Chapter 37

Work 4  - The Greatest Team Ever

A Tale of One Office, Two Rivers and Three Peaks

‘I can’t do it!’ panics Dorota

‘I’ve messed up!’ sobs Olena

‘They won’t listen to me,’ worries Elena.

‘I don’t know what to tell them,’ fears Marzena.

‘Everyone thinks I’m useless,’ grumbles Lucia.

‘Yes you can!’

‘No you haven’t!’

‘Yes they will!’

‘Yes you do!’

‘No they don’t!’

There was a blueprint that evolved, a pattern that emerged, a script that was followed, a play to be enjoyed.  Some of the actors were veterans; they’d been in the business for years and knew the basic plots well enough.  Others were newbies, talented, desperate for their first break.

The audience were critical.  Mess up and everyone knew about it.  Get it right and no-one noticed.  Perform brilliantly and a few might offer a compliment.  It was a demanding stage on which to perform.

It was my job to choose the cast, coach them in their roles and then send them out to deliver their lines, and react to the responses.  Their job was to improvise if necessary and, most importantly, act as stand-ins for each other.  Rehearsal time was usually short, very short, but the show had to go on.

And the show did go on. Morning, afternoon, night, weekends. The plot wasn’t complicated but it was full of hidden, usually unwelcome, surprises.  The central theme was always the same. How could this little ‘band of brothers’ (and sisters) keep the factory supplied with enough components to ensure the production never stopped but without cheating by having so much in stock in the warehouse that the business ran out of cash?

Sometimes a well-executed classic, sometimes a thriller, often a comedy, occasionally a pantomime.  It was played out in scenes that ranged from a factory shop-floor in Yate to a back-street family business in Naples; from ships missing on the China Seas to desperate taxi rides racing against a ticking clock.

It was almost guaranteed that the plot would include several nasty twists: a strike in Calais, a last-minute change to the plan by someone sitting safely out of harm’s way in the Milan Head Office: some vital component suddenly going missing.  There were villains: the lying supplier; the machine that broke down; the lorry driver who claimed to have run out of hours but was really spending the night with his lover in Reading.  But there were more good guys: the fork-lift driver who worked way past her normal hours to unload a truck in the freezing snow; the Planner who, at two in the morning, was struggling alone to come up with an escape plan to protect the following day shift;  and the little guy from a factory in Germany who responded to a show-stopping urgent threat by jumping in a car one evening and driving non-stop to Yate with a few boxes of a life-saving bearings in his boot without even clearing it with his boss whom he didn’t want to wake up.

Around these events, the actors wove their stories, some predictably heart-warming, a few tragically disastrous; some bringing smiles of relief, others tears of frustration.

And I had the best seat for eight years: The Director’s chair, where I could watch it all unfold, hoping I’d made the right choices.  On their behalf I’d take and soften the (many) blows, trying to ensure that we managed to find some fun amongst the stress and grind.  Occasionally I’d receive, and pass on, the few plaudits; otherwise they’d have to take my word for it that they had achieved all that could be expected.

I think we succeeded. Together we survived, we improved, we invariably delivered the right result and we had some fun along the way.  The mix of personalities somehow blended themselves into the best team I ever worked with and, despite the daily tribulations and the highs and lows; it was a memorable period of my career.  Funny how it turned out to also be the final one.

So how did it all happen?  Let’s take a closer look at the characters, how it all evolved, sharing a few highlights along the way and finally, sadly, examine why it melted away.

When describing the team, it’s worth pointing out that they weren’t all playing at the same time; there were overlaps: some were there at the beginning, and some joined later in the day.  With a small dose of poetic licence and to avoid too much explanation about organisational developments, I’ve pretended they were all playing in the squad together throughout the period.  There’s a strong justification for this.  Players who’d left the team still kept in contact and would sometimes join in with the various social or team-building events.

There are some names I’ve left out as they weren’t with us long enough, or made little ‘additional’ contribution to the overall atmosphere or performance. This doesn’t necessarily mean they weren’t good at their job or didn’t fit in, just that they weren’t part of the core family that moved the department forwards.

Foundations

In the chapter ‘Controlled Descent’ I described my initial thoughts on the team I’d inherited and I reproduce a couple of paragraphs here.

They were competent but weren’t a strong group and lacked a graduate presence to invigorate the office.  It took a couple of years to get where we needed to be, but the team building began almost immediately as I selfishly tried to snaffle some talent and experience from elsewhere.  It helped that I carried some reputational muscle and could lean on HR and persuade them my new small team needed bolstering.

In came Patrick Downey, the best engineer on site, to handle the new product and modification introductions and to bring his disciplined, methodical approach to rub off on the office.  His cautious, realistic assessment of situations and ideas provided the necessary foil to my own rather optimistic, imaginative view and he was always one of my first consuls when we needed to take a significant step.  Meanwhile I was working on helping Kevin Ersser build his enthusiasm in the new role of Production Planner.   He’d been shunted from a production management role under his previous boss and had felt a bit hard done by but, with the new SAP system (the main computer system controlling all aspects of production, supply chain and finance), he now had a job to suit his character and abilities.  He could chat to anyone and quickly developed a rapport with his opposite number in Head Office, but equally useful was his in-depth knowledge of the factory processes and what was achievable. What he lacked in education was compensated for by a strong practical awareness of what was do-able.  He joined Patrick in my original executive mini-triumvirate.

The Material Planners included Julian Allen and Mike Radford, both very capable guys who’d worked their way into the office environment from the shop floor.

A note on Material Planning

Part stock-controller, part scheduler, part expeditor. The role was deceptively challenging.  With help from the SAP system they sent delivery schedules to our worldwide network of suppliers, expedited deliveries from the laggardly ones whilst simultaneously trying to hold the stock levels inside the targets I had established.  Sounds easy?  It wasn’t, and it came with a whole load of stress.  Suppliers often didn’t, or couldn’t, support the scheduled demands.  Plans would often change, and internal mistakes or breakdowns could create a crisis beyond their control in a matter of minutes. 

