The Tea Break

The Tea Break

Bri opened the canteen door. ‘Tea up!’

’Ah, lovely’ said Mick, carefully laying his tools down on the workbench.

’About bloody time’ said Stan, tossing his hammer to one side.

Bri took the biscuit tin down from the shelf as Mick and Stan came into the canteen. Mick sat down at the battered table and added a spoonful of sugar to his tea. Stan sat down, leaned his chair back and put his feet on the table.

Bri coughed loudly and gave Stan’s feet a meaningful frown.

Stan tutted, rolled his eyes but took his feet off the table. He prised the lid off the biscuit tin, grabbed a handful of custard creams and popped one whole into his mouth.

‘Take your time, Stan’ said Mick ‘no rush, is there?’

‘Get stuffed’ said Stan, and popped in another custard cream.

Mick shook his head sadly. ‘Honestly, Stan, I don’t know why you’re always so awkward these days. What’s up, old lad, eh? Talk to your uncle Michael.’

’Nothing’s up. I’ve just had enough of this bloody job, that’s all’ replied Stan through a mouthful of biscuit.

’I don’t know what you’re moaning about. It’s a steady job, no heavy lifting. A cushy little number, this is.’

’Hear, hear’ said Bri, taking a custard cream and dunking it daintily in his tea.

Stan took a noisy slurp of his tea, added three sugars, slurped again. Bri sighed, meaningfully.

Stan ignored him, took a battered tobacco tin from his overalls and rolled a cigarette. Bri coughed,a cough even more loud and meaningful than his sigh.

‘Get stuffed’ said Stan and lit his smoke.

Mick sipped his tea, leaned forward in his chair. ‘Come on, Stan, what’s really the matter? We’ve worked together a long time now, haven’t we? If there’s something affecting the project, well, as unofficial team leader, I think I’ve got a right to know.’

‘Hear, hear’ said Bri.

‘Team leader?’ retorted Stan ‘And since when have we either had or needed a team leader, eh? We’re all professionals here, aren’t we? All equals?’

‘Of course, Stan, of course’ said Mick ‘I just meant that if there’s some sort of problem and the old man finds out, well, it’ll be me that’s in the firing line, won’t it?’

‘Ah, well, you may just have put your finger on it there, Mick’ said Stan, blowing a smoke ring towards the ceiling.

Even Bri looked surprised.

‘What?’ gasped Mick ‘You’re not saying anything against the old man, are you?’

Mick stood up, went to the door,checked the workshop was empty, then closed the door quietly. He sat down again, a serious expression on his face. Bri put the lid back on the biscuit tin.

‘Now, Stan’ said Mick ‘what exactly are you on about?’

Stan leaned back his chair, put his feet on the table and blew another smoke ring. A smirk crept slowly across his face. Mick and Bri waited impatiently.

Stan finished his cigarette, dropped the butt on the floor and stepped on it. Bri coughed, raised a meaningful eyebrow.

‘Get stuffed’ said Stan ‘now I’m not saying a word against the old man. He’s been good to us, there’s no denying it. But, let’s be honest, this latest job, well, it’s beneath us, boys, it’s way beneath us.’

‘Steady on, Stan’ said Mick, quietly ‘we’ve always known our place. Always.’

Stan stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Mick. ‘That’s right, old son, we have. Always followed orders. Always done what the old man said. He comes up with the ideas, he does all the calculations, draws up the designs, all the preliminary work, that’s his and fair play to him, he’s never let us down. But we make the goods, put our hearts and souls into doing the best we can, then he sends them out to wherever and takes all the credit. Now back in the old days, that was fair enough, they were some seriously large-scale projects, they were. Needed the best ones for the job and that was us. He did his best work, lovely planning and logistics back then, no denying it, and we gave him years of top-notch results, time after time, never a single complaint.’

‘Hear, hear’ said Bri.

