15 of 24 - Falmouth School of Art

School had been a bit of a washout for me—mostly my own fault, if I’m honest—but I don’t recall much encouragement either. The place seemed more interested in controlling us than cultivating anything. I left with a handful of CSEs, none of them equivalent to a GCSE pass, and no sense that I could advance myself through education.

It wasn’t until I started my apprenticeship and attended Pool Technical College that something shifted. One of the tutors—sharp-eyed, probably bored of seeing lads undersold—suggested I take an O Level in English. I did, and to my surprise, passed. That single nudge opened the door to Blackpool, where I took a Higher National Certificate in Technical Writing. From there, improbably, I found myself at Falmouth School of Art, enrolled in a BA(Hons) in Scientific and Technical Graphics.

Art School was a different world. I was surrounded by students who could conjure elegance from a Rotring pen, or sketch with the kind of flair that made tutors nod approvingly. I wasn’t one of them. My ideas were ok, but my rendering—well, it had all the finesse of a distracted toddler. So I drifted toward computer graphics, where the machine could lend a hand. With the help of the lab technician—who had the patience of a saint and the quiet pride of someone who knew their kit—I began to find satisfaction in the images I could build. They weren’t gallery pieces, but they were mine. And they worked.

Pool Linen Round

It was necessary for me to work during my degree course, and I took on a variety of jobs—shelf filling, KP’ing, assembling belt grinders, and working for a laundry driving the 7 and a half ton laundry lorry.

The linen service in Pool meant early starts, preceded by a one-hour walk through Tehidy Woods. The overhanging trees made the route pitch black in places, and the occasional hooting owl could jangle the nerves. I’d arrive at the depot already alert, if not entirely awake.

The company serviced hotels and restaurants across west Cornwall, exchanging crisply clean sheets, towels, chef’s whites, and kitchen cloths for soiled and often stinking ones. The linen travelled in large green nylon bags with drawstrings. These were neatly packed in the depot and stacked in reverse delivery order, so the first stops were loaded last. It was a system that worked—until the bags came back.

We’d drop off the clean, well-packed linen and collect the bulging returns. These were often heavy with water, bodily fluids, and kitchen gunk—poorly packed, overflowing, and reluctant to be handled. As the lorry emptied of its neat stacks, it filled with lumpy, greasy, smelly bags that had to be tied to the side rails of the ridged body to stop them shifting.

Many of the establishments were tucked down narrow Cornish lanes, which posed regular challenges when meeting oncoming traffic. I became adept at squeezing the lorry into hedges or passing points, and generally enjoyed the challenge. There was a kind of satisfaction in threading a heavy vehicle through tight spaces, especially when the load was shifting and the bags were ripe.

Whilst I drove the lorry, two muscular lads with me did most of the lifting and stacking, and they did it with impressive ease. At the larger hotels, we might deliver and collect dozens of bags. While I staggered back and forth with one or two, they could hoist three or four in a stack on their shoulders. There were no trolleys or other lifting aids, and no manual handling training—just brute strength and repetition.

In the UK, musculoskeletal disorders (MSDs) remain one of the most significant contributors to work-related ill health and account for 27% of all workplace ill health cases. The Hierarchy of Controls is a foundational framework in workplace safety and its principals underpin the majority of UK health and safety legislation and builds on risk assessment. It ranks strategies for control of hazard from most to least effective. At the top is Elimination, followed by Substitution, Engineering Controls, Administrative Controls, and last and least Personal Protective Equipment.

Maybe today there are solutions available to laundry companies that negate the need for strenuous manual handling. Perhaps there are nimble power assisted trolleys or carts to help move the bags. Or maybe they provide their employees with modern exoskeletons to assist in the lifting. But for us, back in the Cornwall of the mid 1980’s there was just our own resilience and stamina.