Few days were trouble-free and a material planner would sometimes arrive in the office, thinking they’d got a straightforward day ahead of them only to find an anxious production manager hovering by their desk after a problem had surfaced on the previous night-shift.  By the time they’d scanned through their e-mails they could be confronted with a couple more complications with the potential to spoil their day.  A mixture of forceful phone calls that might occasionally require my involvement, alternative quicker transport or, as a last resort, requesting Kev to action a Plan change, would invariably save the day.  If it wasn’t an early morning challenge, then uncannily it always seemed to be right at the end of the day when another crisis might occur, just as they were logging off and starting to think about what they’d be doing in the evening, what the kids were going to have for tea and so on. 

Sadly in some ways, the arrival of the mobile phone as a work tool meant that they’d sometimes have to deal with the issue from home throughout the evening.  In fact a phone and e-mail were the only weapons a material planner possessed.  In most cases it just wasn’t possible to race off to a supplier to assess a problem situation at first-hand so it was necessary to accept at face-value what a supplier was saying.  This placed a premium on phone manner and persuasive skills: ranting down the phone might work once but if you had to speak to the same person again week-in-week-out, it was far better to build a relationship, even if it was based on a somewhat wary trust.

Until you’d worked in that environment it was hard to appreciate how stressful it could be.  An individual material planner could be responsible for thirty or more suppliers, several hundred components and stock worth over £1 million.  Each day, between us, we could be bringing in around £500,000 worth of materials and this supply chain extended across the UK, Europe and the Far East stretching out as far as 16 weeks for some items: that’s a huge amount of money travelling along the delivery pipeline, so any hiccup quickly has financial consequences. 

What was sometimes a harder burden to bear was the 'future knowledge’ of a potential problem.  Say you’d spotted or been alerted to a supplier problem a fortnight away.  That issue stayed with you, nibbling away at your sub-conscious at night, worrying you during the day. 'Could you solve it yourself?  Did you need to ask for help?  Would the factory stop?  Did you need to pay for emergency airfreight?  What would the boss think?’  Only when it was finally resolved could you relax, except there was usually another problem already in the queue to take its place.

Contrast it with many of the other factory roles or jobs elsewhere, where all that was required was to turn up on time, perform the task in front of you to the correct specification, and then go home and forget about things until the following day.  The task might be challenging but the time window was short, responsibility for the inputs lay elsewhere, and the repercussions for a mistake were generally contained by process, quality and safety procedures.  This applied to not just those in production roles but covered many staff in HR, Finance, Quality and Design who weren’t troubled on a day-by-day basis by the knowledge of a pending disaster a few weeks in the future.

Annoyingly it was difficult to persuade those who held the payroll purse strings that the material planners should be better paid.  A failure to genuinely understand the challenges of the role and a fear of breaking traditional guidelines or Head Office dictates meant it was a continual battle with HR to slowly ease their salaries up to a fairer level.  At least after a few years I’d managed to make their roles a more worthwhile step up from the shop-floor.

 After a number of years in various warehouse roles, including a tricky period as the stores leader, Mike Radford had taken on the role of Material Planner for the Primary aspects of the factory.  His major mission was to keep the steel flowing to the Press Shop and associated automatic press lines, and we agreed an afternoon shift hours pattern for him that gave me the benefit of someone reliable covering the factory during the evening and helped him out with his child care arrangements.   He was a guy with a range of talents: he could sing, sketch, play guitar and had an encyclopaedic knowledge of rock history.  He also wasn’t afraid to say what he was thinking, often in very industrial language.  Needless to say this wasn’t always everyone’s cup of tea and I had several conversations with him about toning it down over the years.  It’s probably noted on his annual performance reviews.  The thing was, it was part of his persona.  It was never offensive or personal and the vast majority of his colleagues loved him for his passion.  When wound up by something his red face, red hair and steamy language gave an early warning of an imminent explosion.

In contrast to Mike’s war-path approach, Julian Allen would allow his normally pleasant, chilled demeanour to morph into a disgruntled sulk if things were going wrong or someone had taken a pop at him.  Responsible primarily for our UK suppliers, he adopted more of a seat-of-pants approach, giving the impression that he preferred to deal with things when they happened rather than prevent them from happening in the first place.  Invariably he’d get away with it so I tended not to interfere and relied on his experience to carry him through most crises.  Quite bright and sharp-witted, he was capable of more but he was nervous about the increased challenge or responsibility that came with a bigger role, so in the end we didn’t push it.  Unusually for a guy in the offices, he was always out of the door bang on time.  It bugged me a bit and didn’t endear him to some of the other managers, but he wasn’t going to change and it wasn’t a big deal for me, especially as I was aware of his commitment to his active teenage kids.  More importantly, I knew that if there was problem I could call him at home and he’d pick up on an issue during the evening.

Whilst the office team were competent, the initial situation in the warehouse was concerning.  The guy in the overall Leader role didn’t have the necessary skills and wasn’t capable of providing adequate guidance to his two deputy team leaders who were responsible for the daily running of the stores and the fork-lift drivers transporting parts around the factory.  Larry Millman was the thirty-something Team Leader for the main stores, who had been in that environment most of his working-life.  An absolute work-horse, he knew the what, where and how but sometimes struggled to impose the necessary discipline on his team and often ended up doing the task himself.  He was hugely reliable and I knew I could always turn to him get something done, especially if it was outside normal hours when some more overtime was always an attractive option for him.  Over the years I worked with Larry we had many conversations about how he could take that extra step up into a different role, but either a move into the office team, which wouldn’t pay as much as the overtime he would lose, or the jump to a manager role, which involved developing people management skills, were never to materialise.

