Page 206 - It's a Rum Life Book 3 "Ivy House Tales 1970 to 1984"

I kept the fork truck’s engine switched on all the time as I gingerly knelt down beneath the
machine and removed the locating bolts one by one, its ever present overshadowing bulk
making me constantly aware of the delicate situation.
Bit by bit I slowly raised the machine millimetres at a time until its whole weight was resting
on the truck forks. Then, with the formidable machine just clear of the ground, I secured
the top heavy head of the machine to the fork truck mast with ratchet straps. Now I could
proceed slowly outside, to use the lorry’s own crane to actually load the press onto the
lorry body.

This time I used lifting chains that I was positive could cope with the weight of the huge
press whatever it might be. Then before releasing the machine from the fork truck I had to
be sure the crane was safely taking the weight. Bit by bit, I released the fork truck and
placed the tall, ugly, ungainly thing in the centre of the lorry deck.
More locking chains secured its position and I could park the crane jib alongside as an
additional steadying influence strapping the two together with additional ratchets.

We were on our way and the remaining job of craning the thing though the door of its new
home and placing it in position on the floor; was simplified by the fact that the “new”
workshop floor was a similar height to the lorry body. The site had been prepared and the
new owners quickly bolted the press into position, I then returned to the old factory to
collect the next order.

The whole site was in uproar, bright red and white tape surrounded where I had been
working just a short time before.

The second fly press was tipped over on its
side resembling a prehistoric beast in torment.

Beneath it was an ominous dark red stain.
I managed to get the basics of what had
happened from another driver.

Work was stopped for the day as health and
safety officers had been called in following the
death of a professional machinery transporter
from Nottingham who had arrived to lift the
second fly press just after I had left.
As he had tried to lift the machine, it had tumbled down on top of him obviously crushing
him beneath its huge weight.
Nothing much was said back at the works that day, but whenever anybody commented on
my perhaps being a little slow with my lifts with the crane, “better safe than sorry” was my
constant reminder!

POSTSCRIPT
I must finish these stories by saying that I think “Rundles” were delighted when John
Brooks was finally well enough to resume his regular job and I went off for a few months to
drive for Lindsey and Holland Farmers Co-operative at New Leake, not far away.

Rundle's is very much a family business run now by brothers Ken and Alan and sister Sue.

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