I left Newport Grammar School when I was just about 13 years of age, not that I wanted to, but it was awful to see my parents worrying how to meet the incoming bills. Books, clothes, railway tickets, the "tuck" shop account. My pals who were earning wages and had money to spend took the opportunity to crow over me "if he is wearing a nice red cap whats he got in his pocket". The names of Mr. Shuker, headmaster, Handicapper Johnson and somebody called "Gill" often come into my mind, so does the scene on the Newport railway station as hundreds of German prisoners (on their way home) formed an endless chain to load railway vans waiting in the sidings with luggage from carts brought to the station entrance. How my eyes must have goggled as I seemed to stare fascinated by these "Germans" - well they are only men like our soldiers and with this I consoled myself. So it was now me looking for a job. For a few weeks I worked (or played) at the Bone-mill - then went to collect my "marks" from Espleys Office, Wellington, which all school leavers had to do. The clerk, looking at my birth certificate then at me said "And what have you been doing since November 3rd" (my birthday). Truthfully, I told him, playing about ! Well, said he, its now February Ist, but thank you for telling me the truth, I will get your marks right away.

So to Maddocks I went for a job. Jim Parker the Foundry Manager of the day looked at me, Grammar School eh! "Well lad thee bistna big enough for the foundry but theet be alright in the Core Shop". The job I was given was pleasant enough, 7 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. and my companions were a most attractive pair of young ladies, one each side of me. Oh how boring was this tedious job. Albert Small the foreman did his best to get me to make these cores correctly (a brass tube 4" long 1/8" diameter, fill it with sand then push a piece of wire straight through it, keeping the wire in the centre). Could I keep that wire in the centre? Albert gave it up muttering something about damned grammar school kids. Only a few weeks of this and then into the General Office to meet the manager Mr. D. Maddock and what must have been some of the directors. I was questioned closely and given some sums to do. Yes, I was to be promoted to the staff and work under a man who did the Progress Chasing. How this man resented me. He bullied me and got others to do the same. Finally, he set up a miserable type of trick and got me the sack. It was quite simple, I had gone to cheek the numbers of certain castings and to get the quantity which these particular grinding operators had done.

Then came the foreman Jack Woppitt. "Caught you young Evans" he shouted, "You'rn gambling with these others. (They were gambling but not me). I was waiting for them to finish their game was my plea, but no good. I was marched by him to the office to see the manager and sacked on the spot. How the fellow with whom I had been put to work under was relieved to see me out of the way, but his pleasure was shortlived. Within a few weeks he was taken to Shelton Mental Hospital. He had become insane. The men in the grinding shop knew I was innocent of the accusation of gambling so with this fellows untimely end and the foreman admitting that it was a trick to humiliate me I was allowed to start work again - but not on the staff. The job I was given was working on a grind stone. The noise was terrific, soon my hands became lacerated by holding the castings near the grind stone. Occasionally a casting would slip then my fingers were ground instead. I worked with two other lads "Tidy" nicknamed after his father, the other "Tosh" nicknamed after a well-known footballer. Then came my chance to share with these two our "piece work" the wage I earned, about £3 per week, coremaking was only 14/1 - progress chasing, much the same - but this, I had certainly landed amongst the gods. Now for boasting among the other lads who were working in the pits, on the furnace, some on the bread vans, or goods wagon at the Co-op or the stations. It was the custom of we working lads to meet for a game of football in the old foundry yard on the nearby ash bank. Well, we picked a side, one lad, as leader would choose one of the crowd, another lad would then make his choice, but if a huge youth Tommy Nock was playing, then you could choose two others. Tom was in charge of a horse and cart (drawing coal) he wore leggings and didn't he make us little ones fly. Still he was good at providing the old stocking and rags with which we made our Rag Ball. To hear us kids talking about our jobs, how hard we worked, the tricks we got up to. Even today after nearly sixty years it provides we few that are left with some happy memories.