His side-kick was Paul Cooper, another thirty-something at the time, who looked after the commercial stores and acted as a reserve for the other areas if Larry was over-stretched.  Quietly effective, he was to steadily accumulate more responsibilities but had a tendency to get anxious if his work load reached a threshold.  The rest of us knew we’d have to tolerate a bit of whining until he’d got it off his chest and I’d told him he was capable.  Increasingly he contributed more to the team and shortly after I retired finally made a move into a material planner role.

So the foundations were just about there but it was a daily battle and we needed some energy, some skills, some new dynamic and some extra brainpower.  Most of all we needed some fun.

The first priority was the warehouse team that was crying out for a manager and it didn’t take much effort to persuade Gary Elliot to take on the role. He’d moved down from the closing factory in North Wales for a production manager position at Yate but after a year or so was ready for a change.  In his mid-forties, he had an irrepressible energy, an optimistic approach to things, was brimming with ideas and fortunately was a glutton for work.  Importantly, he was an experienced people-manager which more than offset a shortfall in detailed knowledge of the materials systems.  No problem was too big and he attacked the challenges of the stores and drivers from day one.  With his seniority and personality he immediately joined Kev and Patrick in the executive.

Luckily for me I didn’t have to search too hard to strengthen the rest of the team.  Whenever a vacancy occurred, or I persuaded Giuseppe the boss and HR we could justify an extra pair of hands, there was a pool of talent just waiting for their chance.  Over the next couple of years we auditioned and launched some real stars into the spotlight.

The recruitment formula wasn’t complicated and there were some common threads:

1. • An engineering or business graduate from an Italian or Eastern European                university.

   • A good grasp of English, especially grammar, even if the individual in question 

   • Didn’t think their skills were good enough.

   • A preparedness to up-sticks and take a chance on working in the UK.

   • A preparedness to work in any job to get established - cleaning, assembly-line, abattoir!

   • A preparedness to work for peanuts for a period so they could prove themselves. We didn’t actually pay them peanuts but they’d invariably start on basic-rate rather than as a graduate as it was the only way I was allowed to bring them on board.

   • An initial questioning of their own abilities and displaying an unusual shortage of confidence, despite the above.

   • Ambitious, smart, emotional, personable, committed, determined (I’m sure I used these words many times on their performance reviews).

   • Female, mid-late twenties (when they joined us).

Enter stage right:

Dorota de Lisiecka -  A Polish logistics graduate, recruited from the shop-floor just before she was leaving to work at an abattoir.  Quietly methodical and progressing steadily, I just piled more and more of the tricky, attention to detail, supply chain work at her.  A quiet, lovely personality meant that, if she did get cross, the guys in the office knew it was serious.  She had a maternity break whilst with us and also took herself off to night school to learn some accounting before eventually moving onto Tony’s Finance team.

Elena Aldis -  An Italian production engineering graduate who applied for ‘factory experience’ whilst seeking a full-time job in the Bristol area where Alessio, her boyfriend, worked at Airbus.  Light and small physically, she was the opposite intellectually and rapidly grew in confidence, occasionally showing the ‘fire’ associated with Italian women.  Working well with Gary, who essentially just gave her the mission goals and stepped back, she played the project lead for a major overhaul of the warehouse systems and layout.  She quickly became our systems expert and, as part of her development, I started to give her some of the routine management tasks.  It couldn’t last: GKN offered her a management position we couldn’t match, but the bonds haven’t broken and she and Alessio join us for some social event or challenge each year.

Olena Naujokaitiene - With no job opportunities for a female graduate due to the archaic, often corrupt command system in the Ukraine, she’d taken a chance and managed to get a work visa for the UK.  Cleaning and assembly-line jobs had brought her to Bristol and she joined many of the Eastern Europeans fulfilling temporary shop-floor contracts at the factory.  Determined and often emotional, she approached everything with a focus, writing copious ‘how to do this’ instructions in her little notebook.  Every few weeks she’d be asking for more work and quickly became our European supplier specialist.  She wore her heart on her emotional sleeve so we all shared her and husband Lenas’s roller-coaster journeys to visa renewals, home ownership and parenthood.  The only person to burst into floods of tears and race out the office in her excitement when she was told her position was permanent.

Lucia Petti - similar to Elena, who she effectively replaced, she was another Italian graduate prepared to travel for the chance of experience.  I wasn’t sure about her for a while, thinking she was too quiet and maybe not the potential leader material we needed.  Gary argued her case: ‘Give her time.  She’s on her own, learning the language.  She needs to figure out how it all fits together.’  He was proved right. Strong-willed and tenacious, after six months she’d found her feet and steadily commenced to earn the respect of colleagues across the factory.  You could always tell when she was annoyed or fed up with something: she’d become very quiet, letting her eyes display her irritation as she worked out how to resolve things.  Clearly capable, the challenge usually was to persuade her to not to fix a problem herself but to get those actually responsible to do it and hopefully learn from their error.  

Marzena Czapiga - one of a number of talented Poles who were working their way up from the shop-floor, she was easy to spot, often with a striking hairstyle and always busying herself with assembly-line issues. Picked up quite early by the Quality Department, I managed to entice her away after a secondment to us to support new product introductions under Patrick’s guidance. Ambitious and aiming for a management role, we offered her a difficult team leader role in the stores to gain people management experience before a year later bringing her into the office team as a material planner to widen her supply chain knowledge.  She and husband Rob, a local English guy working in Quality, had a young daughter, so it was never easy for her to find the extra time required to study the areas she’d still need for a real step up, but I could always rest assured that she’d competently cover all her current tasks.

It wasn’t all about the women.  One chap had been desperate to find his way into a responsible position within the team almost from the time I took on the Department.  Another Polish graduate, although Journalism wasn’t exactly a degree one associates with manufacturing, Piotr Nowobilski worked primarily in the stores team where it was clear he understood the processes and systems. Gary and I tended to give him the minor projects no-one else really wanted, but in his continual effort to please me, he’d get stuck in. When factory volumes escalated in 2016 due to the dryer recall plan, he became team leader on the afternoon shift before I finally brought him into the office team as a material planner/ coordinator for the factory during the afternoon and early hours of the night shift.