Stan nodded, finished his tea and slammed the mug on the table. ‘And now what are we doing? Eh? After all these years, all that hard graft, not getting the recognition we deserved, after all we’ve done for him, what are making now? Bloody garden ornaments! That’s what he’s reduced us to, glorified bloody garden ornaments. It’s an insult, that’s what it is, a bloody insult. And look at the shoddy materials we’ve got to work with. How are we supposed to do a good job with that crap, eh? Now, you know me, I’ve always taken a pride in my work, boys, no-one can say I’ve got no pride.’

Bri looked uncomfortable. Mick shook his head. ‘Those are dangerous words, Stan. You’ll land in hot water if you’re not careful, you mark my words. The old man won’t take kindly to that kind of talk.’

‘You think so?’ asked Stan ‘Well, maybe it’s time someone stood up to him, told him a few home truths.’

Bri stood up, walked slowly to the window and pretended to look out. Mick stared into his mug of tea. ‘What exactly are you suggesting, Stan?’

Stan smiled. ‘I think it’s time there was a new arrangement.’

Bri stiffened. Mick’s face went pale. ‘You can’t be serious, Stan. It’s unthinkable! Go up against the old man? You can’t, Stan, you just can’t.’

’Well, now, I’m not talking about challenging him, as such’ said Stan ‘think of it more as...offering an alternative.’

Mick swallowed tea. ‘Count me out, Stan. If you’re daft enough to try taking this further, you can count me out. I want no part of it.’

‘Me neither’ said Bri.

Stan shrugged. ‘Fair enough, boys, we all have to make a choice some time. I’ve made mine. As soon as this job’s finished, I’m setting up my own outfit. I think I’ve been in this game long enough to be the boss for a change. I’ve spoken to most of the lads in the other departments, there’s many as thinks it’s about time for a change. But, fair enough boys, if you want to stick with what you know, I’ll say no more about it.’

Mick stood up. ‘Alright, Stan, if that’s the way it is. Tea break’s over, let’s get back to it.’

The workshop was quiet. Mick, Bri and Stan worked at their stations, shaping, carving, smoothing and polishing. The project was nearly complete, the last few pieces almost finished.

At last, it was done. The final piece was brought from the kiln. Stan gave it a final polish, placed it carefully on his workbench. ‘Well, that’s that. Nearly didn’t make it but, you know me, boys. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’

‘What do you mean, Stan?’ asked Mick.

‘Last little bit of material. Wasn’t quite enough to meet the specs,’ explained Stan ‘but I fixed it. He’ll never know the difference.’

‘Of course he’ll know’ said Mick ‘he always knows. What did you do, Stan?’

Stan took out his tobacco tin, started rolling a smoke. ‘I just bunged in a bit of my old stuff. Saves it going to waste, gets the job finished, where’s the harm?’

Bri, standing near the door, looked up suddenly. ‘He’s here.’

They went to their workbenches, Stan quickly crushing his half-rolled cigarette back into the tin and shoving it back into his pocket.

The door opened. The old man came in, briar pipe in his mouth, hands in the pockets of his cardigan, carpet slippers on his feet. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’

‘Good afternoon, Sir’ said Mick.

‘Good afternoon, Sir’ said Bri.

‘Alright, boss’ said Stan.

The old man moved slowly from bench to bench, examining the finished pieces. He took them, one by one, and stepped through the door into the garden where he arranged them carefully, in perfect harmony. The craftsmen looked on proudly, admiring his expertise, pleased with their contribution to this, the final project.

Eventually, only one piece remained, small and seemingly insignificant on Stan’s workbench. The old man picked it up, scrutinised it. He took the pipe from his mouth. ‘Are you sure you followed the design specs on this one?’

Stan scratched his chin. ‘Well, it was a bit tricky, but he’s all ready to go. Put a little bit of myself into that one, I did, and no mistake. Got a name for him, then boss?’

The old man looked thoughtfully at Stan for a moment. Then he stepped outside, into the garden. He lifted the tiny figure to his lips, blew softly upon it. The figure blinked. The old man placed him carefully on the soft grass.

‘Yes, I have,’ said the old man, watching the tiny figure stretch and look curiously around at its new home, ‘his name is Adam.’