Staff of the Machine Shop, 1948.

Examples of the pride that the workers had in what they produced could sometimes be seen when away from the workbench.  The little chap whose job was to assemble "penny door locks" for municipal toilets would, when on his week’s holiday at the seaside, try every door lock in a row to see that they were working alright, carrying a store of pennies for the sole purpose.  He would despair at having to dismantle some, to remove washers or buttons that had jammed the mechanism, so that these door locks stood between the discomfort and comfort of anyone with a problem whether a big one or the even bigger one of no small change.  

Back to a few individuals who come to memory.

Jack Wharton, the supervisor of the Spring Door Shop, would occasionally be seen pushing a plate glass door wide open just to see it return to the closed position, calculating how long it took.  Like so many others he was described as a "Gibbons man", one who would have the good name of the firm in his mind at all times.  Later a new product of skinning over aluminium with stainless steel sheet for shop fronts and offices was added to his responsibilities.  For this he had to learn to drive so he could get to customers. This, at a late stage in his employment, caused him some apprehension but he managed it, after much practice on the works car park on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. 

James Gibbons fame in the industry of lock making owes much to one family in particular: the Robbins family.  I do remember Arthur Robbins Senior and his son Arthur Robbins Junior. This family descended from other older members of the family of three generations of locksmiths, whose skilled expertise will still be found in locks across the country.  Young Arthur possessed a lock with a tiny key.  Made from two threepenny silver bits, it worked like a watch smaller than a small thumb nail.  It could well be that the photograph that appears in old catalogues of a lock maker at his bench is one of the famous Robbins family.   He may have started at the age of twelve in the workplace, as this was normal at that time until the school leaving  age rose to fourteen.

Ike Timmins was the foreman of the plating shop and in charge of the "bronzing" of brass work.  Bronzing changed the appearance of polished brass to look like bronze.  A chemical powder was mixed with ammonia to a thin paste, painted on to the highly polished brass and allowed to dry.  Long hand brushes were then used to buff the object, which would then have the appearance of solid bronze.  The stained brass retained its colour by polishing only with furniture wax.  A kindly, religious man,  Ike was of the working gentleman school, who never swore or cursed - though if really pushed his description was: a "thundering" thing.  One of his achievements in his plating trade was to produce a "matt" (satin) plating that looked like silver and never needed polishing.  The only pair of Gibbons candlesticks that ever received this treatment stand on my mantleshelf, a tribute to his skill and valued friendship.    

Vic Shermel, a small, rotund man, was the engraver of decorative figures, door handles, plates etc.  An artist in metal, his different hammers and chisels worked on the dressings after casting in brass and bronze. Sometimes he worked by oil lamp to ease his eyes from constant attentive looking at small work engraving, expensive lock plates and door knobs.  The designs for these would have been drawn up by an architect, knowing that the Gibbons work force would do justice to them.

Sir Gilbert Scott and Sir Christopher Wren are remembered by the buildings and their contents but little thought is given to the lower end of the exercise, those who worked and produced or built them.  Much of the skills of such men as Vic Shermel have been lost forever with progress and the need to produce cheaper and quicker builders’ requirements and hardware; when wages were low, time could be allowed for beauty and perfection  but that is not the case today.

Gibbons  had a strong ladies work force at Church Lane.  They came during the war and carried on at the lathe or drill afterwards, accepted as equal if not paid the same rate of pay - that came later in British factories.  

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press Shop.

Quite a few of these ladies worked in the Machine Shop.  The Setter Up was a man named Albert Lycett.  Albert would look after the lathes and drillers operatives, mainly women, who were not averse to giving him the blame if the now old lathes started to play up after years of war work.  As nice a man as one could meet, Albert married one of his flock, "Vicky", then on retirement lived in Milton Road,  Fallings Park.  He  was a member of the Rifle Club and helped to dismantle a former hospital ward at RAF Bridgnorth, which was transported by the firm’s lorries and erected at the Sports Club on the Birmingham New Road. A popular and lovely couple who had a good word for everyone, now long gone but remembered with affection.

After the second world war former workers returned to the factory after demobilisation. One who hadn’t work at Gibbons however, was a former RAF stalwart.  Sgt. Stan Lane was the commissionaire.  Many an R.A.F. "sprog" (or recruit) would remember Stan Lane.  He was the Station Provost Sgt. at R.A.F. Cosford during the war, though having joined the RAF as a boy saw service in the desert of Arabia with a Rolls Royce Armoured Car section.  When war broke out he was on Fighter Stations during the Battle of Britain and was then posted to Wolverhampton’s RAF Cosford.  His first job after demob was as commissionaire at Beattie’s shop in Wolverhampton.  He was poached and his domain was the Time Office next to the main offices.  Until retirement he lived in a part of Ruckley Grange.  This was owned by Mr Harry Attwood, the agent for the Rolls Royce and Bentley cars.  His garage was at the top of Stafford Street.  In his job Stan was a typical service type of the old school, firm but fair.  Old employees visiting the factory he tolerated up to a point,  but too many visits and you had to meet your former workmates in the street outside after hours.  Just a little thing of the memory of Sgt. Lane, was his boots.  Rain or snow, they had a shine like mirrors.  One could imagine a recruit standing in front of them, hypnotised and wondering what his fate would be for catching the eye of the Provost Sergeant.  But his bite was by far worse  than his bark.

The assistant in the Time Office was Sam Challenor.  One could never forget Sam, a sense of humour with a store of jokes, and stories that beggared belief.  A Bilstonian, he was as proud of his roots as a landed lord, never ashamed of his accent though at times he emphasised it a little.  In charge of the time office teapot, his dulcet tones could be heard half way round the factory, "Tays med, ‘tis med"  What a character!  He did not fully appreciate the large influx of new arrivals coming into the country at that time, before such opinions were suppressed  by law on the fear of death.  Sam had served as a soldier and he fully thought that he had earned the right of free speech and gave full vent to it. On retirement Sam became chairman of an Old Folks Club along the Birmingham Road and was sadly missed on his death, for his dedication to others as well as his family of "Challenors". 

Simon Perry came to Gibbons from the firm of Cyrus Price the safemakers.  The story  of this most honest and remarkable man has been told in the Black Country Bugle by the man who had the job of taking him round the country by car to open safes. He was a master "Cracksman" whom it is known, from the records that were in the  firm’s offices, had never been beaten when opening a safe. His forte was that after he had opened an offending safe he could leave it just as secure afterwards, without destroying it with the "cracking" open procedure of drilling around the lock.  

So many names, so many products that would take volumes to write about and do justice to these people, what they made and how they lived, their joys and sorrows that  would see a hat passed round to help in situations that  arose again and again. A wedding, a birth, a retirement a death, people giving what they could in the days when hand outs from the Government were far from the norm that it is today, for anyone albeit having been in the country but a few days. That small contribution was received gladly from workmates who knew from experience that the little extra was oh so well needed.  

On another page (linked at the bottom of this page) there are photographs of as many other members of the staff who were there in my time as I could find photos of.  All of them, and all those not mentioned here, deserve to be remembered as individuals and as members of a great team.

View some staff photos

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