It was a thankless task, especially after Mike Radford had finished for the day, that required a jack-of-all-trades approach.  Many a time Gary, Kevin and I used him to resolve problems with suppliers, transport or internal to the factory that occurred late at night.  Some, unfairly maybe, thought he only focused on priorities that were relevant to me, his boss,  and didn’t give the same energy to other less exciting, more mundane duties that he tended to delegate.  I like to think that I could see the bigger picture and it’s possible that not everyone appreciated the need for someone who could do the basics in pretty well all the functional duties.

Now it’s all very well having a cast of talented and competent players but it’s not about the individuals.  Would they gel?  Would they play as a team?  Would the old dogs encourage the young energetic ones to find their feet?  Would they listen?  Would they challenge?  What were needed were a few objectives and some threads to bind them together.

The obvious ones were the common business goals: a set of weekly and daily plans to ensure the sales teams got what they needed; keep the factory production moving; keep the inventory at acceptable levels; control the transport costs, and so on.  These all provided a framework within which the team could perform.  But it wasn’t necessarily a framework that allowed for any expression, for any meaningful bonding, and most of all for some fun, laughs and the occasional tears.  The recipe for these needed to come from within the team itself and over the first few years we just about managed to find the right blend of ingredients.

There’s usually one thing which works well with the guys and will be just about tolerated by the women.  Sport, especially football, is often an ice-breaker or can provide a source for a distracted debate.  The department was no exception.  The banter and wind-ups would fly between the die-hard Man Utd and Liverpool followers, the aspiring Bristol City supporters, and the two despairing Forest and Bristol Rovers fans, especially on a Monday or the morning after a mid-week game.  If there had been international rugby match at the weekend Patrick and Gary often had the chance to gloat if Wales were in one of their ascendant phases, or stay quiet and take it on the chin if they weren’t.  (No chance! They’d probably blame the ref!) 

I was happy to allow all sorts of discussions to break into the work flow every now and then during the day - the usual office chat about TV, films, music: occasionally I’d throw a topic or opinion out of my office door and wait for a response.  Politics was always a good bet for some; my perceived ‘leftie’ views generally created a kickback from one or two of those who still thought Maggie Thatcher had been brilliant for the country.  Interestingly, our educated European colleagues thought the difference between Labour and the Tories was hardly worth getting worked up about and we should be glad with whoever was in.

‘Try living your teenage years under oppressive state control!’ was the Eastern European’s view.

‘All we’ve ever had are chaotic, dysfunctional coalitions and totally corrupt politicians!’  emphasised the Italians.

There were also several regular opportunities where I could keep an eye and ear on the team dynamics and nudge things in the right direction.  Each day, usually first thing and sometimes again in late afternoon, I’d take a walkabout around the factory, chatting briefly with any of our people who I bumped into and, equally as important, some of the Production team leaders who were our coalface customers.  A good vibe was easy to spot but prising out any brewing potential problems was harder, particularly as not everyone was comfortable expressing a view or criticism to me.  I tended to rely on Kev and Gary for tipping me off about any bubbling subjects or relationship issues that needed dealing with.

I also tried most days to find time to have a casual chat for a few minutes with each of them. ‘How’s it going? What do you think? Patrick can probably help. Kev’s probably seen that before. Thanks for doing that yesterday.  How’d your girl do with her swimming on Saturday?’  It was a chance for them to ask or say something without the others hearing, or for me to try and subtly raise a learning point in a low key way.

The main occasion we had to foster the team in a formal-setting was in the ‘morning meeting.’  Every day at (in theory) 8.15, I’d gather them all in the office for a 1/2 hour walk through of our status.  ‘How did we do yesterday?  What are the issues for today?  And what are we doing about them?   Do they need to escalate anything?  Do they need help from any others in the team?’  Some days it would be like a war room if we were being hit with multiple problems; other times, if we happened to be briefly on top of things, it could resemble a casual chat room.  The key point was that everyone knew the challenges for the day and in this low-key, informal meeting environment it was easy to offer help, advice or even mild criticism.

Just to try and lighten the mood sometimes I’d disclose some story I’d picked up from elsewhere in the business or attempt to surprise them with a trivia task before we got stuck into the meeting proper.  ‘Okay you guys, you’ve got 10 seconds - I want your favourite ever romantic movie / female singer / actor / dog / car/ ice cream …..)  Their responses would be written on the large whiteboard in my office where we held the meeting and stay there for a few days, raising eyebrows of any visitors or other managers who popped in.

But it needed more.  There’s no doubt that the odd social event can help bind a team.  In the early days we’d done a bit; the occasional skittles night, a birthday drink and a Christmas meal.  These were usually done on the cheap because the Company wouldn’t pay, pleading austerity and HQ guidelines.  Consequently I’d take them off to a local pub or restaurant where Patrick had spotted a two-for-one deal and Gary and I would split the bill proportionally.  On other occasions, the guys would get together for a five-a-side kick about against an all-comers team from the other departments and in the summer I’d organise the odd mountain-bike evening.  These were all beneficial, but not always inclusive and certainly not particularly memorable.

OK.  Now if you don’t want to read about Pete’s Team Building Challenges, it’s

probably a good idea to skip the next section.  It does goes on but for me it’s where the real characters appeared, the bonds were cemented and the memories were forged.  It’s what I feel set this team apart from just any old normal, well-performing bunch of colleagues in any old normal working environment.

Team Building - A Different Dimension

Three Peaks 2014

One morning in 2013, as we were chatting in the daily meeting, Julian mentioned he had a friend who’d just completed in The Three Peaks Challenge and half-heartedly volunteered that he quite fancied it.  It took less than 10 seconds for me to react.

‘Great idea Jules!  It can be a team objective for next year!’

I don’t suppose any of them thought I was serious but by the following morning I’d quietly written the mission statement and an action plan on the board and watched their faces as they wandered into the office at 8.15.

