The Sunday Reflection #18 - What is true wisdom?

Sunday is the day when I like to write a long, rambling blog about subjects that interest me. Today I look at the subject of Wisdom! When I was a very small boy, one of the biggest treats of all was when my Dad took me down to his workshop at his care repair business Mac Metals. It was full of cars being repaired and tools. It smelled of oil, filler and paint. His staff were mostly blokes from Burnt Oak, with names like Ken, Ted, Bill and Dennis. They would bash cars with hammers and swear a lot. Ken would sing the latest songs in the charts at the top of the his voice whilst bashing them. They all wore blue overalls, my Dad wore a white coat, because he was the boss. His pockets were full of keys and coins. At every tea break, the men would play three card brag and cash would change hands, as tea was drunk. Occasionally customers would turn up and if they were deemed 'OK' they would be invited to play cards as well. At the back of Bunns Lane Works, where the Flower Lane Industrial Estate was, an overland bus company operated. The drivers would fix up their buses, in anticipation of their next journey from Totteridge to New Delhi. The boss was Emil and the drivers had names like Ernie, Rod and John. They were a rather tough old bunch. Ernie was the son of a bare knuckle boxer. Rod had run a garage in the East End and used to mend motors for The Krays. He told us once that he'd found someone's nose on the back seat. He mentioned it to Reggie Kray, who said "Chuck it in the bin, he won't need it where he is now". They would disappear for six months, then return armed with a whole bunch of new stories. There was also a coffee roasting company on site. The warehouseman was another Burnt Oak boy called Cyril. Cyril was a big lover of Ska music and would always have it blasting out from his cassette player.

I was in awe of everyone who worked there. You could best describe the people at the card table as 'proper geezers'. I didn't realise it at the time, but that was probably the best education anyone could ever have. Three card brag is perhaps the best way to learn about the unfairness of life. I recall my Dad one day winning a lot of money off Cyril in a game on day, after he'd been paid. Cyril had a very strong hand. Dad was a good bluffer and as the stakes rose, Cyril threw his hand in. He then said to Dad, what have you got? Dad said "If you wanted to see that you have to pay". Dad put his cards down and Cyril picked them up, a bad breach of Brag etiquette. To his horror, he saw that Dad had five high, the worst possible hand. He stormed off and never played again. He took real umbrage as he realised that Dad had correctly guessed he could out bluff him. Dad was furious with him for 'breaking the rules'. Such things were important. That's the thing about Brag. It is not fair. Neither is life. Once you accept that, most challenges can be addressed. Don't cry over the last hand, play the next one a bit better.

None of the people around that card table had a degree, I doubt too many, if any,  had done A Levels. But there was a huge amount of wisdom imparted. The sort that cannot be taught in a text book. I learned that the cars that looked the best were not always the best to own, for a whole host of reasons. It is a great metaphor for life. Dad would tell me that you could tell a customers personality by his car and his shoes. As I got older, Dad would get me cleaning and valeting cars before they were released to the customers. You would find all sorts of things under the seats. Usually a few coins, but I also found soft and hard drugs, pornographic magazines, wallets, letters and often things too horrible to mention here. It seemed to me that the more expensive the car, the more outlandish the detritus that was left under the seats. Under the seat of one E Type Jag, I found an airline ticket to New York. Dad laughed and said "Blimey, he left the car here when he went on holiday to be repaired, I hope he got on the plane". I couldn't understand how anyone could leave a plane ticket under a seat ( I do now!). 

The guys who worked for Dad all had different jobs, fitters, sprayers, panel beaters and the bloke who swept up. All were masters of their own trade, but it seemed that there was no crossover at all. If a sprayer was off ill, the fitters would never pick up the spray gun. I realised that people can be very good at one thing and not much use at anything else. Different people had different concerns and interests. What my Dad was exceptionally good at was keeping everyone happy and keeping it all running. I often suspected that he ran the whole business so he could play cards. My mother ran the office. At one stage, she had two other ladies working with her. I hadn't realised until very recently that this massive over staffing was set up when she had cancer. She was making sure that people were up to speed to keep the business running after she passed away. No one had computers, so there was a lot of manual work, doing wages, invoices, billing etc. She would constantly be horrified at my Fathers business practices. He once took on a fitter, without noticing that he only had one arm. As it happened, he was no less productive than the other fitters. I suspected my Dad employed him as a he was an interesting character and a mine of stories.

