It's goin'. Goin'!
HONKING
Done for!
Do you like that?
Looking back on it, Fred Dibnah, the Bolton steeplejack,
reckoned the time after his divorce the worst in his life.
Livin' here alone weren't much fun.
I'd go home, put my pie in the oven, put the kettle on, watch the news
and try and keep the time for going to the pub as late as possible.
Usually, somewhere around eight o'clock,
I'd roll down the pub and join the other divorced characters.
I realised you couldn't go on like that for ever
or you'd become just another bloke who props the bar up,
with not a lot to show for your life on this planet.
Then, Sue arrived... Hi.
..a social worker, ready to take an intelligent interest in Fred's steam workshop.
This is my mechanical hammer. CLANKING
Wow! When in doubt...
And here, we have drills.
CLANKING DROWNS SPEECH
This is my wonderful steam-engine thing.
It's a bit mucked up at present. I've not cleaned it for months.
Yeah, come on...
I first met Fred at a big steam rally in Cheshire.
It was in the middle of all the divorce problems and everything,
and Fred was, in fact, VERY drunk.
He looked awful. He was sad and miserable...
quite a pathetic sort of figure.
None of the bounce people knew him for.
He invited us to a chimney felling and it was the one at Oldham -
the one that he nearly brought down on the top of all of us.
Didn't you work your camera?
Well done! Congratulations!
Shortly after that, a friend rang me and asked me
if I'd like to go out with him to give him some support,
because he was going to Halifax to talk to the Fred Dibnah Appreciation Society.
When we arrived at this pub, there were lots of men similar to Fred -
all wearing flat caps and smoking Woodbines.
I remember waking up in the middle of the night to a terrible row.
Everybody had been hopelessly drunk. The landlord and landlady were throwing things at each other.
The projectiles were going through windows!
It sounded like there were a war on. When we got up, all the windows were broke. I'll never forget that.
They married. And in 1987, their first son was born.
Having learned, like, that my new wife were pregnant,
the first worry were, would I be a proper father, as you might say.
Anyway, little Jack plopped out. Beautiful, you know, in good nick!
He's an exciting feller who likes almost everything I do.
I can't do it, Da-ad. You can't do it, Fred? Oh, right, where do you want to go now?
This vicar friend of mine at Kirkby Malham,
he had a problem with his flagpole.
We went over to fix him up a new flagpole. While we were there, he said, "What about a weathercock?"
OK, we'll make you a weathercock if you christen the little lad
in his 800-year-old font which, of course, he did.
While there, we were also fixing a lightning conductor.
As we were digging for the earthing strip, we dug up somebody's bones!
So we had a reinterment ceremony.
I don't know who he were. Oliver Cromwell had been there so it's an old church.
SUE: Fred had some really bad traits when I first met him.
He was terribly self-centred and thoughtless.
A silly example is, he would go to the pub and we'd be with some people
and he wouldn't buy a round.
He was SO busy talking about himself that he wouldn't get his money out.
I felt so angry with him.
Other things that upset me - because I could see they were damaging -
were his bad habits of drinking and smoking.
And, em...I eventually persuaded him to cut down on his smoking
and of his own free will, he said, "I'm going to give up."
To encourage him, I got him presents every day that he didn't smoke.
Then, I'd a relapse. I went to look at a chimney stack at Great Harwood.
The demolition man came up and he'd got two in his mouth and an American flame-thrower lighter.
He lit 'em and before I knew it, I'd the thing in between me lips.
I thought, "I might as well smoke the damned thing. This is definitely my last."
When I got home at tea time, I said to Sue, "I've had a smoke today."
I explained the tale. Ooh, very upset!
I've never had a cigarette since.
I think I'm a slightly reformed character from what I was.
Look at these swanky gates! Aren't they posh? Yeah, aren't they nice?
Beautiful! He's makin' it all into, uh...yuppie houses, you see.
The chimney's round the back.
How tall is it?
We worked it out yesterday, me and Donald...sorry, me and Neil.
It's about 100ft high, I think. Look at the lightning conductor.
Stick it in that corner there and then we'll go and do the honours.
You get up the hill wi' Jack.
That's it. Right, we have it.
Now, you get up the hill and leave it to us.
Jack, look at those cows over there.
What'll they think when the chimney falls down? They'll be surprised.
Look, they're looking at the fire.
I want to smoke for the last time, John.
We went to the first chimney when he was about 18 months old,
the first chimney that he really knew what was happening,
and he watched the chimney fall down and as it hit the ground, he said,
"It's all gone!" and started crying.
We went home and we had a few people, and one of them had a video camera
and we ran the video back onto the television and he was SO upset.
Fred was so proud. He said, "He's like me. He hates destruction."
OH!
Oh, Jack.
Didn't have time to blow the hooter.
It fell in December, in the blizzard.
Fortunately, it went straight into a snowdrift at the foot of the tower.
It had a lucky escape, then. It was.
It's a bit out of shape,
but nobody will notice that up there. No.
Right, I'll send a rope down after.
Cock-a-doodle. Shout it. It's red!
Hello, there! JACK: Cock-a-doodle!
