holes, which the sea was pounding through . The pier was shaking, the rain lashing down
and it was dark in the middle of the day. It was a frighteneing experience. Dodging the
holes we started taking machines out and a friend with a hi-hab lorry came to our rescue
for the larger stuff. I did think it might be the end of the pier altogether when the lorry
drove on. I remember standing soaking wet, freezing cold and physically shaking with
exhaustion. The machines all returned home and this is where my dislike for them really
started to fester. Not straight away but they slowly ground me down . Machines were
everywhere - you literally could not move. The cat was quite happy - he even moved
into a couple of the bigger machines and loved chasing balls around in the Hi-ball. The
men in my house had turned against me - they enj oyed having the machines there. We
couldn ' t have anyone around, the machines were smelly (that horrible musty smell) and a
couple of them would inexplicably make noises at unexpected intervals. Small children
wanted to come to the house and play the machines, Jerry demanding 50p entrance on th
doorstep and frightening our elderly neighbours with crys of ' Roll up, Roll up .
Neighbours would twitch their cutains wondering what on earth Jerry was bringing home
next. They had finally taken over my life and my house.
A while later John Hayward decided to take things easy and Jerry took over
Mechanical Memories in Brighton. Great - most of the machines left home and started
earning a living. There was a catch though . Unless I went to Brighton during school
holidays and most weekends I wouldn't see my husband. I perservered for a while and
made the journey most weekends but the novelty of listening to that bloody laughing
sailor soon wore off. Does anyone out there know what I mean? I could easily take an
axe to his head. What a creepy machine! It' s not entertainment; it's a very slow form of
torture . The only laugh l ' ve had around one of those was the one Jerry has at the Hop
Farm. Someone dutifully put their money in and it started laughing - I glared over in its
direction and its trousers started slowly falling down. I didn ' t want it fixed but Jerry
couldn't be around all day just to hoist his trousers up before the next customer arrived . I
have prom ised Jerry that should he go before me, I will bury a laughing sailor with him
before selling the collection and becoming a merry widow cruising around the World.
Surely the machines can hold their value better than our endowment policy has?
There are fewer machines indoors now and Jerry thinks he's doing well keeping
them out of sight. Three years ago I compromised again and let him build a workshop -
for engineering purposes. This workshop could happily house an indoor football mato
and my poor garden has shrunk beyond all comprehension. What' s the workshop fillea
with? You guessed it, machines, more machines and various crapphernalia for machines.
(Sorry made up a word there - it happens when I get wound up).
The long and short of it is that I won 't leave Jerry or divorce him for his hobby. Not
many of us are lucky enough to be able to make a 'living from something we enjoy so
much. I guess all of you are preserving a piece of history and that's something lots us
won't do in our lives. He knows the rules now and keeps machines away from me in
case I run them over with the hoover in a temper fit. My hobbies? I'm quite happy at
home with a settled family life and my work. Would like to travel the world more but my
husband is always in Brighton, so stand-in required particulary in the summer months.
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