hold of and are worth far more to a collector than their value, so we use metal coated plastic coins instead."
...............
Walking down the cobbled street from the dormitory Ginger started to read the little booklet. The hat felt odd on his head and didn't seem to fit properly. The clothing itched and had a musty smell that seemed to briefly appear, just to distract you and then vanish. Ginger straightened his waistcoat again, it twisted and tightened around him as he moved. The ankle length boots were heavy, hard soled clod hoppers that echoed as he walked. The interest that arose as he was measured and then handed the clothes had evaporated quickly after getting dressed in it.
A glaringly soft white cotton shirt that was over long draped over him, a round neckline without a collar. The sleeves ended in folded back cuffs, held together with chain cufflinks. A circle of stiffly starched cloth and two white studs were handed to him and he'd left them in one of the drawers in the dormitory, along with a heavy cotton vest and underwear that had draw strings like swimming trunks. The trousers were woollen and warm but they weighed far more than he expected. His socks were knee length warm and woollen and he knew his feet would sweat like the very devil.
At the corner of Hunters' Lane' and the high street was a large dark bricked, single story building, separated into two work shops. The forge held the corner with large wooden doors capable of taking a cart on one street and windows lighting up the forge on the other. The large wooden doors were painted green with a red banner across it of Urkland's Forge'. Written below in smaller yellow writing `Wrought iron work, Casting and Farrier'
To one side on the high street was the narrow fronted printer's workshop. "The Telford Observer" written on the white paint work in large bold black letters. Around the corner on `Hunters' Lane' was a small house obviously belonging to the forge as the paint colour scheme stretched across and highlighted the front door and windows.
The printers door was split in half with the top half open, the bottom door had a shelf attached filled with folded broadsheet newspapers. Picking one up Ginger lifted it up into the light and looked at the fine text in narrow columns. The line at the top said Price 2 1/2d Date February 24th 1893. Looking down the page a small title caught his eye.
"Hard of Hearing"
"Mr Gladstone yesterday confessed to being unable to remember a conversation he had had with Lord Southbourne on the 12th of this month. If the Prime Minister is unable to remember conversations and agreements within his own Liberal party it can hardly be expected to listen or even hear the voice of the populace. It is the view..."
"Are you buying or just going to stand their and read without paying?"
The gruff voice surprised Ginger, making him jump, he looked up into the long narrow face of a grey bearded man, his top lip hidden behind the dense grey moustache. "Oh. I'm sorry, I was coming to see you about being placed here by Mister Bently and I just got absorbed in the paper." He quickly folded the paper and returned to the pile.
"So you are my new trainee.." He looked up and continued as if haranguing the heavenly host ".. Another year of bumbling mistakes and poor spelling?"
"Well, I wouldn't quite say trainee."
"Don't think this place is good enough for you? Aren't interested in doing a decent job. Want to go back to your nice cushy university then?"
Ginger tried to placate the man who seemed intent in getting angry. "No, I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. It's just that I'm already a fully qualified printer, I have my Ordinary and Higher National Diplomas."
The man turned around and walked off back into the dimly lit recesses of the shop his words echoing back towards Ginger. "Struth! Now I get a green horn that will be telling me how to do my job."
Ginger called out "Mister McDonald?"
The man's gruff voice returned hard and cold. "Just be here at nine tomorrow. Sharp mind you, I can't stand people who dilly-dally around."
Ginger left the door and walked back into the street wondering what he had done wrong.
Turning the corner he saw that the large green doors of the forge were open and heard the clanking sound of metal being moved. Walking up to the doors he looked in to the well lit work shop.
A large man, well over six foot tall, broad shouldered with rolled up sleeves wearing a large scorched and pitted leather apron was sorting through heavy metal bars and ingots by the back wall. The forge was a neat place. Down one side a large heavy metal table arranged with tools sat a foot away from the forge. A large square fire pit filled level with coal was awaiting the fire with an assortment of anvils just in front of it. On the other side another metal table fitted with vices and shaping tools ran away to the rear of the shop.