Ben Nevis, Scafell and Snowdon in a weekend

4000m uphill and 30km of walking

June 2014

Leave Friday mid-morning in two minibuses, back Sunday night

Bunkhouse Friday night, sleep in the minibus other times.

Training walks during the previous autumn and spring.

Everyone’s doing it - pregnancy’s the only excuse.

290

It was a mix of excitement, doubt and denial whilst they tried to figure out if I was in wind-up mode or was actually serious.

‘What’s that 290 in the top corner?’

‘That, my dear team, is how many days till we do it!’

Every morning I’d knock a day off the number.

The planning wasn’t particularly difficult.  I got in early with a bulk booking for the Ben Nevis bunkhouse.  I roped in a few friends I trusted to help with guiding and support and we fixed up a few dates for some hill-walking practice in Wales.  Disappointingly, the Company was reluctant to help out financially and didn’t want an official link with the event, citing health and safety, insurance and the fact it might set a precedent that other departments might want to follow.  That’s HR for you - always finding reasons not to take a risk.

Actually it suited me to run it as a private venture and just brand it as 'Pete’s walking weekend away with a few friends.’   Less interference and no liability.

Apart from Patrick, Julian and Alf (an FLT driver keen to go) most of them hadn’t walked in the British high hills before.  Elena and Alessio were walkers but only in warm, Italian sunshine and Andrea (a high-potential Brazilian guy working in the Quality Dept) who’d wanted to join us and had recently trekked up Kilimanjaro.

I issued a kit list that included walking boots and waterproofs and told them we’d be heading for the Brecons for hikes up Sugar-Loaf and Pen-y-fan in the next couple of months to test it all out.  If anyone was hoping it would all never happen and just fade away, they needed to think again.  It became a topic that steadily built an irreversible momentum that even the most doubtful couldn’t hide from so it was almost a full-house of the motley-kitted team that assembled in the carpark at the foot of Sugar Loaf near Abergavenny for our first practice walk.  The heavy cloud and rain provided a great shake-down for their kit and it wasn’t a lot of fun plodding our way to the top in full wet-weather gear.  But, as often happens, it cleared as we started to descend and we were rewarded with a sun-kissed panorama of the Usk valley and surrounding hills. Olena, brought up in the restrictive Ukraine, seemed overwhelmed that we were allowed to ‘just walk anywhere’ and took endless photos of the sheep we came across.  It was only a four hour walk but enough to identify the storm-troopers from the stragglers.

Over the next seven months we made a number of increasingly strenuous excursions to the Brecons: Pen-y-Fan from two directions; a wind-blasted circuit around the Llanthony Priory ridges, and, in April 2014, something I christened as ‘Big Saturday.’ This was an attempt to introduce them to night walking when already fatigued and comprised a long day walk in the Wye Valley, a drive back home for some tea, and then an evening four hour slog up and down the Cotswold ridge near Chipping Sodbury that ended in the dark with head torches illuminated.

Were we ready?  Pretty much.  I thought I knew what they were each capable of, even if they doubted themselves, and gave some thought to how the logistics would work on the mountains themselves.  How best to accommodate the different personalities and walking speeds; I thought Lucia would be quite slow and I doubted if Gary (who been off for six weeks with a respiratory virus) would manage it all the way to the summits, and the potential for a twisted ankle or two meant we needed some flexibility.  Luckily, with Sue and mates Chris Williams, Adrian Stone and Paul Kentish, I was confident we could cover most eventualities.  As the number of days on the board dropped below 20, I greeted them each morning with a relevant, hopefully inspirational, quotation written right in the middle of the board where we normally recorded critical factory issues.

The last quotation wasn’t particularly subtle but it was apt and reflected Neil Back’s thoughts on the evening before he played in England’s World Cup rugby victory over Australia in 2002.

‘Enough of all this training, we’re ready.  Let’s just get out there and knock the bastards off!’

It was an excited bunch that left Yate in two minibuses mid-morning with Sue, Patrick and me following an hour later in our car having convinced Giuseppe that things were under control in the factory.  As it happens we weren’t without someone manning the ship: Kevin had dipped out, having realised that he’d committed ages before to some Eighties music event and couldn’t bring himself to swop Rick Astley for Mike Radford’s playlist over the weekend.

My Three Peaks Playlist for the team:

1.  ‘Time of Your Life’   Green Day

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go

So make the best of this test and don't ask why

It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

So take the photographs and still frames in your mind

Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time

Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial

For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right

I hope you have the time of your life

Up the M5, onto the M6, into Scotland, around Glasgow and a break to stretch the legs at a stunningly scenic Loch Lomond.  From outside the van the surrounding hills started to look rather large.  By the time we’d driven over Rannoch Moor and dropped into Glencoe there were a few anxious faces.  The Glen was looking its magnificent, foreboding best with steep green slopes rapidly rising to dark rocky crags.  Stopping for a photo-opportunity it was dawning on them all that it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, especially as, to the north, the peaks were still topped with a covering of snow.  Onwards around Loch Linnhe and, after a brief stop at the supermarket in Fort William to buy the sandwiches for the following day, we arrived at the Ben Nevis bunkhouse in the late afternoon.  It was time to chill in the beer garden with a drink and soak up the scenery, until the sun sank below the ridge and the temperature dropped.  For the evening I’d reserved a section of the little restaurant and was mildly amused by the reluctance of most of them to sample the traditional Scottish menu choices.  However the beer was flowing and atmosphere was increasingly jovial.  I realised it was time for the briefing before it got too raucous.

‘Okay, listen up.  Here’s the plan: it’s based on how long I think you’ll take and the aim of everyone arriving back here at roughly the same time, early afternoon.’

At 5.00am, I’ll set off with Gary.

At 6.00am, Group B - Sue, Chris, the girls, Mike and Alf.  When you catch us, Gary can decide when he wants to turn round.

