That was nearly fifteen years ago. Our most ambitious project had been to remove an inner wall and turn round the lower steps of the dark narrow staircase, making a wide and rather too obviously spacious descent into what now became a hall. Young Mr Palmer and his helper had stood precariously on ladders, manoeuvring a gigantic steel girder into position on top of the new brick piers. Owing to some elementary miscalculation this RSJ (‘rolled steel joist’) however massive in appearance, was barely long enough to span the gap, and one of its ends only just rested on the brickwork. After it had been shrouded over with paint and plaster I used sometimes to give it a glance of apprehension as I descended the stairs, wondering if it would come crashing down on top of us, as on the day when Samson pulled down the temple on the Philistines. The girder is still there and the house still stands, so I suppose that young Mr Palmer’s reassurances to me at the time have been justified.
