Alice Fenton knocked on the MD’s office door and peaked around the opening. ‘Mr Lyons, sir. Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Mr Whiteley to see you. He’s from the Coventry branch of the Amalgamated Society of Woodcutting Machinists. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ Lyons said without looking up. ‘Tell him I’ll be down shortly. Can you get Fred Gardner to meet us downstairs?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, gently closing the door.
Five minutes later he spotted the union man in reception as he bounded down the stairs, ‘Mr Whiteley?’ he said, ‘William Lyons. What can I do for you?’ Fred Gardner arrived just as he finished speaking.
‘Good morning, Mr Lyons.’ The man said formally, ‘I am the Coventry district convener’s representative from the wood machinists’ union. I’ve come to discuss the strike you have in your wood shop. The men have certain grievances, I’m sure we can get them ironed out this morning. Now…’
‘Sorry, Mr Whiteley,’ Lyons interrupted. ‘Did you just mention the word, strike?’
‘Yes,’ the man said, with a trace of affront. ‘My members are objecting in the strongest possible terms at being subjected to work alongside non-union labour. The situation has to be addressed.’
‘This is our Mr. Gardner,’ Lyons said, stiffly. ‘He is in charge of the wood machining facility,’ he gestured in the direction of the sawmill. ‘If you’d care to walk this way, he’ll advise you of the current situation.’
‘Thank you, Mr Lyons,’ Fred Gardner focussed on the union man. ‘The