At 7.30am, Group C - Adrian, Paul and the rest of the boys.  I think you’ll catch up with us at the top.”

‘Great a lie-in’ quips Mike and orders another round.  God knows what time some of them went to bed.

It’s fresh at dawn but Gary and I were away on time.  Slowly, steadily we made our way along the side of the valley before the path swung up a small, steep valley alongside a gurgling mountain stream.  Now we were fully awake it was a chance to appreciate how idyllic the setting is and I was quietly encouraged that Gary wasn’t stopping for too many breathers as the incline sharpened.  An hour later we reached the small tarn from where we can see the path beginning to wind ever-upwards across the scree slopes and he’s told me he was good for a bit further.  It was around 8.30 before, looking back, we could see the tiny figures of Group B making good progress and, half an hour later, we paused to let them catch us up.  Sue and Chris reported ‘no issues’ and the girls seemed to be buzzing.  It was a good place for Gary to stop, admire the view for a while and then make his way slowly back down.  The weather was good and there was enough other foot traffic on the path for it to be a safe option for him.

The rest of us pushed on, zig-zagging across the seemingly endless scree. Secretly impressed with both Olena and Lucia:  they’ve not said much (unusual for Olena) but they were hanging in well.  The snow line provided a distraction: we reached it lower than I expected, though fortunately it was crunchy rather than icy and Chris and I easily concluded it was safe to continue, following the trail left by others a few days earlier.

2.  ‘Let’s go up the mountain’  Heart of it All : Capercaillie

Let’s go up the hillside, to the highest ridge of Storr

Where the lapwing sings a eulogy, at the wonder of it all

As the evening shadows plunder, the cloak around the world

We remember all the mornings at the heart of it all

 At the heart of it all is a calling to this land

In the words of our salvation is a song for the common man

At the heart of it all is a story to be told

For the sake of our salvation and the troubles we behold

You can see the river rising its banks will creak and slide

There’s a silence in the evergreens and a surging of the tide

Well, it’s nature’s way of saying our backs are up against the wall

By the hush of the world in the lull before the storm

 At the heart of it all is a calling to this land

In the words of our salvation is a song for the common man

At the heart of it all is a story to be told

For the sake of our salvation and the troubles we behold

Like many peaks, it seems to continually tease with false summits, but eventually the angle eased as on the rock and snow of the plateau and they spot the large cairn.  Mike, encouraged by his buddy Alfie, and Chris catch up a few minutes later.

‘Brilliant!  Great effort.’  I really mean it as the phones click away taking photos.  The views across the Highlands and westwards down the Loch to the sea are stunning; I suspect they don’t realise how lucky they are to have picked a clear day.

‘Olena, Lenas!  What are you doing? Get back from the bloody edge!’

There’s a place for romantic selfies but standing on a cornice above a 1000m drop, albeit unknowingly, is not one of them.

No sign of the boys yet but it’s time to head down.  Chatter, chatter, chatter: they’re so pleased with themselves, especially as it’s another 20 minutes before the Group C appear plodding up the path. ‘Where have you lot been?’ they tease.  Adrian and Paul aren’t concerned. Hardly surprisingly, their group was a bit later away than planned and had had several leisurely snack and fag breaks. ‘See you later further down.’

It’s always a slog going down and this was no exception but we couldn’t help feeling slightly smug as the early start meant we were passing the normal daily stream of puffing summit-bound walkers with the peak already in our pocket.  By early afternoon, most of them had made it down to the valley and were heading for the Ben Nevis Inn.  Some way back, Chris was bringing up the rear, accompanying a slow-moving Andrea who was complaining about his knee.

‘Don’t even think about Scafell until you’ve done Ben Nevis!’ had been one of the quotations.  Well the biggest one was now in the bag and it had been quite an achievement for them in its own right.  Perfect weather; everyone had made it; no serious problems.  If all else failed, it was worth it for that experience alone for most of them.  Reunited, they were full of themselves and shared their experiences as they changed into more comfortable togs for the next stage.

3.  'One Day Like This’  : Elbow

......Well, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

So, throw those curtains wide

One Day Like This a year would see me right

Throw those curtains wide

One Day Like This a year would see me right

Throw those curtains wide

We clambered back into the vans for the long drive back down to The Lake District.  Those not sharing the driving promptly fell asleep and missed the horrendous storm we passed through.  We’d been warned of bad weather for Saturday in northern England but were lucky again as it was just clearing when we wound along the endless narrow road that passes from Keswick, alongside Derwent Water until finally reaching a dead end in the village of Seatoller.

It wasn’t a particularly quick start.  There was a lot of faffing, searching for lost bits of kit and queuing for the one loo in the car park.

‘Guys!  Every minute we prat about here is another minute you’ll be walking in the dark!’ 

Eventually, around 7pm, we were on our way.  This was a ‘see how it goes’ plan with the option to break into two groups, depending on progress and a contingency to retreat with a smaller group if necessary.  Gary and Chris were manning ‘base camp’ at the vans and Andrea had dipped out and stayed with them. Olena was suffering with some nasty blisters but gamely tried to give it a go and managed an hour or so before she and Lenas turned round and headed back to base. The rest followed the beck that led up to a low col as the evening sun disappeared.

It’s a long walk to the top of Scafell on the northern route but the gradient is much steadier than on the popular, much steeper haul up from Wasdale to the west and its therefore far less busy.  Equally important for us, it meant about three hours less time in the vans on windy roads and no hassle trying to find somewhere to park in proximity to each other so I reckoned the time would balance out.  Was this the right call? 

There was an obstacle on our route that I was confident they were all capable of dealing with.  As the light faded and the path curved around the crags, we were all together and I was happy with progress.  The views across to Great Gable were impressive and spirits seemed okay.  I’d tipped them off that there was a short ‘staircase’ section coming up that would require a bit of scramble using hands for support.   Nothing to worry about as Sue and I had done it easily in the snow a few months earlier on a recce.  I knew Dorota didn’t like heights but was sure we’d help her down,

 This is the section from The Walkers’ Guidebook:

’Rounding a corner, the 'rocky step' appears. Keep left, descending little gullies, until the final step down is presented. Now bear right again with a gully heading left to right. A tongue of rock may help with hand and foot holds and it's possibly easier to face inwards and down climb.’