At the back stood vertically against the wall, arrangements of metal bars, sheets and ingots piled halfway to the ceiling. The floor was flagged and had recently been swept clean. The hole room appeared uncluttered, everything in its place.
The man turned to face the shadow in the doorway. He looked to be in his late thirties. Blond short hair almost white in colour topped a pink smiling face and deep blue eyes that could cut you in half. The man watched as Ginger looked around and then spoke "Morning. My name's Joseph Urkland. I'm the smith. Find the place interesting?" Lifting his hand and stepping into the light he offered Ginger his hand.
Ginger shook it, pleasantly surprised by how gently but firmly the man shook his hand, taking care not to inflict any pain with his large callused strong hands whilst smiling at him as they shook.
"Hi, my names Geoff Masters but I prefer to be called Ginger.. And yes I do find it interesting. I didn't expect it to be so neat and tidy."
"That is most peoples impression but if your carrying white hot metal around you don't want to go tripping up on things lying about on the floor.
"No - that wouldn't do." Ginger looked around quickly shocked at the words leaving his mouth, why did he say something so inane. His eyes lighting on 2 large wooden frames he quickly added "What are these for?"
"What are what for?" The man stepped closer to see what Ginger was looking for.
"These two frames." Ginger pointed at the plain wooden frames hanging on a hook on the wall above the bench.
"Those are for casting. You place it on the floor." He picked up a frame and placed it on the floor. Like a bottomless box. Crouching down he looked up into Ginger's face as Ginger bent over to look. "Then you fill it with damp sand and pack it down very hard. Then you put the other frame on top making it deeper. Now you add the pattern, a wooden shape or clay shape that you want to cast. Then you fill the top half with damp sand and pack it down again. To remove the wooden shape you separate the frames and the imprint is left behind it forms a mould in the sand ready to be filled up with molten metal."
The man's explanation was clear and concise, not treating Ginger like an imbecile or a child. He spoke with knowledge and confidence but seemed to be open to questions.
Hoping he didn't look like a fool Ginger asked "Doesn't it leak out?"
"A little but not much, we call the leakage - flashing and it can be removed afterwards when you clean up the cast anyway." The man smiled as if happy to answer any question.
"Wouldn't clay or metal be better?"
"Yes they produce better finishes but sand is plentiful and free, reusable and it will work with any shape, It is still done this way since it was invented by Thomas Telford, here in 1705."
"Telford?"
"Don't you remember your history, The Iron Bridge, Thomas Telford was the father of the industrial revolution. If it wasn't for him there wouldn't be any mass production, steam trains even the clothes on your back." The man spoke not as if rebuking a child but as an explanation said in a good natured way.
"Yes I do remember, but I didn't realise the town was called after him."
The large man walked out into the daylight, looking up and down the street. "I'm thirsty, fancy a drink. I think Don's got the Bull open."
Ginger looked at his watch or the space where his watch used to be. It was locked up in his little drawers. "I don't want any alcohol but I could murder a coke."
The man laughed his head going back as he laugh boomed out. "God! I love the start of a new year, catching people out." He half turned to Ginger and grinned. "|I don't think they had coke in 1893 but come on and I'll buy you a sarsaparilla."
"Sarsaparilla?"
Grinning again "You're just going to have to trust me? Come on."
Ginger shrugged and walked up beside the man who dwarfed him. As the walked the man put his hand on Ginger's shoulder guiding him across the street to the public house. "You're going to love it. I used to drink something like it when I was a kid. Dandelion and Burdock."
Ginger stopped and Joseph turned to watch as Ginger tried to think from where he knew the name. "I remember the name, I think I used to have it but I don't remember the taste."
They carried on into the shadow of the open door.
"Don, you open yet?"
A dark haired man with peppery grey sideburns and a flattened nose that didn't seem to point in the same direction as the rest of his face, looked up from the bar. A smile on his lips as he recognised the big man. "Not really, but for friends I'm always open."
