The tea trolleys for morning break had lovely hot doughnuts, cold cream ones, and thick slices of bread and dripping. The milk cartons held about one third of a pint and when not quite empty could be a formidable missile, one of which unfortunately hit a supervisor in the chest as he came round the corner into the 'rib shop'. There were three supervisors who walked round at any time - Gamble, Sellers and Simmons - and quite often would sack people on the spot for any slight misdemeanour. This time Simmons's suit was splashed with milk and he just stood there while we all tried not to laugh, until one chap looked up to see him still there. He was immediately suspended for three days without pay; I don't think he threw the carton, either.
    Painting heels with Duralac was still done in 1938, personal drawers in the wooden benches would be nailed up, or someone's smock would be hung up in the rafters. Archie, the one armed custodian of the toilet, was still there to put your name in the book and record your time; over ten minutes meant a bang on the door.
    Things changed when war broke out and we started working longer hours. Early in 1940 the rib shop moved to an empty factory on the Slough Trading Estate, a long coach ride from Kingston each day starting at 7.00 am and sometimes not getting back until 10.00 pm, quite often during an air raid. I helped start a new department for Hurricane wing skins supervising about fifty women, but that's another story. continue