Tom Chandler, South Ironworks Production Manager, sits somewhere low on the autistic spectrum but high on the career path of United Steel Companies Ltd. Obsessive compulsive in his daily habits, he is low in emotional intelligence, but high in a sense of fair play and right and wrong.
He is pragmatic. He would order a crew home early at the end of an exhausting shift, but would expect workers to carry on as normal after a fatal accident. To Tom Chandler they are one and the same - the most appropriate and expedient course of action - people simply doing their job.
In the days of his youth he fancied himself as the next Isambard Kingdom Brunel. These days he's happy to meet his production targets on the South Ironworks without anyone being killed or maimed.
As Tom Chandler sat upon his bed he pondered for a moment how his life was governed by the diligence of others. He mused on how each day he arose from his bed and before he even opened his eyes, the bed itself, the room’s furnishings, the alarm clock that awoke him, the functioning of everything was contingent upon each item, bed, clock, curtains, table, all, having been manufactured correctly. As he traversed his house, he was reliant upon wooden floorboards being tongued and grooved correctly, supported by joists, in turn, borne by load bearing walls, built upon firm foundations. In his bathroom, replete with all the convenience and amenity that indoor plumbing allowed, he splashed cold water from the basin into his face three times, never four. As always, he turned off the tap at roughly fifteen seconds.
As he ate his breakfast he gave thought to how it had been delivered to his table by the farmer, the food processor, the haulier and in turn the retailer. When later he would climb into his car, he would entrust his safety, indeed his very life to the assiduousness and industry of a multitude.
And underpinning absolutely all of these things that enabled him to live such a life was steel. Tom Chandler’s job was to ensure that the bone structure of the nation was in rude health.
He lamented how men such as himself were not appreciated in Britain as they were in countries such as West Germany. Had he lived there he would have been lauded as a captain of industry and given the status of a professional on par with a doctor or lawyer. Indeed, if he did his job well, the beneficiaries of his labour would remain forever oblivious. In that respect, he was the author of his own misfortune.
Many who knew him assumed he was born into a privileged position in life. He was the son of a coal merchant’s labourer who barely had two pennies to rub together. The resources he did manage to muster were used to secure Tom a first-class education, the result of which, when combined with determination and sheer tenacity, was his elevation to the position of Production Manager of Frodingham Ironworks for United Steel Companies Ltd.
Outside the house, of which he was the sole occupant, he lifted the car bonnet of his Rover 2000 and checked his oil and water levels. No need to check tyre pressures, this time, he had performed his weekly check yesterday. Satisfied that everything was in order he returned indoors, rinsed his and dried his hands thoroughly as he had previously before finally setting off to work at the South Ironworks offices, where once again he would play his part in strengthening the nation’s bone structure.
