My Biggest Influence Writing Competition Spring 2013

A Humbling Experience
Margaret Deaville

Sometimes the smallest and seemingly insignificant events can have an enormous influence that lasts a lifetime.

Many years ago, in the early 1970s when I was a student, I spent two summers working in a council-run laundry. The work was hard, mainly because there wasn’t a single chair anywhere, very hot and also very monotonous. At first I wondered how I was going to survive a whole six weeks but gradually, mainly thanks to my working partner, Shirley, mistress of the bored expression and dry, witty comment, things began to get better. My fitness level improved and Shirley kept me amused.

Our job was working on the calendar press, an enormous tank-like structure that dried, pressed and folded sheets lengthways before depositing them, still hot, onto a long sloping shelf. We had to smooth them, leaving the sides of our hands red-raw, fold them four more times widthways and then stack them in bundles of 25.

After a few days Shirley noticed that Vera, our supervisor, always recounted my neatly stacked bundles. "I know you go to college," she whispered in my ear as Vera was in mid-count, "but Vera seems to think you can’t count beyond 20". Then she winked, making me giggle like a naughty disrespectful schoolgirl. Sometimes the sheets would come through a bit crooked so we couldn’t fold them perfectly – we were supposed to send these back and do them again but Shirley had shown me how to tuck bits in so that you couldn’t see the crumpled bits or even feel that some were still a bit damp around the edges. So, although I can’t say I enjoyed the six weeks exactly, they did have their lighter moments and I was even offered a job for the following summer.

The next time I stepped into that steam-filled, muggy atmosphere it was hard to believe that a whole year had gone by, yet here I was again, ready to spend another summer gazing at the annoyingly visible clock and dripping from head to toe in sweat. Vera came to meet me and told me that I was to have the same job as last year, working on the calendar press. As I walked over to the dreaded steam-billowing machine memories of last year were swimming around my head. I smiled at the thought of Shirley, perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad, it would be good to see her again. But Shirley wasn’t there. Instead there was another lady, a few years older than me, who was introduced to me as Janet. In the interim year Shirley had left and Janet had taken her place. Janet had Down’s Syndrome.

Immediately I was aware of butterflies in my stomach as I realised I was feeling completely inadequate, wondering how I would relate to her and how I would talk to her. My concern must have shown on my face but fortunately Janet misread the situation, not realising that I had worked there before. She smiled sweetly and said, "Don’t worry, I’ll look after you and show you what to do," and she certainly did. No more hiding damp edges or crumpled-up corners, everything that wasn’t perfect was sent back. She took such pride in her work and made sure that I did the same.

"It’s important to do things properly," she explained. "It’s our job to make sure these sheets are ready to go on people’s beds." Pangs of guilt reared their ugly heads as I thought back to last year.

Over the weeks that followed, even though our conversations were limited to the here and now, I grew really fond of Janet. There was an innocence about her and I had to admire how hard she tried and the pride she took in everything she did. When the day came for me to leave she hugged me and told me that I’d done well and learned a lot. I’d actually learned far more from her than she could ever have realised. Sometimes, even now, if I’m getting a bit slap-happy or blasé about something, she pops into my head and reminds me to take care.

I don’t know what happened to Janet, our paths crossed for just a few short weeks but her influence remains with me to this day.