Cock-a-doodle! Cock-a-doodle! Cock-a-doodle!
Come on, Roger! A second son, Roger, was born in 1991,
letting Fred in for another year or two of morning marches to the nursery.
It doesn't bother me, shoving this pleasant, little chap about.
He never complains.
He only ever cries when he's hungry which is a natural thing to do.
He's similar to what I were when I were little - a pleasant fellow.
Just went off later on in life!
I'm sometimes taken as the grandad.
That's a bit embarrassing when they say, "Are they your grandchildren?"
Are they buggery. They're mine.
I'm in good condition - of breedable quality.
Now, then, here he is. Hello, Roger.
I'm not sure if he'll want to stay. He will! ..Are you going to play?
Your mam's coming at tea time.
I'm off before he starts squeaking.
It's a long time since Fred himself went to school in the ragged 1940s.
The war was on, food rationed,
everything wearing out - a cold and dreary time -
but warmed for ever in Fred's memory by a gift from an old man -
a beautiful, model steam-engine.
One Sunday, I remember having it in the parlour on a card table.
It were whizzing round and in an attempt to get more power out of it,
I wedged on the safety valves a die-cast, Dinky toy car
that had the effect of holding the dead-weight safety valve down.
It was going like a bat out of hell.
Mother and Father were listening to the Albert Sandler's Palm Court Hotel. It's 8.30pm, Sunday night.
Bloody great bang and the Dinky toy blasted off up into the sky
and stuck in the ceiling, followed by a big plume of boiling water.
All the globules of water dripping off the ceiling onto the couch,
and the best, shiny, parlour table.
I didn't wait long before Mother arrived and a great bollocking for mucking up the ceiling.
We had a patch on there for years after - a little piece of paper stuck over the dinge in the plaster.
An introduction to me and the steam-engine.
Whereabouts do you come from? I'm coming from Germany.
Now in his mid-50s, Fred had become a man of some fame
and his workshop, a place of pilgrimage.
I was lucky to find two steam rollers. I've got a Rutmeyer and a Zetmeyer.
Have you had to spend a lot of money?
Not a lot of money. It was very cheap to buy compared to English prices here.
It's expensive. They've gone a bit daft. Yes.
I only gave 170 quid for that one,
but it's 20-odd years ago.
Aye, now, they've gone berserk.
It's becoming some sort of tourist attraction, this here garden.
You know, we get all sorts of people round,
you know, coming to have a look.
A few weeks ago, we had some American visitors
who professed to be American steeplejacks.
They set bloody fire to the parlour carpet.
They brought their video company with them to do this interview
of the Americans interviewing me as an English, sort-of-eccentric, steeplejack
and, of course, all their tattle were a different voltage than ours.
They're supposed to have an adapter.
They plugged this gubbage into my electrical system and we'd been at it for half an hour,
when suddenly, there were the most unbelievable explosion and the bloody carpet's on fire!
We did well out of that. We got a new carpet.
What did your family think of your job? Mother didn't like it.
She wanted me to work in an office.
Next question? Right...
What part of your job do you enjoy best?
..Putting the ladders up, I think.
Putting them red ladders up the side.
..What are you doing with Gilnow Mill?
Oh, well, in the very olden days, before your school were even built,
there were two big chimneys where your school were.
And it's a rather exciting story.
I sort of knocked the wrong one down.
You start on that side, there's a good lad.
You'll have to rub harder than that, Jack.
Jack was now four and making progress in his education.
Dad? What?
I see some sign of rust! No rust? That's very good, Jack.
I see some sign of rust!
Jack's a damned nuisance round here.
In his way, he's trying to give me a lift,
but if I put the spanner down, it disappears round the corner.
All sorts of weird things happen.
You know he's had it. But he's got such a good memory.
If you knew he'd had it last weekend...it's amazing...
and if you say, "Where's that big lump of iron with three holes in?"
he'll go straight to it and find it.
One fault, though, is he likes digging holes,
especially if it's raining, there's bloody holes all over full of water.
He's a frustrated coal miner.
WHISTLE BLOWS
Hey, that were all right.
Fred's actually succumbed to a bit of, em...domesticity?
Is that the right word?
Em...if I ask him to hoover, he makes a super job of it.
He does much better than I do,
and because he's a perfectionist, things like that are very good.
The brass work's his responsibility.
And window cleaning! I never, ever clean windows.
He loves twinkly windows.
Things I wouldn't ask him to do...
I wouldn't ask him to change the baby's nappy
because Roger wouldn't like to be stood on his head, which is how Fred would do the job.
Some things have changed, you know? I've got a more up-market wardrobe.
Instead of one suit and a waistcoat, and various pairs of jeans,
I've now got a grand selection of pullovers and cardigans
and two pairs of shoes and various caps for doing various things in -
appearing in public in posh caps and going to work in dirty caps.
I have a wash more now than I used to. I have a shower every night!
Years ago, way before I was married,
I would have expected my husband to do more than Fred does in the house,
but I never envisaged the sort of lifestyle that I'm leading now.
The general consensus about this sort of sharing things in the home,
I think, doesn't really hold for much when a person like Fred,
who is doing a very hard job, comes home cold and wet.
