Post by bob737 on Jan 17, 2014 9:21:07 GMT -5
Daw Mill, faceman extraordinaire Wilf Lang, the man who made life tolerable with his unintentional humour - and the stories of him really are legion! - Like the time we were walking in to 78s face, Daw Mill's last advancing panel, and we got to one of those times when the conversation just dries up until, that is, Wilf came out with one of his famous lines which became to be known as 'Wilf-isms'. This particular day Wilf comes out with, "Y'know, I'm sure this walk is getting longer..." He meant it too, he just didn't do intentional irony.
Another time when we were installing the chocks on a face that had a steep slope from Tail-gate to Coal-gate and the chocks were lowered down the face on a sled controlled by a 10 tonne Bolton Winch. We were having our snap at the winch motor house looking down the face-line at the last chock installed which was now visible, when Wilf comes out with another 'Wilf-ism', "Y'know, them chocks seem to be getting nearer I reckon..."
On that same installation, Wilf was employed turning and coupling the chocks to the panzer but still too far away to be seen from the Bolton winch. Things had been quiet for some time and we at the top end were wondering what the problem was down the face-line. Just then a very sweaty Wilf came stumbling up the hill towards us swearing and cussing. "You ignorant lot!" he shouted, "I've been shouting for slack rope on the tannoy for bloody ages but you're just ignoring me and I've had to come all the way up the hill coz you can't be bothered to answer me!" We all looked bemused at each other and I said, "Wilf, we've heard nothing, you were probably talking into one of the new plastic latch-boxes, you idiot!" This was just after the introduction of a new white plastic type of latch box. We all laughed as he stormed off back down the face. Later that same shift I had reason to go down the face to the installation where the men were turning the chocks. As I approached I could hear Wilf shouting to himself, or so it seemed. When I got to him, there he was - bawling like a man possessed into a latch box about slack rope while holding in the signal key...
He was a Barry Manilow fan too, which was the cause of much mirth. One snap time somebody was reading the local paper and made out he was reading a report about a Barry Manilow concert at Leicester DeMontfort Hall, a concert Wilf had attended the previous weekend. He claimed the report mentioned a bit of a mystery as when the concert was finished and the ladies knickers were being swept off the stage, an odd pair of pit underpants was found among the items thrown onto the stage and at Barry - Wilf's face was a picture!
We were on Afternoons regular for quite a number of years and Wilf could never just turn up for work and park his car between the white lines in the car-park in one go, we used to watch as he shuffled his car about even though he was in a large empty area of the car park. Then he would go to the boot of the car, take off his carpet slippers and put shoes on, lock the car then go around it at least twice checking all the doors. Then he would take the longest route to get into the building even in torrential rain even though there was a much more convenient door straight off the car-park. Next - and this bit takes some believing - he would go into the toilets in the baths to sit down JUST IN CASE he needed to do something. Everybody else in the world knows when its time to 'go', but not Wilf; he was an absolute slave to habit. A plan was hatched to attempt to cure him of this affliction and so one afternoon Andy Canon collected a bin from the locker area which was filled with bits of soap, empty shampoo bottles, old sponges, dirty socks etc and topped it right up with cold water from the showers. This he launched over the top of the door before running away bravely... Wilf was cured in one - but his anger helped split a few sides for the rest of that shift. Just to make sure the cure was permanent another colleague, Glenn Mee, made a fake number plate for the back of his car which read 'I SH*T' and glued it in place... It was 2 whole weeks before his wife spotted it while walking back to their car in a supermarket car-park - "What the hell's that!!!" she said through firmly gritted teeth, but it was no good asking Wilf, he'd been driving around with this thing for a fortnight unaware.
I should point out, that Wilf took this stuff in good spirit - eventually - and we always secretly thought that he actually liked all the attention. We tested this by totally ignoring him one day and, sure enough, Wilf start doing and saying dopey things because he missed being our 'clown' even though he didn't need to try. He was a total natural. Wilf the wonderful indeed...
Another time when we were installing the chocks on a face that had a steep slope from Tail-gate to Coal-gate and the chocks were lowered down the face on a sled controlled by a 10 tonne Bolton Winch. We were having our snap at the winch motor house looking down the face-line at the last chock installed which was now visible, when Wilf comes out with another 'Wilf-ism', "Y'know, them chocks seem to be getting nearer I reckon..."
On that same installation, Wilf was employed turning and coupling the chocks to the panzer but still too far away to be seen from the Bolton winch. Things had been quiet for some time and we at the top end were wondering what the problem was down the face-line. Just then a very sweaty Wilf came stumbling up the hill towards us swearing and cussing. "You ignorant lot!" he shouted, "I've been shouting for slack rope on the tannoy for bloody ages but you're just ignoring me and I've had to come all the way up the hill coz you can't be bothered to answer me!" We all looked bemused at each other and I said, "Wilf, we've heard nothing, you were probably talking into one of the new plastic latch-boxes, you idiot!" This was just after the introduction of a new white plastic type of latch box. We all laughed as he stormed off back down the face. Later that same shift I had reason to go down the face to the installation where the men were turning the chocks. As I approached I could hear Wilf shouting to himself, or so it seemed. When I got to him, there he was - bawling like a man possessed into a latch box about slack rope while holding in the signal key...
He was a Barry Manilow fan too, which was the cause of much mirth. One snap time somebody was reading the local paper and made out he was reading a report about a Barry Manilow concert at Leicester DeMontfort Hall, a concert Wilf had attended the previous weekend. He claimed the report mentioned a bit of a mystery as when the concert was finished and the ladies knickers were being swept off the stage, an odd pair of pit underpants was found among the items thrown onto the stage and at Barry - Wilf's face was a picture!
We were on Afternoons regular for quite a number of years and Wilf could never just turn up for work and park his car between the white lines in the car-park in one go, we used to watch as he shuffled his car about even though he was in a large empty area of the car park. Then he would go to the boot of the car, take off his carpet slippers and put shoes on, lock the car then go around it at least twice checking all the doors. Then he would take the longest route to get into the building even in torrential rain even though there was a much more convenient door straight off the car-park. Next - and this bit takes some believing - he would go into the toilets in the baths to sit down JUST IN CASE he needed to do something. Everybody else in the world knows when its time to 'go', but not Wilf; he was an absolute slave to habit. A plan was hatched to attempt to cure him of this affliction and so one afternoon Andy Canon collected a bin from the locker area which was filled with bits of soap, empty shampoo bottles, old sponges, dirty socks etc and topped it right up with cold water from the showers. This he launched over the top of the door before running away bravely... Wilf was cured in one - but his anger helped split a few sides for the rest of that shift. Just to make sure the cure was permanent another colleague, Glenn Mee, made a fake number plate for the back of his car which read 'I SH*T' and glued it in place... It was 2 whole weeks before his wife spotted it while walking back to their car in a supermarket car-park - "What the hell's that!!!" she said through firmly gritted teeth, but it was no good asking Wilf, he'd been driving around with this thing for a fortnight unaware.
I should point out, that Wilf took this stuff in good spirit - eventually - and we always secretly thought that he actually liked all the attention. We tested this by totally ignoring him one day and, sure enough, Wilf start doing and saying dopey things because he missed being our 'clown' even though he didn't need to try. He was a total natural. Wilf the wonderful indeed...