Dennis was definitely peeved, I could tell.

"What happened then, Den?" I asked, trying not to laugh, hoping for more of Dennis's mimicry (he was very good at it).

"I bloody walked off, that's what. I told him what he could do with his bloody job," he said, glaring.

He paused, waiting for my response, then took a step back, as if we both should consider the seriousness of this issue for a moment.

"Well, Den," I said, "You can't leave him there to do the job on his own.  It needs two. And what if this pattern he's made is wrong?  What then?"

"What then? What then?" he shouted, "He can give me my bloody cards. That's  'What  then!'"

In fairness, Dennis had put up with all sorts from Ike over the previous few weeks, but only because of Ike's promise of this special glazing job. Ike's interference told Dennis that Ike didn't think he was up to it, and that Ike wanted a share in the credit of re-glazing a beautiful Victorian edifice; especially as the conservatory belonged to an era when craftsmen took such pride in their work. The truth was that Ike had to put his four-penn'orth's worth in, to put his signature on it. I managed to talk Den out of his threatened resignation, but as usual, the lads got to hear of it, and we had it re-enacted over and over, for Dennis's benefit, until, that is, Ike came up with a better caper.

Around Brockley, we always got a lot of painting jobs, mainly exteriors. But on encountering a spell of inclement weather, we were given a list of interior jobs. Ike gave me a large Victorian room to decorate.

"Two coats and wallpaper. A good job, mind. She's a cantankerous old cow," Ike said, disappearing.

A few evenings later, I was on the last knockings of the job, when Ike rushed in.  He gave his usual searching glance around the room, then declared,

"I think I'll slap another colour on that door to brighten it up a bit.  It won't hurt."

"What for?"  I said,  "I've only just finished."

"It won't take a minute," he shouted from the hallway.

Then he reappeared with the paint and his favourite four-inch brush, and began slapping paint about like water at a car wash.

"Aw... Ike.  Look at it!"

- 65 -