hod carrier?
Robin Hamilton wrote:
>
> > My dad was a brickie, y'know, Rob.
> >
> >
> > 'Tis a small world.
> >
> >
> > Best
> >
> > Dave
>
> Brickies got paid more -- they were trained.
>
> On the site, I was doing grunt work.
>
> Robin
>
> (My [think I told you this] grandaddy was a carpenter. Bloody awful one at
> that. No wonder he entered the Ministry.
>
> Which didn't cause me any problems, but it sure as hell did Dear Dead Dad.
>
> When Father walked up the (Gilmore)Hill, grampa had been there (late
> entrant) only ten years before. And everyone who taught my father had
> taught grampa. And remembered him. Vividly.
>
> Pissed Father off something awful.
>
> So he took up snooker.
>
> D2)
>
> I mean, the worst I had was Hannah Buchan, who'd taught my mother and later
> taught me.
>
> Only, when Hannah taught Mother (in the forties), Hannah was in her early
> twenties and used (so Mother told me) to sit on the edge of the lectern and
> swing her legs.
>
> By the time I got there, she'd compromised for this smelly and asthmatic
> sheepdog which snored throughout tutorials.
>
> Odd.
>
> CP
>
> Come to think of it, I irritated Hannah no end. There were three high
> points.
>
> The Dryden Essay ("DON'T read Mr. Morgan's article." So, natch, the only
> work I cite is Eddie's "Dryden's Drudgery".)
>
> Then there was Piers Plowman, which for some odd reason I subtitled with
> quotes from the OED on "melange". Don't ask me why -- +I+ don't know.
>
> But the worst (in my final year) was the Bradley Medal Essay. I don't know
> what bugged Hannah more over that. My walking out half-way through (I was
> supposed to be chairing a meeting of the Literary Society, and I was pushed
> for time. Christ, if looks could kill ...) Or that I won it anyway ...
>
> 3O
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