"Great, I'm parched - I'll have two sarsaparillas." The man walked over to a small wooden table, blackened with use and age. Sliding behind it he sat on the large bench seat that ran along the wall of the bar. "Pull up a stool, Ginger."
Ginger pulled out a stool and sat at the table as the landlord walked over with two glasses and a brown stone jug. He pulled the cork out and as he poured the brown cloudy liquid into the glasses. "Joe, this your new apprentice?"
Joe looked at Ginger "I don't know - are you?"
Ginger shook his head "No I'm working at the printers."
The landlord spoke, all humour wiped off his face and replaced with compassion. "If you need some one to rant and rave at, or just to talk to come and see me. OK. The Bull will always be open to you."
Ginger was unsure at what the landlord was meaning said "Ur, OK. Thanks."
As the landlord walked back to the bar Ginger leaned over the table and whispered "What did he mean?"
Joe's face straightened, losing his smile. "Just what he said, David can be very acidic and quite often we've had some young lads nearly in tears. Hopefully with you being a qualified printer he may be lighter on you than he has been on the others."
That the man knew what he did before surprised Ginger. "How did you know I was printer?"
"Ray told me last..." at Ginger's puzzlement Joe started again. "Ray Bently was so pleased to find a qualified printer coming here that he arranged to place you with David almost immediately. I was in his office when he was arranging it."
"Oh!"
"You'll understand when you meet David and with good luck he may like you."
"I already have and I don't think it's going to work."
...............
Part 4 of ?
"Can't you do anything right. I said to separate the page into eighteen columns. How do you expect to carry all of the Times' front page if you don't do it exactly like theirs. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Eighteen columns on page one and fifteen columns on page two, it's simple any moron should be capable of understanding. Go on get out. I'm going to have to redo it all again."
Ginger looked up into the scowling face of David "But.." He tried to tell him that he had done what he was asked to do.
"Just go I'm sick and tired of lame excuses. I don't even want to hear it. Just get up and get out." Ginger left the seat and stretched his back before he walked to the door. The bickering voice following him. "I don't know why I bother trying to teach people, simple instructions either ignored or not followed. It isn't as if I didn't have enough to do.
Ginger grabbed his hat and jacket from the hat stand and closed the door behind him, shutting out the voice of the man he wanted to strangle. He looked at the clock on the church tower, 10:15. Don wouldn't be open yet, putting his jacket and hat on he headed back to the dormitory.
Eight days of almost constant abuse and he hadn't yet done one thing wrong. He'd tried to protest the reasons for doing it the way he had the first couple of days but that `arsehole' wouldn't listen to reason. His work had never been corrected, never needed to be but he'd never had an apology.
Today's was a classic example. `Copy the Times of March the fifth.' Then get berated for not doing eighteen columns. He had copied the Times, it only had seventeen columns. Should he be accountable for someone's mistake 83 years ago.
He'd almost quit three times, sick and tired of that pernickerty little bastard. He turned from the dormitory, he didn't want to see anybody - he needed to cool down. As Phil was on roving duty he would be most likely be in the dormitory and maybe not even alone.
Phil had been trying to bed every girl in the place, probably had. Peter, John and himself had caught him with different girls three or four times. They had nicknamed him `Rabbit' after Phil had asked them to let him use room for an hour on the third night.
Stopping at the manor he sat on one of the bench seats and tried to relax. He watched the people walk past him intent on their own jobs. The coal men delivering sacks of coal to the houses and the baker's boy riding down the street with a basket of bread on his handle bars. Katie somebody, he could ever get a grip on their names was scrubbing one of the steps of a cottage and applied the donkey stone turning the step a bright white.
A couple of women walking away from him and wandered in to one the shops. The rag and bone man turned on the high street his voice calling out "Ragbone". Don was washing the windows to the snug of the Bull and watching the brewers dray as they rolled barrels into his cellar.