You know, he's been out really grafting hard all day.
Sometimes he'll come home and he'll have busted his thumb with a hammer.
You couldn't expect him to come in and then start doing housework.
I just don't think it's fair.
You've got to strike a balance. Ours is about 90-10.
Me for 90% housework and Fred for 10.
All right? Good morning. Everything OK? Not so bad.
We've got the ironwork up and all them iron rods and the castings will stop any cracks getting worse.
How long will it be before you finish?
Give it a fortnight cos we need the ladders. We're off to Cambridge.
Movin' on! Fred Dibnah International! We get about a bit!
HE HUMS
You're not doing it right. Just a minute.
Basically, I'm like a Victorian.
This feministic outlook, I don't think you can escape from it,
but the Victorians... There were more of them sort of working for a living then, than what there is now.
The lady's place was to be at home getting the tea ready.
Now, half of them buggers come home and they have to get their own tea.
All these, "I've just come home from the office, darling.
"Your tea's in the oven. I'm going out to the bingo."
You know, it's a weird situation now.
It's a bit like the end of the Roman Empire, innit?
They all either turned homosexual and went queer,
and went into a great nation of pleasure seeking
after they retracted back to Rome from all over the world.
They learned us how to have baths and underwater floor heating.
Then, they went bloody mad and now they make racing cars and washing machines. It's the end of the road.
We've had OUR day. I don't want to seem a die-hard type of person,
but if you think about England, you know,
the perfecting of the steam-engine in 17-odds, early 1800s,
made England lead the world in engineering
from about 1790-odd to about 1914,
and I think ever since then, we've been going a bit down-brew.
You're cutting all the prickly tree! Yes, I'm cutting the prickly tree.
SUE: Do you know you've to sing?
What do we sing? I don't know. Course you know, Reddy.
# Happy birthday to you... # BABY GARGLES
He's singing! # Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dear Daddy,
# Happy birthday to you. #
Blow the candle out first. Blow it out. Oh, right.
Do you feel a lot older today, now you're 54? It's better than being 55.
BABY SHOUTS You, shut up.
I really think this is you!
Like a... It's bloody... It's like a dress! No way I'm wearing that.
No, no, no.
I don't want one. It's not my style.
Look, some nice ties! Leave it there. It looks like a bilious attack. I don't want any of them.
Oh, just your colours!
Oh! Very nice, very modern. No, no, I don't want...
How about, em...
Look at that!
I'll stick to long johns, I think.
Right, come on. Where's the jackets department? Let's look over here.
Look at these. They're all too light a colour. I like that one.
Yeah, if it were dark blue. Yeah...
Can I help you, sir? I'm not looking. My wife's looking for a jacket.
A sports jacket. It needs to have some blues in it.
About a 42-44 chest. 44.
It's slipped down a bit. The best thing we can do, if you don't mind,
is slip your jumper off and we'll try a couple on you.
Just pop this one on. I'll put my cap back on. Turquoise and black.
I don't think it's appropriate to keep your cap on!
It' OK. We get all sorts in here. Oh, Fred!
Does that feel comfortable?
It's all right but it's too long. I'm glowing like a Belisha beacon.
It's gotta be very dark. More sober. The check's a bit loud.
It wouldn't last five minutes, this. No. A bit thick of stuff as well.
The problem is, now you're coming into summer, everything's lighter -
colour and weight, you see?
I'm very old-fashioned. I'd noticed but I didn't like to say anything.
FRED LAUGHS
Let's have a look at some caps. Here you are.
..Here you are. Take that dirty one off.
That's it.
Let's have a look. It's too big, that, you know?
I rather like my oily cap. It has a smell all of its own.
I've been in pubs and people have said,
"What's the flash point of your cap?" You know?
When I'm doing some blacksmithing,
occasionally, I take it off and I get hold of some hot iron
and it sets on fire, you know! There so much oil in it!
I think it's really a replacement for hair.
If I go on holiday without my cap,
I feel as though somebody's shaved all the top of me head.
On occasions, I've been so inebriated after days out with this load of old iron,
I've ended up in bed with it on.
One day, at work, Fred's cherished cap rounded on him. It was like being savaged by a trusted dog.
I've had a bad do with me head.
I came out in red blotches the day before yesterday.
Me and the wife were in the building society, withdrawing £2,000 to pay the income tax.
I don't know if it were the shock of getting the money out or what,
but I come over faint and she said, "You're worrying about the money."
I came home, had a stiff whisky, come to bed.
I were goin' worse. All these red blotches all over me bald head.
Doctor arrived and he said, "You've got scapular cappy-itis," or summat.
I said, "It must have been me cap!"
It landed in a puddle of water on top of the spinning mill, full of dead pigeons and stuff.
I'd wrung it out, like, put it back on. By dinner time it were dry and I'd forgotten all about it.
Apparently, some germ had got in the scratch that were on me bald head, and gone underneath me skin.
If it gets round to your eye holes, it makes you blind.
He gave me medicine and luckily it stopped before it got there.
So I still feel a bit groggy but I'm on the mend definitely.
What does it take to get a piece of fried chicken...
Never tasted anything like it. ..into your hands?