Although we persevered with ladders in the absence of anything better, it was clear that this was not a safe method of working. As manager I had been sent on many courses on H & S, and in fact was trained to IOSH Management level in the subject. Yet still, despite knowing the dangers, my superiors were not inclined to purchase the equipment needed to do the job safely. So we carried on bouncing around on precarious ladders balanced in the burgeoning foliage at great heights. One day it was all going to go wrong, I was sure of that. Interestingly, most ladder fatalities take place from heights of less than 12 feet. On the same principle as toast always landing butter side down when falling from the table, I suppose, from 12 feet, you're going to mash your head. I think I said that in an earlier post, but perhaps not so eloquently.
In successive years' budget meetings I raised the question of buying a cherry picker, only to find my application knocked back on financial grounds. I resented being told, effectively, that my life was worth less than 12 grand to my employers, and persisted with my badgering. Gradually I began to break down resistance, but not in any sensible way. I was told I could get one if I were prepared to share it with another property twenty miles away. I put it to the money men that this would defeat the purpose of having it, if I found it to be somewhere else when the wind whipped the climbers off the walls overnight, which happened on occasions in our elevated exposure. I waited another year, when they tried the same bargaining strategy again. But I had also attended a Negotiating Skills course, and I wasn't going to let myself be pushed on this. My employers had an obligation to protect my Health and Safety, and I was going to make them pay. The Negotiators' course had taught me one thing - sometimes you have to give a bit, before gaining a concession. So, although I had no intention of letting up on the pressure, I let slip that I might be able to get an ex-demo model a bit cheaper. Whoah! Cheap? I had uttered the magic word. I got the go-ahead. We had our very own cherry picker, not to be shared with anybody. £8500. By the way, who picks cherries these days anyway? These things are used for anything but the purpose suggested by their name. Builders use them. Gardeners use them for all sorts of reasons. We used ours for reaching to prune the lumpy yew trees on the North Vista, we used it for pruning wall shrubs and climbers. Never a cherry in sight.
Here is my one and only picture of it in use, mainly because when it was being used, I was mostly to be found in it, not standing on the ground taking photographs -
I have to say, though, that the views from up there could be amazing (scanned guidebook photo by Stephen Robson) -
When I had arrived on my first day on the job, the climbers had been in an unkempt state. As I have described before, most of them had become overgrown through lack of skilled pruning, and hung so far from the walls that they were in permanent danger of being blown to the ground in high winds. This was the case on all sides of the house, and it wasn't long before we came in one morning to find a vine sprawled all across the terrace where it had become unhitched from its moorings. This led me to seek urgently to reduce the wind-resistance by pruning everything flat so it lay close to the wall. I wanted to use the plants as external wallpaper, closely-cropped and holding tight to the brickwork as if pasted there. This was my preference anyway for climbers. There seemed little point in choosing a flat wall to hang them on if you were going to let them stretch and flop at will in an uncontrolled and uncontrollable way.
However, for today, I have gone on long enough. If I write much more, no one will have the time to read it, so I will go into more detail in my next post. Thank you for your attention!
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