It's going. Going! HE SOUNDS KLAXON
Done for!
Do you like that?
Having knocked down, over the past 30 years, most of the chimneys within range of home,
Fred Dibnah had to travel further afield for work. This morning, he was deep in the Yorkshire Dales.
CROWS CAW
Really, I've always liked climbing up church spires. There's summat magical about 'em.
Once you get right where the point is, it feels quite nice. It's not like a chimney, it hasn't the bulk.
The views are quite splendid.
What's it like? It's all rotten, you know. Yeah.
It's been in a long time.
Well, nearly 150 years. Yeah.
WOMAN: It seems such a dangerous job.
It is. That's an understatement. If you make a mistake, it's half a day out with the undertaker.
When I were a lad, I used to be a joiner till I were 21, before I went insane and started this job,
the guy I worked for knew I wanted to be a steeplejack.
And every time somebody fell off a chimney, he'd pin it on the door.
When I were 21, the door were full of pictures of dead steeplejacks. But I'm still here. You are, yes!
Help!
..a terrible experience!
But you say 150ft up? Johnny can beat you at that.
He lives about 2,000ft up!
Right in the sticks of Malham there!
What do you do? Are you a farmer on this mountain? Yes. A hilly-billy.
Them woolly things. Them woolly things that you make poems out of.
This sort of church, if you look up above the clock,
you'll see the louvres. They're hanging out, falling out.
500 years old. What do you reckon? Time for renewal.
What about the cost?
I don't know. You won't have much change out of 600 or 700 quid.
That much? For some wood?
Yeah, yeah. It don't look so big from down here but it's two inches thick and it is oak!
Oh, well, I'll let them know. A Taiwanese bloody mahogany front door is 100 quid!
Now, with the work getting further away from home,
I find myself, like, booked into hotels.
At one time, I used to get very overawed. I didn't like hotels.
The communal eating part was frightening -
not picking the right knife and fork up and being gazed upon by strange eyes.
At the beginning of the, like, the euphoria and excitement of a new job far from home,
the first three-quarters of the week is all right and then you begin to miss being at home.
It's a bit like being a sailor, I suppose. You get on a ship and you disappear for six months.
It's a strange life when you've been coming home for your tea at 5 o'clock every night for years.
I get frustrated that I can't get on with me tractor.
When you're working at home, after tea, if you only do half-an-hour in the shed, it's a little bit nearer.
But when you've been away all week and you come home,
you're reluctant to zoom off into the shed in case you get a talking-to.
You've been away all week and you disappear in the shed!
In the course of his travels,
Fred arrived at the Victorian refuse destructor at Cambridge.
It's many years now since the chimney was in use and the station pumped its last load of sewage.
But the site has been preserved and maintained by volunteers.
Initially, when it were out of use and these lads first took over, they had some very unpleasant tasks.
They had to dig out the well, which, of course, were full of human sewage. And it had solidified.
And they had to dig 40-odd foot of this stuff out of this hole.
All credit to them, they didn't give up.
They've done it and it works.
They all, like, live in a romantic world of long ago.
It's like little lads who never grew up. I can't complain because I'm one meself.
They're like romantics trying to escape from modern life in a way.
ENGINE BUZZES Right.
It's warm in here, innit? It certainly is.
This engine started work here in 1895.
It pumped...over two million gallons of the drainage of Cambridge. Yeah.
This had previously gone straight into the river. Yeah. This... Big improvement!
This is the bit that controls it, is it? Yes, this is known as the steam man.
This is where the driver would stand.
It's a magnificently made thing. It's marvellous.
The attention to detail. The ends on the rods. Yes.
CLACKS AND WHIRRS It makes some lovely noises! Yes.
That's had a lot of time spent on it, made to look beautiful again.
It must have looked magnificent when it were brand new.
Look at them beautiful chimney stacks! All that carving - magic!
Our town hall's got lions' heads, like them. When we mended it, we put some marbles in for eyes.
I don't suppose the stone's very hard, not like it is in Lancashire.
Although it's weathered well.
Them balustrades up there look a bit fragile, don't they?
A good gust of wind and it looks as though the lot would come down. But it must be all right.
..Les choses qu'on trouve normalment
dans les colleges dans les anees cinquante du septieme siecle. Au centre, c'est le porche originale
d'un college qui etait la avant, un college fonde par Edward III.
It's very nice in Cambridge. I like it very much.
It strikes me as it's a laid-back existence being an academic or a student.
I don't know if I'd like my sons to come here.
It all depends on the academic ability, of course.
I know men who have brilliant brains and have thick sons.
And I know some, like, intelligent sons who have thick fathers.
There's no weighing it up, really.
The trouble with chimneys these days is not only that they are few,
but also, as Fred approaches 60, those remaining take more climbing.
Oh! I'm getting too old for this!
People ask me, "How long are you going to keep climbing chimneys?"