It’s about seven metres down, like two normal zigzagged staircases but maybe twice the gradient. There are enough steps and handholds to make it relatively straightforward, but there’s a catch.   Where the bottom of the step section rejoins the path, the crag drops away steeply to the fell 500m below.  It’s perfectly safe and at least three metres wide (compare it with a pavement by a busy road!) but it looks exposed and the gloom added another threatening dimension.  A few had already figured it out and descended by the time the rest arrived so I already had Alessio, Elena, Alf, Sue, Adrian and Paul Kentish below on the path offering encouragement to the others when they peered down.

Mike was his usual forthright self: ‘I didn’t sign up for a suicide mission!’   A bit melodramatic possibly.  ‘I ain’t ‘effing going down there.’

Em….. There was nervousness amongst the others.  ‘Hey Sue, how about coming up and the going down again to show them how it’s done?'   I suggested.

Up she came, and down she went, but it didn’t swing many.  Larry decided he was up for it and joined what proved to be the advance party.  The others opted to retreat, which was fair enough.  I didn’t try and push it.  I’ll never know how many were worried at the prospect of the short  scramble or intimidated by the view of the adjacent drop, how many were just whacked and didn’t fancy a long walk in the encroaching darkness, how many were comfortable with their decision and how many will always regret it.

A few weeks earlier I’d written this Native North American saying on the board.

‘In life we sometimes walk close to the edge. In life we occasionally walk close to the edge and look over.  In life we rarely get the chance to step off the edge.  Only then will we realise how high we can fly.'   Some had stepped off and flown, others not.

Sue scrambled up yet again and agreed to accompany them back to the vans.  Patrick was also in this group so I was happy they’d be okay.  I joined the others and, with head torches on, we followed the path upwards.  It did seem to take longer than I remembered but eventually we reached the cairn marking the juncture with the Wasdale path and our little band merged with a snake of lights of  'Three Peakers’ coming up from that direction.

Thoughtfully someone (Larry?) suggested leaving one of the ‘high-vis’ tops I’d suggested we wear during the night at the cairn so we wouldn’t miss the turning on the way down.  For another half-hour the path crosses a mix of scree and boulders before the summit cairn finally appears.  It was busy and chaotic, with groups and leaders everywhere trying to keep track of each other and numerous head torches appearing to move randomly like dancing fireflies.  We didn’t hang around.  A quick photo and a phone call to Adrian’s wife, who was staying with friends, Chris and Debbie Preston in North Wales, to let someone know we’d arrived at the top around half past midnight.  Back at the vans, the others weren’t able to pick up any mobile reception.

Now it was my turn for some faffing.  I was confident I’d memorised the direction of the path we needed to leave by but on the plateau, in the darkness, and with several dozen headlights all milling around, I was less sure.  Out with the map and compass but I still wasn’t convinced exactly which direction to head in.  Adrian and Paul offered their hunches, opinion and advice and in the end we made a decision and set off shortly afterwards, gaining some reassurance as we merged with another group whose leader seemed confident enough.  I’m not even sure whether Elena, Alessio and Larry even registered my ten minutes of uncertainty.  Dropping further down I relaxed as I recognised a few of the more distinctive boulders and eventually we spotted the high-vis top reflected in the beam of head torches.

Back we descended along the deserted ‘corridor route' through the crags, peering ahead in the dark for the path and way-marking cairns, keeping bunched up and calling out names to check we were all still together.  Up the rock-step staircase, no problem for this group especially as the drop was invisible in the dark, and all that remained was the long plod back down to the col and the valley.  The sky was lightening as we straggled back into Seatoller around 4am to wake our dozing comrades.  It’s fair to say it had been a tough walk.  We were tired and quietly I wondered how much longer we’d have taken if everyone had battled on to the top.  For sure another couple of hours and everyone would have been really whacked.  Paul, Adrian and I would have had to be really vigilant to keep track of everyone and we probably would have needed to split the group.  This would have be quite tricky to coordinate in the dark and without any mobile signals.

So - was the northern route the right decision?  Who knows?  What I can say is that I do know everyone was capable of doing it, but it would have taken longer than I planned.  There’s also no doubt that a few of the group that retreated were a bit torn, especially when they were woken by a jubilant Larry and Alf tapping on the van window.

No time to dwell on things.  Tales of the night time adventures would be shared in the vans as we headed for the M6 and a quick service-station breakfast.  Four hours after leaving The Lakes everyone was standing in the Pen-y-Pass car park at the top of the Llanberis Pass, stretching aching legs with just the small matter of Snowdon to climb.  Ten o’clock and it was heaving with people; the weather was looking kind and we’d be sharing the path with a big charity sponsored climb as well as other Three-Peakers and the normal quota of day-walkers.

It was almost a full team that set off.  I couldn’t persuade Olena (and Lenas) that her blisters wouldn’t hurt too much once she got warmed up but, to be honest, they did look a mess.  Joined by our friends Sue B, Chris and Debbie, we spread out along the Pyg Track, a well-defined if relentless route that passes Llyn Llydaw Lake and slowly gains height up the flanks of the Crib Goch ridge.

I was content: everyone was just about keeping up, although Elena seemed to be sleep-walking, Mike was chuntering to himself, and Lucia had gone quiet.  No major issues though with Andre’s knee, Gary’s lung-power, and Chris W was in his ‘I’ll get there in the end mode’ which I’d seen a few times in the past during his marathon-running days.  The last 300 metres is hard work as the path zigzags’ steeply up the valley headwall above the little Glaslyn lake before finally reaching the ridge where the gradient eases.  Snowdon, fully in view at last, having shaken its cloudy mantle, looked spectacular, a real mountain, and Dorota’s fear of heights bubbled to the surface.

