Southend U3A

September 2024

The Institute- Malcolm Fyfe

The Institute of Crafts and Arts, or so its banner proudly announced, was located in a Victorian era building at the back of Euston station, a part of London definitely not on the tourist trail.

Puttering gently along, the delivery scooter used for delivering hot food snacks came to a stop, the young driver hopped off and parked, pulling off his rather cool reflector sunglasses.

He glanced up at the colourful banner which had an engraved inscription on the stone arch ‘Boys Entrance. ‘Some old school,’ he thought, pushing at the glass panelled door and entering a hallway.

Behind a counter, sitting on unseen stool, a cheerful black man, all smiles and startlingly shiny white teeth, spoke in a deep Jamaican accent, ‘Hello. Can I help you?’

‘I’ve brought the pizzas you ordered,’ placing the stack carefully on the countertop.

‘Ah, good, thank you,’ came the reply, ‘that will keep the staff happy.’ Passing over an envelope, ‘Your money. You’ll find that right. I’m Sammy by the way. You are?’

‘I’m Pious, that’s me.’

‘Good name, its different, I like that.’

Pious smiled his thanks. Looking around in curiosity, ‘What do you do here? it’s not a school anymore?’

Sammy, the owner of the smile, leaned forward, replying, ‘Well a lot of people aren’t able to go to main stream school, maybe couldn’t get the grades, might have a conviction of sorts, which meant they can’t get a job, maybe a hard family life. We teach skills in woodwork, painting, pottery the basics of bricklaying, metalwork, let youngsters have a go, see what they can do.’

The brown eyes seemed to focus on Pious. ‘You had a tough time, something tells me,’ adding, if you don’t mind me asking, parents not around?’

‘I fell out with my old man, he’s very successful but didn’t have much time for me.’

‘Mum?’

‘No, away with the milkman when I was a baby.’

‘That’s tough but you’ve got a job.’

‘Yeah, not much of one, just delivering but it pays the rent.’

Sammy looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve an idea, you look pretty capable to me we could use some like you in our woodwork storeroom maybe some woodcarving, only part time mind you, meet people of you own age and we can pay you something. We are supported by a charity, make money by selling the students’ work. How does that sound to you?’

Pios asked what can I do?’

‘Well, learn a skill, maybe help out the tutors; you look quite capable of keeping the students under control.’

Pious grinned at that suggestion. ‘I don’t take ‘you know what’ from anyone’.

‘Quite,’ said Sammy.

‘It’s not an easy ride, the tutors are mostly retired from their careers but like a bit of help now and again preparing for lessons. The students are responsible for the equipment but some need chasing up checking their tools in at the end of the session, cleaned up and not damaged.

‘That would be great’ Pius shaking a huge hand, ‘I can pick my own hours at the shop so that’s no problem.’ At that moment a younger girl passed by singing a completely tuneless song and waved a hand.

Pious stared at her, she was casually dressed in jeans ragged at the knees and ankles, shapeless trainers and a rather short rainbow coloured tank top a massive beehive of Afro style frizzy curly black hair sat under a baseball cap.

She pointed at Sammy. ‘He’s my uncle. He hasn’t conned you into coming here, has he? He’s rather good at that good at that. I’m Dina, by the way.’

Pious responded ‘I’m Pious. Before you ask, my dad’s Greek; don’t know where my mum was from.’

‘Oh well, were all a bit of a mixture here. Would you like to look around?’

‘Ok, but what about my scooter?’

‘Dina wandered to the door and glanced outside. ‘It’s ok, the local scallywags won’t touch it and traffic wardens don’t bother us. Could end up in that skip if they do, more than a little bit bent more than they already are.’

Pious followed Dina along a corridor, looking at tables with intricate items of carved wood; some tables had pottery, others metal bowls and silver jewellery.

‘These are very good.’

‘They are all end of year exam pieces.’

She walked into a workroom with benches with tools all laid out tidily. Pios noticed the room was tidy, floors swept and spotless. ‘Its very tidy.’

‘That will be part of your job. Sammy goes mad if the students don’t keep their benches in good order.’ ‘I’ve got to go, Dina said, you coming in Monday?’

‘I’ve got to sort that out with Sammy,’ replied Pious.

‘Ok, see you soon. We’ll have a coffee.’

The following Monday, Sammy took Pious along to meet the tutor. Mr Woodstock. Good name for a woodwork tutor, thought Pious. I

n the woodwork shop he was given a brown coat; perhaps a shade long but it fitted well enough with the sleeves rolled up.

He wandered into the stock room, with its shelves loaded with various lengths of timber including round turning blanks to make bowls, egg cups and other useful things. He

was given a key to the stock room as this was his responsibility. He was paired up with an experienced lad to start him in the woodcarving section who showed him the various mallets, chisels and saws.

Mr Woodstock asked him not to use the electric powered saws until he was trained ‘Not too worried about your fingers, just don’t want any blood on my nice clean floor,’ he said with a tight smile.

He learned about the various woods how to avoid knots, splitsi. It all took time but he was a natural and was soon producing good quality work even some of the older students asking his advice.

He ran the stock room with a sharp eye on the students, accounting for the wood and refusing to accept any damaged tools, or even the loss of them - at the end of the day’s work, insisting the culprits face Mr Woodstock - not a pleasant experience.

The end of term came round and the students work was displayed for visitors to admire including several quite artistic pieces produced by Pious. Wandering down the hall, he stopped, almost hiding in embarrassment as a voice, talking loudly announced, ‘That piece is really good,’ pointing at a sculpture designed and carved by Pious, who had produced it. ‘Name should be on the label. Mmm, Pious Connolly, he is good, I’ll remember that name.’

A second voice, this time a lady, spoke up. ‘I know that name. Could he be a relation to Sir Patrick Connoly, you know, the Architect.’

‘Could be, tell you what he’ll be at the meeting on Sunday, the one about planning, I’ll ask him.’

Pious meantime slipped away, confused about the mention of a possible connection with a famous Architect.

A rather sleek car pulled up after a few days and a man came in.

Finding out about the visit, Pious talked it over with Dina. What should he do? Not really wanting to rake over the past and so it was left like that.

Every so often, Sir Patrick slipped into the institute and with a nod to Sammy would watch his son through the glass section of the workroom, at his son working with intense concentration at his work. He longed to go in and talk to Pious but he knew how it would upset Pious who had made his decision to be independent of his father – but was quietly determined to help and support his son.

One day a letter arrived for Pious, inviting him to the famous college of art on the South bank.

He read that he’d been awarded a scholarship to study advanced techniques of Wood carving and sculpture.

Pious was accepted onto the course and was to qualify eventually as a Master woodcarver. He was appointed to oversee restoration work in the major Cathedrals in London replacing and repairing precious aged icons and gryphons found around the doors of the ancient buildings.

Dina was, by now a respected silversmith, had set up a business supplying many prominent Jewellery shops in and around the west end of London and even expanding her trade to European cities.

But it’s not quite the end of the story.

Yes, Dina and Pious did get together, having warily circled around each other until one or other eventually gave in.

Unbeknown to Pious, Sir Patrick Connolly was so impressed by the school he established a foundation to ensure its financial future.

Sammy worked at the school until his retirement and remained a regular visitor to Pious and Dina, even becoming a godfather to their first of their many children.

As they sat down one evening, the bell rang on their front door. As Pious looked up, Sammy suggested with a smile, I think you should answer that.

A tall stranger stood in the doorway and Pious, with a lurch, knew instantly who it was.

‘Hello Pious, I’m so pleased to see you. Can I come in?’