A mans voice asked "It looks realistic doesn't it?"
Ginger turned around to see Ray standing behind the bench resting his hands on the back. "Yes, yes it does."
"You know each year I take people from all across the country and weld them together in to a village. I find it enjoyable to see the routine settle in and the community come to life. You wouldn't believe I used to hate history at school but when I was offered this I jumped at it, people are what I like, the musty books in the library with their dry dusty words bored me but this. This I love."
They settled into silence as the sooty chimney sweep passed them doffing his top hat. "Good morning." Both Ray and Ginger replied and touched the brims of their hats, almost second nature now. They watched Phil walk away down the main street with his brushes and rods over one shoulder, not going to any house, just adding to the scene.
"What was it today?" Rays voice broke the comfortable silence. His voice carrying only to Ginger.
"It doesn't matter, I really don't want to talk about him."
"I'm sorry about it, I though he would be easier on you but he isn't is he. I'm getting complaints from Gary and Joe about the noise. I've never had that before."
"He isn't ever satisfied, I can't do right for doing wrong. He tells me conflicting instructions and then bollocks me for doing either of them. I don't think I can take much more of him. Half the time I want to beat his head in."
"And the other times" Ray looked at him, a smile spreading on his face.
"I..I want to strangle him." Ginger looked back over his shoulder at Ray and grinned.
Ray faced forward and pulled his hat off his head. He ran his hands back through his hair. "Do you want me to have another word with him?"
Ginger sighed "It isn't worth it, I just got snide remarks last time, he doesn't change."
"Has moving your day off to Tuesday helped?"
"Some, I only have to put up with him four days a week but he bitched at me about the paper I did on his day off. Would you believe I didn't use the right font for the price? I got that one for two days."
Ray walked around the side of the bench and sat down next to Ginger. "There is one option but it will mean a lot of work."
Ginger watched Katie move over and start scrubbing the step next door. "I'm game I'll try anything."
"Well you know the problems Gary has been having in the forge?"
"You mean his feinting."
"Yes, well he did it again yesterday, he nearly cracked his head open on an anvil. Joe says that although Gary tries hard and is a nice lad, he is going to have to release him."
"You aren't going to fire him are you?"
"Well I don't know, I haven't any room elsewhere, the schedules are full. I can't keep him in the forge, Joe says that the Health and Safety Executive will come down on us like a ton of bricks."
Ginger turned to face Ray a smiling. "By your voice I can tell you're up to something. Your scheming, go on tell me."
Ray tried to look apologetic. "Well, I was wondering... How about if we swap you and Gary? I know you'll have to spend a couple of nights working to catch up but you're quick, you should pick it up before we open the gates on Monday."
"What about Gary? He'd have to put up with David." I can't ask him to take that bastard on instead of me. He's a friend, I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye again."
"Well I suppose we'll just have to take the full time position out of the printers and put it into the schedule then nobody would have him for more than five days."
"Who'd do the paper on his day off."
"You would. Joe would have to be on his own one day. As long as he only does wrought iron or cold working it doesn't break regulations."
"OK. I'll give it a go if Joe and Gary don't mind. Tell me when you've got the schedules sorted and I'll start."
"Good... Report to Mrs. Cunlif for your new clothes. You start in ten minutes."
Ginger turned sharply to see Ray grinning trying to hold back a laugh.
Ginger laughed "You are sneaky, do you know that?"
"I've heard it said." Ray burst into laughter as Ginger ran for the Dormitory.
...............
Ginger tossed his head, flicking his sweat laden hair out of his eyes, The yellow glow of the forge lighting up the dark workshop, one of his duties was to keep the forge burning and that meant through the night as well as day. He tipped the sack of charcoal on to the forge until it domed slightly. It shouldn't be over filled or the heat built up higher than the forge or he could handle. Using the rake and poker he spread the new charcoal in with the white hot fire and carefully raked the charcoal from the sides and waited for the new charcoal to catch.