The high wages didn't last long. Short time working became the order of the day. My wage now became 16/- per week - for this I had to take on barrow wheeling in order to get a job. Here I met two other mates "Nip" Millward and "Anty" Briggs. How we worked, we tried to beat each other by seeing how much we could load on a wheelbarrow. The distance we had to wheel the loaded barrow was very short, into the nearby sandblast, what a place - visibility was but a few feet because of the excess dust and the noise from the compressed air was hideous, you didn't talk you shouted at the top of your voice. If you didn't hear, well you either felt a cuff on the back of your neck or someone's boot in your rear.

The castings were made for Star Motors - Gwynne Motors - The Sentinal Steam Wagon Co. - Acme Wringer - B.S.A. Bicycle Hub and manyother small firms. The job I liked wastaking castings to the "Hot Straighteners". Here distorted castings (after annealing) were sent to be put back to their original shape. The operator was an expert at the job (Will Evans but no relation to me). To watch him handling the red hot castings taken out of a heated furnace was a real thrill. It was in this nice warm atmosphere we lads tried to compare our biceps with this big brawny man. Here, we also were encouraged to try out the art of boxing and weight lifting. Then Will Evans assistant and striker - the one who used the sledge hammer on some castings would get fed up with us, and open the furnace door at the same time throwing tea over us to "cool" us down. If that didn't work - well at the cry "Hi up here's the boss", that was enough.

Occasionally I saw boys with red caps on their heads and I would think well that used to be me. What an illusion I had followed. Maddocks big wages lasted but a very short time. Here was I part time working earning only a few shillings. I would look at my swollen hands and say "Well my Mum and Dad are not in debt so what". Ah, I had joined the boy scouts. Here I found something greater than any Academic career and even more valuable than learning a trade. It was the Code of Honour which all scouts were expected to live up to. Could I do this? Well I told myself I'd try. To me the realisation of this ideal was the greatest thing that had happened to me. To my slowly developing awareness, I was growing up - now 14 years old. I noticed the management were giving me another look over, for Anty Briggs, Nip and myself had vowed we would be the finest barrow wheelers Maddocks had even known even if we were small and if anyone challenged our rights come round into the clear space at the back of the welding shop and prove it. What your mouth said your fists had 'got to prove.

Those grand ex soldiers in the grinding shop would see fair Play. Their names I can still recall, Joe Bailey, Albert Powell, Ted Baxter, Les Trehearne, Jack Bethell, Jim Rigby and Eddie Freeman who was the leader of the Church Lads Brigade. Now I was promoted to check weighman, so very proud I went to work in a collar and tie. But oh dear at the sight of me so adorned old Jack Woppitt the foreman loosed out such a mouthfuls that I pulled it off and put it in my pocket. He didn't think of whom he had fallen foul of, no other than Mr. Maddock the manager. For very shortly afterwards old Jack was given a job working on the bench or being paid up. He was replaced by a man named Jack Withington. So my career at Maddocks was now well under way. My two barrow wheeling pals were put on grinding and proved two of the quickest and most eff icient lads at the job. Checkweighing was just what suited me. My duties were to count castings that had been fettled by different men, to weigh work done by the grinders and present to total figures to the office for the fellows wages. What arguments I got into being so keen on this job I would practice for hours at reckoning up cwt qrs lbs. Being so good at it I would look at a line of figures and put down the answer, while the fellows who had done the work were still writing them down. He would say "That inner right". One day the foreman came to check on what I did. He put down a line of figures and said "Young man, reckon that up". After looking at it I put the answer down. He accused me of tricking. But how had I done it? Not satisfied he tried me out again, this time taking all the work that I had reckoned up to be checked in the main office. Here meant the sack or success. Everything was correct. The foreman and I became real pals - for he allowed me to go and fetch his dinner from his home in Wombridge, while he helped me out in my job.

Childhood had swiftly passed by. I was now over 15. At 16 a big wage increase became due, but you had to have the ability to earn it. If not it meant the sack. So my early years at Maddocks were fairly hectic, but the main thing in those days was to keep your job, to earn money to keep your self respect. How grateful was I for the Boy Scout Movement for here we were always encouraged to "Do your best". What better incentive can anyone have than that? To be a Willing Slave?

Copyright:  Estate of  Moses Evans