"Do you still climb up chimneys?"
I've gotta do! I've got a big mortgage! I've got to keep going.
Our income from the steeplejacking business has been going down.
A couple of reasons are fewer jobs around and a lot more companies.
Sometimes we've banked maybe less than £3,000 over the whole winter.
Against the odds, Fred landed a big restoration job near home,
which, tackled a few weeks at a time, would keep him in work through 1996 and beyond.
This chimney is THE biggest chimney left in Bolton.
And, er, I climbed up it when I were about 17, for a ten-bob bet, in the dark.
I never got the ten bob.
It's rather ironic, really,
that now, in the twilight years of my steeplejacking career, 40-odd years later, I've to repair it.
It's now a listed building and supposedly has got to stay for ever.
When we've finished repairing the chimney stack,
we've been asked by the Royal Society for the Protection of Budgies to put this...
water tank it looks like to me, but they call it a peregrine falcon's nesting box,
and we've got to put this up on the south-west side, 30ft from the top.
Now, peregrine falcons do not like pigeons. They have them for breakfast, dinner and tea.
The local homing pigeon society's up in arms about it. They really don't want me to put it up.
Me, personally, I'm not over keen on pigeons.
They put me in bed once with some sort of disease I got off my cap that had been in pigeon droppings.
COOING AND FLUTTERING
Not pressed too hard by paid work,
Fred expanded his collection of ancient industrial tackle.
It's always been a lifelong ambition of mine
to build a wooden pithead gear in the garden.
Near here, there were a lot of collieries but they've all gone now.
So I've put in for planning permission to erect this.
Hopefully, some time in the future,
we'll sink a 500ft mine shaft, and tunnel under the river and cemetery for the coal!
Only a joke that!
Really, it's a garden ornament in memory of the miners who once lived in this area.
Daddy, has mine got no oil in? Yeah, it's got oil in. I can't see any.
The centre of attention in the yard was still the old steamroller,
done up years ago as an expensive hobby, but now an essential prop in Fred's public appearances.
I think sometimes he struggles with the celebrity aspect of it, in that,
you know, if we've got something in the diary to do a public appearance
when really he would quite like to be going off up a church steeple or in the garden.
But he realises we have to do these things
to earn enough money to keep ourselves in the winter.
It's very odd, the celebrity business.
At the beginning, it were quite frightening, you know, 18, 19 years ago. I've got used to it now.
It doesn't bother me as much.
What do you do if somebody waves to you? Do you pull your face at 'em and look miserable and nasty?
Or do you wave back? If you don't wave, you're a miserable bugger.
If you wave, you're a bigheaded bugger! What can you do?
Fred, Fred, turn this way, lad. You should have a Martini!
The cat's not happy. CAT MIAOWS
I want to help too. No, no. It's a technical job, this painting.
Dibnah and Sons have been reviving a home industry in weathercock making.
Lift it up and bring it round this way.
I'll come all the way down with it, all right? We'll see how we go.
It were really weathercocks, well, weather vanes, that started my career in steeplejacking off.
I'd come fresh out the army and set myself up as a steeplejack of sorts
and never managed to get a job for six months.
And then, I was summoned to meet the Vicar of Bolton, a big tall fellow with a long black frock on.
He were a canon, which I approached with a great deal of fear.
I think the reason he liked me were the fact that he had a 1929 Humber car,
and I arrived on me 1927 350 AJS motorbike. We got on quite well.
We had another interest in common - firearms. For a vicar, a bit unusual but nevertheless...
Anyway, we got the job of regilding these weather vanes,
which enabled me to go to other vicars with a lot more confidence.
I went up nearly every church spire.
It's about 30 years since I put the gold on these.
Somebody did them in-between but they didn't do a very good job, you know.
Let's stand 'em up, see how tall they are.
Yeah.
See? Just a bit, yeah.
Nice to see you. All right? There it is!
That looks superb! Your ladder's not blown away. This is the headmaster.
I'll get it and fix it up. It looks great!
It really does.
I was going to say, six months ago, I saw the mock-up,
and I thought it might be a cockup. No, no. That's absolutely superb.
CHEERING
GENTLE SQUEAK
This is the latest masterpiece in weathercock manufacturing.
They get bigger and better every time. And the price goes up too.
We've got these up to now, like, nearly £2,000.
Putting the chimneys aside, I could go on making these till I'm 95.
This is, actually, in remembrance of a gentleman who I once knew.
His widow's paying the bill for it.
BUGLE PLAYS: "The Last Post"
Fred's most promising line of late has been the restoration of other people's steam engines.
He landed a few small jobs and then a very big one.
To repair this world-famed giant of the road, Atlas, owned by James Hervey Bathurst.
It's a Fowler B6 tractor of 16-and-a-half tons,
built in 1928 and now worth a small fortune.
We'll put it to the test!