He'd been living in the forge for just under a month, the bed in the little cottage next door came with the job. It was hot, hard and grimy work but it had its pleasures.
On the day he'd started he'd worked seventeen hours straight next to Joe. Casting aluminium into all sorts of shapes, learning the skills of a caster. Packing the sand in, putting in riser and pourer cones and finally pouring the molten metal down one cone until it filled up the mould and had risen up the other cone. Waiting until it cooled and the filing the object clean.
Joe was a patient teacher who explained well before hand and didn't say anything if he'd made a mistake, he let Ginger discover it and then put it right. If Ginger needed help or advice he gave it and asked if Ginger understood afterwards, there wasn't any bickering or snide comments. Joe was friendly and helpful, he gave praise to Ginger if he did well and didn't point out his failures.
The art of wrought iron work was a skill that he knew was well beyond him and although Joe had often asked for his assistance in hammering or bending the metal he'd never tried to learn more than the basics. It seemed almost mystifying how Joe would curl an iron bar around the anvil, hammering away with steady hard strokes and end up with a curve that was fluid and graceful.
Joe's eye would see the requirements for a bracket or a hinge and after selecting a piece of metal he would heat it in the forge almost immediately. He rarely saw Joe use a rule and yet the jobs would turn out spot on every time.
Seeing the centre of the dark forge start to glow a dull orange, Ginger went back to bed. Joe was snoring gently in the bed next to his. His large bulky back lit from the bedside lamp next to Ginger's bed. The heat of the ever lit forge permeated the cottage, never below seventy they didn't use sheets and blankets preferring to sleep in their underwear. Lying on his back Ginger turned the light out. He didn't really feel sleepy, The workshop had been hot, in the high nineties and Ginger liked to think of all that he had learned that day as he slowly cooled back down.
Joe now called him the Master Caster as he now worked on the patterns and casting alone. Joe assisted him when it came to the pouring because it took two of them to lift and tip the crucible from the forge but apart from that Joe treated him as an equal.
After spending one of his days off down at the Iron Bridge museum looking at the casting done by Telford he'd asked Joe how they got such shiny finishes, all of his own were rough with the grains of the sand. Joe had told him about destructive casting, using wax as the pattern meant you didn't have to remove the pattern. The wax also soaked into the sand leaving a smooth mould for the metal to flow into.
That was it Ginger was away, Carving and moulding wax into intricate shapes. They now sold shiny aluminium ashtrays at the museum shops with the museum logo cleanly embossed in the bowl. Joe admitted that he'd never achieved results as good and that Ginger was the best apprentice he'd ever had.
Joe shifted in his sleep and turned onto his back, the bed squeaking slightly under the weight of the big man. Ginger's thoughts turned to Joe, seeing him in his mind's eye. The smile he gave as Ginger pulled out his first ashtray. The quiet voice as he guided Ginger in some new method, explaining to him the basics and then overlaying his skill over Ginger's. The confidence and calmness he exuded when he shoed a horse, the jittery beast quieting down under his gentle hand.
Images of Joe beating metal, his striking blue eyes searching for the next place the hammer. The sweat trickling down his broad arms as he exerted great force, or shaped metal in the heat of the forge. His almost white glossy hair shining as the closed the forge and quickly retired into the upstairs of the cottage for a shower.
The laughter and happiness as they played cards in the evening or watched some silly sitcom on the little portable TV. Basking in the camaraderie as they drank beer in the Bull like best friends.
Ginger knew he was in trouble, but he didn't know where to get help. After three weeks Ginger knew Joe better than anybody else apart from his family and Joe certainly knew him better than almost everyone at home. He considered Joe a good friend but he needed help from someone else.
Joe was his problem. At home things had been quiet, steady and reliable, now Ginger realised that he had shut himself from the outside world. Phil would try to lay anything in a skirt, even Peter and John had got girlfriends but he hadn't. What was worrying was that he didn't want one.
