I don’t think anyone had ‘Victorian Mine Shaft Discovered Under TJ Hughes’ on their 2022 bingo card.

TJ Hughes in the 90s. Credit, in case you haven't guessed: Alamy. Please don't sue me.

 

Big news out of Oldham Centre this week: homeware shop TJ Hughes – think TK Maxx but bores you in a coma – is being demolished, and a giant Victorian-era coal mine has been uncovered underneath it. The Oldham Times Claims ‘the onsite mine shaft was recorded as an ‘Old Coal Pit’ in 1851 maps, the earliest maps available.’ 

TJ Hughes, which was next to what is now Parliament Square, was my first employer back in 1999. It was a job from which I was unceremoniously sacked. 

There are a number of reasons for this. The manager – some stern looking Scouse Bloke – explained that all employees needed to be proficient on the till, so that whatever they were doing, if needs be they could stop shelf-stocking etc. and cover that role. Shelf-stocking I did okay in. Everything else… 

In 1999 most shops had barcode scanners. Not TJ Hughes. Every item had assigned to it a 4-digit code, which could frequently be found printed on packaging. Cutlery, and other items, didn’t have this displayed. You just had to remember it. Well. I was obviously shit out of luck there. There was a handwritten sheet of A4 with a few items and their respective codes, but which panel was this taped to? Where on this sheet was it, if it was at all? 

I just had to ask the co-worker, some girl with a Fringe. I mithered her half to death. As well as not being able to remember the codes, another problem reared its head: credit cards. If you’re old enough, you’ll remember that prior to chip and pin, cashiers would take your card and slide it through a slot at the side of the till’s screen. This would capture the info and charge the card, for which you had to sign the till roll, and the cashier had to check your signature against your card. 

What a ballache. This is where things got confusing: when I slid the card through the slot, it would NEVER read. I’d do it time and time again, slowly, quickly, angled just right… it would not read. I’d give it to Fringe and it would work for her immediately. At the time, I found myself wondering, if my problem was specifically a memory issue, how come I couldn’t charge a credit card? Was every problem attributed to my condition, or was this an unconnected random inability? 

I never found an answer to this. 

At the time, I was in my first year at Tameside College, on an intermediate Media GNVQ. I was struggling with the work, feeling overwhelmed and too hesitant – in most cases- to actually dive in and do it. 

My tutor at the time, we’ll call him CB, told me that he had a background in learning difficulties before he went into media. He felt that problems with memory, with organisation and with self-doubt were all symptoms of dyslexia. He sent me to a support tutor who tested me and ‘concluded’- if you can call it that – that I had ‘some of the symptoms associated with mild dyslexia.’ 

I did not, at the time, have the confidence to ask, how is it possible that this problem I have be dyslexia, when my only decent GCSE was a C in English, and I could spell? A year prior I’d been doing work experience at the Oldham Evening Chronicle, getting small pieces published in the paper. I was 15. The dyslexia theory just didn’t make any sense. 

You can imagine my confusion the next Saturday, when I’m things are still going wrong in work. Scouse Bloke takes me aside. “I can see you’re struggling on the tills,” he said. “You’re creating queues. I’ve noticed that when you’re about to use the keyboard, your finger does this-” he circled his finger like he’s using the old dial-up phones. “Are you dyslexic?” 

I cannot remember how I answered this question. I remember thinking, if I am, how come I can spell? If I’m not, how come three people – one of them unconnected - all perfectly capable, and in charge of others – think that I am? Are they all wrong? 

I didn’t put this to him, for whatever reason. Lack of confidence, probably. 

After a few Saturdays, Scouse Bloke pulled me into the office again. “We’ve decided to end your contract,” he announced. “Do you have anything to say?” 

I couldn’t think of anything. That was the end of my first job, and the first of a number of sackings. The job would never have worked out, no matter what support I’d got. It just wasn’t right for me. 

Of course, what would have helped is if it had occurred to me at that time that I had already been tested for both memory issues and literacy issues, and the former had been confirmed and the latter – well, there was enough info to show it couldn’t have been dyslexia. Reading had been highlighted as a strength. At 9 years old, my reading ability had been graded as equal to the average 14-year-old. But I forgot that I had been to these hospitals, met these educational psychologists and received their reports. I forgot. 

So I was sent to the college’s support department, and ended up being diagnosed with dyslexia that I didn’t have. 

At 26 I was formally diagnosed with short term memory difficulties, and it was proven unequivocally that I was not dyslexic. This psychologist actually asked for all the prior medical information, whatever I had, and this informed on her own assessment. 

So yeah, the upshot of this Victorian Mineshaft post: if you have any kind of physical or psychological condition, store your paperwork carefully, read it and get to grips with it. Nobody knows you better than you, so who better than you to learn – as best as you are capable – about the condition you have? Always disclose it to education staff and employers. Give them the printed info. The more they know, the more they can help you. It’s illegal for them to discriminate based on disability. If you don’t disclose your condition, it will eventually reveal itself anyway, and when you do disclose, those in charge will say, ‘why didn’t you tell us?’ 

Granted, disability employment is a figurative minefield (rather than a literal mineshaft), but it is an issue that must be chipped away at. Communication is key.