"Operation Eatables"

Last week the Labor Government wiggled out from under its worst labor scare yet. A wildcat strike of about 500 London truck drivers had mushroomed into a walkout of about 40,000 sympathizers and threatened to spread disastrously through the country. The Government got the strike ended in its eleventh day, but it was severely clawed by the wildcatters. So was the strong but unwieldy Transport and General Workers Union, to which most of the strikers belonged. So was London's long-suffering public. The truck drivers had struck in protest against union and government bumbling that had delayed for more than nine months a settlement of their demands for a 44-hour week and overtime pay increases (highest wage of a London trucker: about $22 a week*). Even the Government's delayed and reluctant decision to use troops to move food (most Londoners were down to half-rations of meat and vegetables and some were down to no rations at all) failed to move the striking truckmen. But "Operation Eatables" (the soldiers' name for their assignment to trucks and markets) did move the men & women who handle London's food. When the troops appeared, they walked off their jobs. So, eventually, did thousands of T.G.W.U. dock workers in resentment against the use of "blacklegs [strikebreakers] in uniform."

"It makes a Change." At first London was jittery; it expected clashes and cracked skulls. But at Smithfield (meat), at Billingsgate (fish), at Covent Garden (vegetables), the strikers stood aside, watching placidly, but with professional scorn, as the soldiers inexpertly tugged and hauled unaccustomed burdens. Sighed one striking porter as a young Coldstream Guardsman struggled with a sack of potatoes: "He'll rupture hisself if he don't watch out."

Wary of the strikers at first, the soldiers soon rubbed sore shoulders with them in neighborhood pubs. Bert's Bar, a dingy shack in Smithfield market, set the tone with an inviting sign: "Bert's Buns Are Better than NAAFI."* Inside soldiers and strikers struck up friendships over mugs of tea and ale. The attitude: "We don't bear the boys any grudge; they can't help but do what they're told." At Smithfield's nearby mahogany-and-gilt pub, "The Hope," soldiers and strikers sipped beer together. Said a happy Guardsman: "It makes a change. If we weren't working here, we'd be square-bashing [squad drilling]. Best part about this is the expression on the faces of the housewives when we deliver the goods."

The strike's end came after several meetings in which the wildcatters flatly refused to return to work on the promise of double-quick Government dealing with their demands. At last, a deadlock-breaking meeting convinced them of something more: that they would get pretty much what they wanted in wages & hours.

London breathed easier as the men streamed back to work and housewives streamed back to the butcher shops. But with the relief was a note of fear. London's Times sounded it thus: "If there is one thing which can be more damaging to the ordinary conduct of industrial relations than an unofficial strike it is the successful unofficial strike." Government and union leaders were haunted by the thought that one such success would inevitably lead to more wildcatting. They well knew that Britain's weak-muscled economy might be seriously ruptured by a wave of labor unrest.

*NAAFI (Navy, Army and Air Forces Institutes) is the British equivalent of the U.S. Post Exchange, plus U.S.O. To G.I.s--and to many British servicemen--it is also the synonym for poor food. *Highest in U.S.: $82.

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