He'd only ever had one girlfriend, back when he was seventeen. Julie - a nice girl who had asked him to dance at one of the Christmas parties that Fallows' had put on. They had gone out for eight months before Julie had gone to university in Scotland. At the time he'd thought he'd been in love with her and he'd moped about for weeks after she'd left. No other girl had ever compared as far as he was concerned so he'd never gone out again. Solo for life he'd always thought.
The trouble was his thoughts weren't like that now, he liked it here, in Telford, in the museum, in this cottage, with Joe. The thoughts he'd suppressed all evening surfaced. The sights and smells as they both used the small bathroom. Joe walking around in his boxers, His smooth pale skin flowing over muscles that bulged and flexed as he picked up a mug of coffee, Bent down to pick up the towels in the bathroom. His back as he cooked their evening meal. Frizzy blond hair that sparsely covered his body, vanishing a couple of feet away, leaving him looking hairless and even more nude.
The spicy smell of his aftershave and the citrus smell of his deodorant mixing with his own musky smell making a whole that was Joe. An enticing aroma that Ginger had to stop himself from turning to follow as Joe passed.
Ginger felt his body responding to his thoughts, it shouldn't be affecting him but it was. Joe seemed comfortable wearing practically nothing and sitting cross legged on the floor opposite Ginger. Tonight Ginger had had real problems, Joe had sat opposite as usual but his boxers had been a little tighter or smaller than his others and they would sometimes gape wide open as Joe leaned back laughing or leaned forward picking up cards.
The sight of a heavy fleshy cock shaft highlighted by very blond pubes had nearly stopped Ginger's heart. His eyes riveted to the view, unable and unwilling to pull away as his mind screamed at his body, feeling tingles that would rapidly betray him even if his staring didn't. Released form the burden as Joe shuffled, Ginger was petrified that Joe had seen, noticed his actions and had moved to hide himself from Ginger.
A hasty retirement to the bathroom to get himself back under control only to be dragged out by Joe asking if he was going to finish playing his hand.
The rest of the night had been tortuous, Ginger would find his eyes returning to stare at the blond giant again and again. Now in the darkness Ginger could release the pent up tension. His hand slid down his body and under the waistband of his briefs feeling his hardness. Sliding back his foreskin back he felt the damp sensitive head. He had to jerk off, he couldn't leave it now, the pressure was too great.
Being as quiet as he could he slipped his jockeys off, the relative coolness of the air stimulating him more. His right hand moved into position as his six inch cock pressed hard against his stomach. Two fingers on one side and his thumb on the other he slid his foreskin over the flared helmet of his cock feeling the tingles increase with the friction. He widened his legs and wetting his finger he slid it down until he could feel his hole spasm reflexively as his touch magnified the feelings in his groin.
Doing what his body knew how to do so well his mind sorted through images of Joe. His skin, that muskiness, the sight of his cock. Ginger's right hand moving up and down pulling against the head as his left teased the entrance to his body. The drips of water on his chest as he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him, his deep blue eyes, the sight of that one and a half inch wide cock showing through his boxers. His smile as they talked about the rugby match, the laughter as they had watched a rerun of Dad's army and The blue vein that wended its way across that tantalising sight of Joe's hidden parts.
His hand moving rapidly and his finger inside tingling the walls, Ginger had never fingered himself further than teasing the entrance but his finger was pressed in as far as it would go, and it felt incredible. Feeling more aroused than he'd ever been, he gave up and just held on to the sights he'd seen as they had played poker. The playback in his mind seemed perfect in every detail. The slight widening of the boxer fly the slight wispy pale hairs that peeked out before the flash of skin had made his eyes lock on. The meaty shaft with that faint blue line zigzagging its way down the fat cock. Ginger wanted to see it all, touch it and his mouth watered with the forbidden thought. His finger moved inside him. Unsatisfied he pressed his other finger in and as the cum shot out of his purple headed, rock hard cock he really knew where he wanted that cock to be.
...............
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Romanticiser@geocities.com