Back in the deep, darkest swirling mists of time, a whole three years ago, I used to work at Kirkstone Quarries.
I didn’t work for them though. I was in one of their buildings. But not working. Well, I was working, but not for them. And now they’ve gone bust. It wasn’t me, honest.
Confused yet? Yeah – me too. Although that is a fairly common occurrence if you’re me. Which you’re not. At least, I’m pretty sure about that. Reasonably sure. Sure-ish.I didn’t work for them though. I was in one of their buildings. But not working. Well, I was working, but not for them. And now they’ve gone bust. It wasn’t me, honest.
Anyway, digression has once again spread it’s diversionary pall over the second paragraph, so I’ll try and drag this back on track. Kirkstone Quarries, based in Skelwith Bridge near Ambleside, have gone into Receivership, and all the staff there have been made redundant.
I’m saddened by this, as I did indeed work in the upper floor of one of their buildings, whist masquerading as a warehouse manager. I know – me, in charge of a warehouse! An upstairs warehouse – it has curly stairs too. Moving furniture was slightly tricky.
When I first moved to Cumbria I worked for Touchstone Interiors (now Chesters), which was owned by the sister of the chap that ran Kirkstone. My warehouse was across the yard, and I saw first-hand the magic that takes place with big, ugly, lumps of stony stuff, turning them into gorgeous tiles, worktops, counters, house numbers and multitudinous other things.
Think of the biggest bit of stone you’ve ever seen. Table sized? Nah – bigger? King-sized bed sized? Bigger still. Jolly big indeed? Yup. These used to get manoeuvred between buildings by burly blokes wearing thick leather aprons and sturdy boots, although I image if you dropped a 6 inch thick bit of solid stone the size of a pool table on your foot, an steel toe cap would be about as helpful as packet of silica gel in a swimming pool.
I was a podgy, weak and hopeless Southerner, and a bit scared of them, but they were always friendly, and helped me out with their forklift on numerous occasions when I received palletised deliveries and made myself look suitably pathetic and hopeless, which was worryingly easy.
My warehouse was lacking a few basics. Glass in some of the windows, for instance. Or much in the way of heating. But for while I was very happy, looking after my empire of stock, watching the slate being honed, and laughing at the tourists who wandered up the footpath to Elterwater, dressed head to toe in expensive posh-brand walking gear, with poles, rucksack and God knows what else, all shiny and new. Or dodging the swallows that lived in the slate and stone walls of the old buildings. Or sticking price labels on 5000 scented candles. I smelt FAB-U-LOUS!
Without knowing it, the Kirstone guys, and the fantastic ladies I worked with at Touchstone, gave me back some of the confidence I’d lost with the death of my Mum, and the move to Cumbria, by being genuinely nice, welcoming, friendly people. They probably thought I was a ridiculous, posh bloke from the South (which was partly true, but not the posh bit). If they did, they never said so – apart from to point out that ‘path’, ‘glass’ and ‘pass’ don’t have the letter R in them anywhere.
Happy memories for me. Sad days for the Kirkstone Team.
I wish everyone the best for the future.
(I'm in the final 3 Big Bloggeries! Thank you all SO much for your continued support. I would never have guessed back in January that I'd still be here, and it's down to you. Yes YOU! I'll be round later for a snog. You too chaps...)
This blog post appeared yesterday as an entry in the North West Evening Mail's "Big Blogger" competition. Do me a favour - click on this link to view it on their website, please? Thanks to your clicks, I've made it through to the last 3! Another person gets eliminated next Monday... Can I make it through to the Blog Off?!
(Moody accompaniment by Enigma and their '91 ambient-fest MCMXC a.D. Catchy title.)
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