Strike Power.

Tension was brewing. Raised voices, clenched fists started the morning, and it was nothing to do with the heat of the factory. The hum of large laundry washers dulling the morning mist outside, intensified the mood.

The little issue had become the straw breaking the camels’ back. The shop floor workers were divided. This minor issue had potential repercussions. Production coming to a halt was in no one’s interest.

Action had to be taken.

The workers felt they had been backed into a corner. Management had taken decisive action before and weren’t afraid to make the uncomfortable choices. The ordinary worker felt this was a looming push factor. Their way of saying “Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

The shop stewards huddled together and debated the inaction by their direct boss, Mr. Clancy.

The general consensus was that Clancy was going too far. His attitude to it was bordering on unwitting. Why were they being forced to work under these draconian rules? How could they come to work with this percolating over them, every single day?

It had been infusing for some time now, January to be exact.

It all began with the closure of the big plant in Cork. It had forced some of the workers to relocate to the capital, Dublin, but they just wanted to remain employed. Accents, habits and working ways caused friction as both sets of workers mingled. County loyalties were not the only thing dividing the shop floor.

The Cork plant also brought their own shop steward, who in turn became the general workers representative. Tim Power had to quickly endear himself to the capital workers, who eyed him with suspicion.

Speaking on everyone’s behalf would be a step in the right direction. Avoiding the fermenting problem would show he was a man to be trusted. Getting them a fair deal.

Tim put his mug down and fixed his tie. He couldn’t bear to go in without looking professional. He wanted to show Clancy he meant business. Whispered voices sneaked out from between the machines as Tim strode purposefully across the cemented shop floor. This was no storm in a teacup.

Tim climbed the seven steps to the mezzanine office of JJ Clancy. He knocked before entering. He was beckoned in.

“Well Timmy! How are things? What can I do you for?”

“Eh, this is, a signed petition from all the workers on the shop floor.”

“About what?”

“About, what constitutes part of our, breaks.”

“What are ya on about? Breaks haven’t changed.”

“I’m gonna have to read this to you to make it all, like official and stuff. We, the workers of TC would like to enter into negotiations vis-à-vis what is part of our break. We feel that we are at a crossroads here. We just want what’s best for all.”

“I’m sorry, Timmy, but what are ya talking about?”

“We’re prepared to serve strike action notice over this, such is the emotion Mr Clancy. This has been steeping for some time now.”

“You’ve lost me and annoyed me in a very short space of time Timmy.”

“You know full well what affects the workers the most!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me Tim Power. I’ll feckin’ strike the shit round the back of your head if you don’t get to the bloody point!”

“In this day and age, we would equal opportunity – this is 1981 after all.”

“What are ya rattling on about Power?”

“We believe it is our equal right to have more than one than one choice.”

“Choice of what?”

“Considering that almost half the workforce are from down south, we just want like, fairness and equality for all.”

“Timmy! What do you want?”

“The choice of either Lyon’s or Barry’s tea. The effect of drinking Lyon’s tea is having a detrimental affect on the southerners. Morale just isn’t there because of it. Lyon’s is a capital tea. The southerners want their Barry’s tea!”

“How about I make a trip to the supermarket at lunchtime and I’ll buy two different boxes of tea. Does that solve your problem?”

“Eh, yeah. Just make sure it’s not the loose tea. They hate that.”

“Grand stuff. Is there something else ya want?”

“Do you mind if I shout and roar for another few seconds at you? Just so it looks like I’m telling you what’s what. For morale, like.”

“Get the feck out of me office Power.”