HARRY’S SURPRISE

By Bob French

It was a usual Friday afternoon when the factory hooter sounded, heralding the end of the busy day shift.  Within minutes, the wide open space leading to the main gate was filled with loud chatter and laughter as the five hundred or so workers of Jimsons and Wentworth, the furniture factory in Hounslow, slowly made their way out of the premises and into an exciting weekend. Their local football team was due to play Brentford on Saturday and the Chipies, the factory ladies netball team was due to play their arch enemies, the Twickenham Owels.  As usual, old man Jimson had laid on busses to and from both events.  Regardless of the results, he’d promised his workers that after church, he would throw a barbecue on the field behind the factory.   

Watching the happy band of workers pass through the main gate was Harry Thornton, a tall, well build man who had served his country in the Royal Navy for some fifteen years. Harry was well respected within the community; the coach of the under tens mixed football team and a story teller at the local infants and primary school, and of course, come Christmas, he secretly played the role of Santa Clause.

Over the years, he had become the person to go to if you had a problem.   He had got to know nearly everyone who worked at the factory including their families.  Now and then he would pick one of the workers at random to step into his small, but comfortable security office for a chat and discretely find out if anyone was on the fiddle.

As he stood nodding to those who managed to get out of the factory early, he noticed Alf Pilkington, a jovial man who worked on the metal frame side of the furniture shop. As he drew near, Harry grinned and held up his hand.

“What ya got there Alf?”

          “Sawdust mate.  Jean is going to try and make toys for the school Christmas party.”

 Harry lifted the huge bags of sawdust from the wheelbarrow, then satisfied with his inspection, turned to Alf. “What a good idea. How are the kids?”

“Fine.  Little Freddy and our May are both looking forward to the football training tomorrow afternoon.”

With that they parted company and Harry went back to his scrutiny of the workers. Harry noticed that Alf didn’t always have a wheelbarrow full of sawdust and must have thought that Jean, his wife, had completed the toy making for the school.

A fortnight passed before Alf appeared again and for a catch-up rather than a security check, Harry nodded to Alf.

“Jean making some extra toys then Alf?”

“Yeh, the headteacher asked her if she could make a few extra for the kids down at the orphanage. She couldn’t say no, could she?”

For the following two weeks, Alf stopped and had a chat with Harry, who would discretely check out what Alf had in the wheelbarrow. Sometimes it was old balls of twine and others, sawdust, and after a chat about the chances of their football team being promoted this season, Alf was allowed to leave the office.

On the twentieth of December, spirits were high as the workers passed through the gates to begin their two weeks Christmas holiday.  As usual, Harry was nodding to the masses as they made their way home. then he saw Alf and called him over.

“Fancy a cupper Alf.”

With a grin on his face, Alf nodded and made his way over to the little office. 

“As it’s Christmas, fancy a dram?”

“That’s very kind of you Harry; don’t mind if I do.”

After pouring a shot of Glenfiddich into his coffee, they sat chatting for about ten minutes.  Then Harry looked up at Alf. “OK mate. I’ve been watching you for some time and I can’t work out what your scam is?”

 Alf laughed. Wheel barrows Harry, wheel barrows.

Copyright Bob French