My grandad built tall buildings, turns my blood to ice now thinking about what conditions he went through. He was working on a building in Liverpool, and the scaffold (and I use the term lightly, its not what something we would call scaffolding today) went, the lad working next to him dropped straight down and was crushed to death. The men were then all moved to the other side of the building and work carried on. What a cruel brutal world it was back then, but if they didn't work they didn't get paid. They used to have to wrap their hands up in rags in the winter so their fingers wouldn't freeze to the steel. My mum said he would do his nut today, if he ever saw me on a building site, let alone on the 72nd floor at the Shard, and it was blowing a breeze that day, and make no mistake.
Pebbs