WHISTLE BLOWS
I'll have a look at the bearings.
I'll buy one of these when Susie wins the pools. What do you reckon it'll cost you? Well...
Maybe £80 - £90,000, you know, something on that score.
WHISTLE TOOTS
How are you? Mind the castle.
I wasn't sure whether you were going to actually come back. I didn't really want to bring it back.
I've had so much fun with it back home that I got quite attached to it.
I think we've cracked the bearings. There's no blue smoke coming off them.
Can we hear it ticking over, then? Yeah, give it a swing round, Bill.
ENGINE RUNS SMOOTHLY
Sounds fantastic. I'm quite happy with it meself. Come and have a drink. We'll play with it later.
People used to walk away from it sighing, saying "Lovely engine - pity about the knocks."
This is some room, innit?
A bit of a headache for your decorator. And the cleaner, yeah.
55ft high and it takes 10 hours to heat it to 10 degrees Fahrenheit.
Two fireplaces, one on each side.
How much did it all cost when they built it, this place?
It's difficult to know at today's prices but nearly £600,000 then.
They had to sell quite a lot of land to build it. It's still a lot of money in them days. A huge amount.
I think we'd rather wish they hadn't spent it sometimes.
Yeah, made it half the size, easier to maintain.
These are interesting. These are cast iron inserts. With oak in the middle.
There's a lot of cast iron in the house. It's one of the first houses built with cast iron beams in it.
There was a shortage of oak at the time because they were making ships for the Napoleonic War. Mm.
So cast iron was popular. Some beautiful slabs of stone, isn't there? Big!
How did they lift them up? My word! It's a long way up, innit? It certainly is.
There's a bit that I repaired. What, yourself, like?
Well, it's not a big job. You put the slates on.
Magic! That's the view. That's all your lake?
It's our lake and on a misty day, what we own is as far as you can see.
That monument was put up by the builder of the house
when his son died in the Peninsular War.
How did you become interested in iron monsters? Well, I think it was in the blood partly.
My grandfather was in the Grenadier Guards on the way to Omdurman.
The train broke down on the way and he got up on the footplate and got the fire going again.
He got a mention in the regimental history for that. Then he drove a shunter in the Great Strike.
And my father was always interested.
That means it's definitely in your blood.
Then we bought a traction engine in Ireland. We used that for thrashing.
Then I bought a derelict steam lorry and did that up.
That was really good fun. I wasn't married then. Ah.
My mother was keen that I should get married. So she helped me paint it.
She thought there was no chance of me getting married till the engine was finished.
When I did finish it, I got married.
Have you had much trouble with the wife since you got Atlas?
Like the house, it was in the prospectus.
A lot of people I know have to sell engines for divorce. Yeah, yeah.
I'm very keen on Atlas. I'm keen to keep... Yeah, you've got to.
I keep washing up and looking after the children.
I've started doing washing-up now. I never did any before the divorce.
But you're lucky. If you've got a stately home AND several engines... That's double trouble.
..you've really got to watch it. Definitely!
One of the good things is that Bill Walker, who comes over and helps me, he's been through all that trouble.
So every time we're about to go off to a rally, he brings flowers for my wife and a box of chocolates.
He's got it right. Yeah, I must have a do at that. He does the right thing.
Bunch of flowers goes a long way. Yeah.
Does it run any better? It does.
It's a lot quieter - apart from the gears. Yeah, it's a shame about that. That's another job.
But there was no knocks. Nothing ran hot and, um, I think we got here in record time.
We did, compared with three years ago.
We ended up at half past eleven on that bridge there.
We also didn't stop at a pub this time.
No, we brought our own.
I know one lad who fell off. He fell about 60ft
and landed on a load of planks across a valley on the top of a building, in-between two roofs.
And the planks saved his life. They must have broke his fall, even if it rearranged his bone structure.
The thing is, I found about this because I rang him to invite him to a chimney-felling operation.
And his little lass came on and I said, "Is your dad in?" She said, "No, he fell off a chimney."
You shouldn't laugh, really. And then mum came on and said, "He's in hospital. You can go and see him."
Me and Sue went and he were all trussed up like you see in Ealing comedies. All wires and strings.
And he says, "I'm all right till I laugh. Then it feels like someone's hit me with a sledgehammer."
Anyway, he's all right now. He's back steeplejacking.
He went to art school.
When he were 17, you'd think he'd work in office, not do what he does.
If there's nowt doing for a fortnight, I get all grumpy.
I get thinking nobody wants me no more.
I gotta go and have a climb up something, you see.
If I can carry on till I'm an old fellow, like,
I don't know, and slow down a bit before I'm 70,
the ideal way out would be, I think,
instead of dying in bed of lung cancer,
just drop off on one sunny day when I'm about 75. That'll be the end. LAUGHS
Subtitles by Mary Easton BBC Scotland - 1996