Which brings us to the concept of wisdom. I have started with this rather lengthy preamble, so that you can understand the context. My Father was raised in the outback of Australia and only had two years formal education. I've never quite understood how he managed to become an officer in the RAF and pass the exams required with such a start, but he was undoubtedly a very bright man. But more than that he was wise. Wisdom is very different to being clever. At one stage the company employed around 20 people and had it's own football team. The men who worked for him were a volatile bunch. The customers could also be very difficult. Some were very dishonest. Dad had a bit of a reputation as a hard nut. To the best of my knowledge, the only incident of violence at the business, was when a local gangster attempted to hustle some cash for protection and my father threw him in the company incinerator. Tales of that reached far and wide and I guess it discouraged people from bothering to try and fight with him. Whenever I'd go down, he'd explain the stories of the day and what I should learn from them. Often, he'd explain how something had unfolded and someone had got it completely wrong. 

When I was very young, there used to be a little confectioner who operated from a shed on Bunns Lane Bridge. Before and whilst the M1 was being built, buses from Burnt Oak to Mill Hill would terminate at Bunns Lane, outside the Labour Exchange, notably the 140 and 52 bus. The confectioner had a brisk business selling sweets and tobacco to the travellers making their way to the Broadway. Dad would take me into this shop. He knew the owner. He'd buy himself three packets of Capstan Medium cigarettes (he smoked 60 a day) and let me buy some sweets. I loved it. Then one day, some local herberts burned it to the ground. It was gone. I was devastated. I said to Dad "How could anyone burn down such a nice shop?". Dad imparted some wisdom that I will never forget "The nicer something is, the more someone, somewhere will want to destroy it". I couldn't understand this at all. He explained "There are some people who delight in ruining things for everyone. They are people you want to avoid like the plague". 

A couple of weeks later, he came home from work and he was really agitated. Mum asked him what was the matter. He said that one of his boys was nicking stuff. Mum was also cross. Dad said "I know who it is and I'm going to catch them". A couple of days later, a Sunday, He asked me if I wanted to come out for a drive. This wasn't unusual, we'd often go for a drive. Usually this was out to the woods, or to Burnt Oak for an Ice cream. This time, was to somewhere I'd not been before. All of a sudden, he pulled up and said "Stay in the car". I recognised one of the blokes who worked for him. He was working on a car at the side of the road. The back of his van was open. Dad snuck up on him and some very sharp words were exchanged. They then went to the back of the van. Dad then came back and we drove off. I asked him what it was all about. He said "His van was full of paint and tools he'd nicked from MacMetals. I put some labels on the bottom of all the paint tins saying Property of MacMetals and I'd engraved MM on the tools". I asked him why he'd left the tools there. He said "I told him he had to bring them all back tomorrow and if he didn't the next visit wouldn't be so friendly. I said the only reason I hadn't thumped him was because you were in the car and I didn't want to upset you". I didn't really think much of it. I realised that Dad had given the guy a way out. I asked why he hadn't called the Police, if the bloke had been nicking stuff. He said "These things are best resolved without the police". Years later I asked about what happened. He told me that he was sending a message to everyone that if they nicked stuff off him, he'd catch them and they could expect a visit. He said that the guy had probably thought he was lucky that I was in the car, but Dad hadn't wanted to thump him. He just wanted him to know that it was a distinct possibility. He said that the message got through and for the pilfering stopped. He said that if the Police had been involved, there'd have been a load of hassle for him, days off work at court and the bloke would probably have got a fine. 

We were having a chat, towards the end of his life and I recalled the shed that burned down. He said "You know what real wisdom is? It is learning to appreciate things before they are gone" He'd bought his ciggies at the shed as they were cheap, he liked a chat with the owner and it was convenient. IT wasn't a big thing, but it was nice to have it and, like me, he missed it. He said "I hear so many people moan about their wives. As soon as they lose them, they realise how lucky they were". The more I think about it, the truer it is. If we appreciate the good things when they are here, maybe they will be here a little bit longer. And when they go, maybe we'll have fewer regrets. I honestly don't know whether I am what you could call a wise person, but I do my best to appreciate the good things in my life, whilst they are still here. I am lucky that I had the start I did. All of those characters gave me a wonderful perspective on life. One thing I really owe my Dad for was the fact that he educated me in the arts of getting by in a difficult world.

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I often reminisce. Here's a number I wrote about the long lost art of enjoying lazy Sundays, when all the shops were shut and there was cricket on the TV!