‘You’ll be fine.  Don’t worry.  It’s really flat on the top.’

I’m not sure she was convinced but she didn’t have much choice and on and upwards she went.  For once I wasn’t exaggerating and, despite it being busy, when they all reached the top there was plenty of space for the team to share congratulatory hugs, handshakes and photos.  I was so proud of them I had a lump in my throat but we need to get a very tired bunch down safely. It was already mid-afternoon so within 20 minutes we were heading back the way we came.  Chris W, Andre and Mike were hoping to save their knees and descend by the mountain railway but for some reason it wasn’t  running so they had to tough it out and follow slowly after the others.

4.  'This is our Land’   : Simple Minds

You don’t know what you’ve got until the whole things gone

The days are dark and the road is long

And when you walk away the hope is gone

Tell me what is right and what is wrong

Is this the way it was planned

This is your land; take it in your hand

This is your land

Wherever I go, way down here I know

This is your land; take it in your hand

This is your land

Adrian and the two Sues lead them off along the steep path that winds its way down to edge of the Glaslyn and the Miners’ Track route back.  It only seems a long stone throw down to the little lake but Mike and Chris were struggling now and it takes forever as they descend painfully, grimacing and swearing all the way.  By the time they arrived on the flatter section by the lake, most of the others had pushed on, so, after a regrouping of the stragglers, we trudged after them.  The late-afternoon drifted by as everyone found their own pace; chatting, dreaming, buzzing, hurting, euphoric, knackered, bouncing.  The awesome landscape and clear skies provided a deserved appreciation of their efforts but I suspect most thoughts weren’t philosophically reflective and were more focused on getting their boots off and enjoying a pasty, ice-cream and cup of tea at the car-park cafe.  

I wandered into the carpark last with Piotr.  It was easy to spot our team, draped on a stone wall or collapsed on the ground.  They were exhausted; relieved it was all over and unsure how to express their delight at what they’d achieved.  But we had a long four hour trip back to Bristol and some of us had a 7.00am start in the morning.  I didn’t drive: Sue and Sue B did the honours as I nodded off and slept most of the way.

Reflecting on the weekend nearly six years later I feel even more satisfaction at what we achieved.   An international rag, tag and bobtail mix who encouraged each other on a little journey to find their own limits.  Some pushed those limits outwards, others got close enough to start recognising their own potential.  For sure they visited parts of our island they probably would never have seen otherwise.  The Europeans now know for certain that there’s much more to the UK than London. Our landscape might not be Alpine but it’s rugged and wild in its own right.

5.  ‘Theme from Local Hero’  :  Mark Knopfler

It wasn’t easy for them to share the experience with colleagues back in the factory.  They were full of stories and the photos helped relate the grandeur and the timeline.  But it was impossible to describe the ‘feelings’ through a picture, especially to listeners who had never ventured to those places physically or emotionally.  You can’t see knackered knees, blistered feet, exhaustion, adrenaline, fear, excitement, relief, or pride in a photo.

In the world of hill-walking and endurance activities, this challenge rates at best as ‘moderate.’  For this little team, I’d give it an ‘extreme;’ a memorable achievement they’ll carry with them forever.

A few weeks later I had plenty of time to reflect on how it had all gone.  Stuck in hospital for a fortnight after the ‘dog in the park’ crash, I was able to pull together the photos, overlay a soundtrack and produce a half-hour video of key moments for them all.  We’d never hosted a team get together at our house before;  I’ve usually tried to draw a faint line between boss and team.  But I felt the time was right for an exception.  I think everyone made it and it felt like an appropriate wrap-up, squeezed into our lounge, drinks in hand, re-living the adventure. 

Back to work 

There’s no such thing as an easy job these days, certainly not in a manufacturing business, but the following two years (2015/16) were at least moderately comfortable. The team was now fully trained, confident in their roles and the department was generally meeting targets, making a range of small improvements and operating in a manner that reassured plant director, Giuseppe, he could trust us.

As actors, they were now familiar with how the daily performance would play out, could recite their lines in their sleep, deal with the odd heckler, and even start to think about future roles and opportunities.  My touch as director was increasingly light, often only suggesting a different approach if a particular action or event hadn’t gone as planned.  A few years earlier, their reactions in most cases would have mainly been blank and non-committal.  Now I could usually read their response, especially if they didn’t think what I was suggesting was a good idea. 

My executive guys hadn’t really changed.  Patrick, not keen on anything that departed from the proper procedure, would take the idea away and mull it over and I’d get his considered response later.  Kev would bring me back to earth by challenging my, often over-optimistic, assumptions but leave me hanging with, ‘Well it’s your call Boss.’

Gary was usually more bullish.  The eternal optimist, he’d take my suggestion and double-it. ‘Let’s give it a go and why not try this as well?'  This then left me trying hard to think of reasons why his suggestion might be too risky or impractical.  He usually beat me down in the end and, on-balance, he was generally proved right.

But the others were also now putting in their pennyworth.

Mike would be typically blunt: ‘Okay,Skip, sounds good!’ or ‘Can’t see that ‘effing working.'

Dorota’s frown or smile would give her thoughts away.

Julian would be non-committal, knowing that he’d ignore the idea anyway and continue to stick with his own trusted methods.

Olena would enthusiastically agree; Marzena would quietly agree - ‘If Pete had said it, it must be right.'  But they’d both be back in the office the following day with their reservations, having had time to think it through properly.

Lucia, whose mind worked faster than most of us, would be quickly processing the implications, considering the system practicalities and the user compliance risks, before expressing a view.

The best thing was, I no longer had to think of everything myself.  In fact I now had a bit more time to dream up a few more weekend team challenges and, as it happens, in early 2015, having long-since forgotten their Three Peaks aches and pains, a number of the team started to pester for a new objective.