Half a Century; Not Out

On Monday, I turn fifty. The thought that goes through my mind is; where did all that time go? It seems barely a day or so ago that I was dreading turning forty. At the time, I wrote an introspective for Bikenet, musing on growing older. Now it’s the big five-o.

My life has been somewhat chequered. This is in part due to not really having any sense of direction. As a teenager, I had the vague idea that I wanted to be a veterinary surgeon. What kid doesn’t? A staggering lack of self-awareness meant that I missed the blindingly obvious lack of talent in the physics and chemistry department – both prerequisites for this career. By the time I reached the fifth form, I had, indeed, realised that this was a non-starter. I thought, perhaps, I could go to sea; following in my grandfather’s footsteps; and join the merchant marine as a radio officer. Ah, but, my lack of prowess with the old physics rather got in the way again. Two years at college taught me that while I could just about scrape through the exams, I was never going to cut it. Besides, the merchant navy was disappearing fast.

I tried half-heartedly to get a trainee post with the GPO telephones, but they saw through me and that died a death before it ever got going. So, I drifted aimlessly into credit control. I was a passable credit controller but tired of it fairly quickly. A falling out with my employer left me temping for the best part of three years before I took a job delivering parts to garages on behalf of a motor factor. I kidded myself that as I was riding a bike and getting paid for it, I was doing okay. But even I could see through the self deception. I was a lackey; a poorly paid lackey and my twenties were rapidly drawing to a close and I had achieved nothing useful with my life. I had done a fair job of screwing up my education and my career through a series of bad choices.

Had I at the age of thirteen chosen the arts – something my art teacher exhorted me to do – I might have made a career in graphic design, writing or photography. As it was, these things are all confined to my extra-curricular life.

Two severe winters interjected by a wet summer put an end to my desire to ride a bike and be paid for it. In the spring of 1986, I qualified as a driving instructor at the age of 28. For the first time in my career, I felt that I was achieving something positive, that I had a career. I was a pretty good driving instructor, though I say so myself. I tended to specialise in those pupils who had struggled with learning to drive and my unflappable patience seemed to work with them and I enjoyed the job. Well, most of the time.

Then came the poll tax and 15% interest rates. Overnight, my client base dried up. I could have returned to the likes of BSM, but had been badly burned by the franchise system. A system that disadvantages the driving instructor while guaranteeing income for the school – no matter how little work they provide. It’s a bad system and my recent experiences working with the AA merely confirmed my dislike for it. Nothing has changed and my brief desire to return to this career on a part time basis was, in part, killed off by that discovery.

So, after five years as a driving instructor, a new career beckoned. I was offered a post with British Rail as a signalman in Bristol panel signalbox. When it was privatised a few years later, I found myself on strike. Even now, I wonder what possessed us. We gained nothing and some of the working relationships were never repaired. A pointless exercise that became politicised by both sides in the dispute. My relatively short involvement with the unions left a bad taste in my mouth.

Shortly after the strike, I took the opportunity to become a signalling manager. Looking after Westbury panel signalbox, these were, perhaps, the happiest of my railway career. As I approached forty, finally, it seemed, I had a sense of direction.

By the time I had turned forty, I wanted something else, a change. In the spring of 1999, I took promotion and was once more back in the training and development field – something for which I have a natural empathy. My new role was looking after the training and assessment requirements for the whole of the Western zone of Railtrack. To say that it was challenging would be an understatement. I was faced with systemic failure left by my predecessor and had to close the whole thing down and start again from scratch. That was fun. I made a name for myself  and that name was bastard. Curiously, mostly from those folk who when asked would insist that “something be done” about the training department. So, I did that something. As it meant removing the trainer, it also made me a callous bastard. I couldn’t win.

I felt that I was settled. Ah, but, not me. Oh, no. I was asked to apply for a role at headquarters doing much as I had been doing, but nationally. This in part was a consequence of my being a bastard in my previous role. Although I liked my manager and the role, the conflict with the zones made life unbearable. Recommendations from Cullen were given to us to implement. Middle managers simply resisted. Network Rail as it had them become had a problem with serial disobedience and I was sick of trying to overcome it.

By this time, I was tired, disillusioned and ready to walk away. When Network Rail decided to shed a swathe of its middle managers in November 2003, I was one of those who went. The package was a decent one and I had a self-employed role all sorted out.

That self employed role should have enabled me to earn a decent living on part time hours. That it didn’t caused me several turbulent years. And it is only in this past year that I have found a client that offers me plenty of reliable work.

My mid forties saw a change in my attitude. Ambition evaporated. I realised that I don’t much like work. What I want; really, really want, is to bodge about, doing a bit of writing, mucking about on the computer, taking photographs of stunning landscapes, riding the bike and creating something with the garden. What matters to me is not my career – and, in all probability, never did. What is important to me is my home, my family, my leisure.

So, as fifty looms, I am working part time; sometimes as a trainer and assessor and sometimes as an auditor. I thoroughly enjoy it. For the first time in my career, I really do enjoy the job that I do – and, what is so important – is that I have more leisure time than I have ever had.

Ten years ago, I hankered for my lost youth. My lost youth was a somewhat directionless affair, riddled with bad decisions, insecurity and dead-end jobs. At fifty, I have a sense of direction, I am comfortable with who I am and that semi-retirement in France is going to happen within the next year or so. All we need is a buyer for the house and we are off.

Would I go back? If I could do so with the self-assuredness that only maturity can endow, sure, I’d like to make a few changes. But, overall, probably not. I’m not sure that I could cope with angst and insecurity.

It is usual at this point for people to say “and here’s to the next fifty”. I won’t. At fifty, I am still reasonably fit and healthy. I have all my hair and teeth. I am fortunate to look a good ten years younger than my actual years. But do I really want to be a centenarian? Do I want to be wheeled about, barely able to look after myself? No thanks. I want to go out while I’m still firing on all four. So, another thirty years or so will probably do me fine.

So, here’s to what’s left