When my brother posted on our siblings’ WhatsApp group a photo of a skip full of earth and rubble that he had single-handedly dug out himself, I was well impressed. Given that he is a couple of years short of 80 (just one behind me), undertaking such back-breaking work must have been a challenge to say the least. He is obviously fit as a fiddle, but he assured us that he approached the task not with the reckless gusto of youth but with the experienced man’s care and consideration for his back. And this is just the preparatory stage of his project to build a conservatory.
Now, I don’t
wish to appear competitive, but this week I have been bending my own back to a
spot of hard labour. The new owners of the building that housed a recently
closed department store, House of Fraser, invited Nudge*, the charity that I do
some voluntary work with, to help ourselves to whatever had been left behind
and, after a quick survey of the contents, we jumped at the opportunity.
The closure
of the store had been inevitable, as it was the last department store standing
after the other five shut up shop. It put up a good fight, but its sorry end comprised
a sell-off of stock at discounted prices, protracted until the last few
bargain-hunting punters dwindled away, spent-up or unable to justify another
purchase, despite the tempting price tags. I was amongst them, trawling through
the menswear while observing the floorspace becoming smaller as areas were
cleared and cordoned off.
But if the
death throes were sad, the final demise was eerie. When we arrived to collect
our goodies, we entered through the back door and walked into a post-apocalyptic
movie set, dimly lit and strewn with seemingly random clusters of redundant display
counters.
Our little
band of volunteers, with a borrowed Luton van, had only two days in which to
operate – and vehicular access was prohibited after 08.00. So, early starts
were required to grab all the items that we had previously claimed and
stickered. That was one challenge. Another was that many of the items needed to
be disassembled, as they were heavy or unwieldy. Yet another was that the owners’
generosity had not extended to use of the service lift, which they had
prematurely de-commissioned. Everything depended on speed, enthusiasm and
muscle power, the last element of which was not our strong point.
If our band
is typical, then volunteers largely come from the ranks of people who are well
meaning and available, though not necessarily in tip-top physical health. Our
team comprised two people in their creaking seventies, four in their dodgy middle
age and only two who could be described as young – one of whom spent fifteen
minutes explaining to me his spinal injury and the botched surgery that had
left him somewhat incapacitated.
Still, you have to work with what you’ve got
and, though I do have a lingering injury to my own back (ref. the aforementioned
reckless gusto of youth), I also have valuable have experience in lifting and
shifting using pallet trucks, sack trucks and dollies, so I was able to
contribute meaningfully to the project, while emerging with little more than aches,
pains and a need to soak in a hot bath for an hour after each session.
In the end,
our haul was well worth the effort: miles of useful racking for storage; big
bench-tables for workshops; display stands for exhibitions; fancy light
fittings for our buildings; twelve fully decorated Christmas trees for yuletide
and a dozen glitter balls for – well, for fun.
Oh, and I blagged
some shelving for our garage, which I will assemble and install just as soon as
my back has had a rest. (Siblings’ WhatsApp alert.)
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