Before I begin let me set the scene. I started a recruitment business for the water industry called Water-people in 2000 in Leeds and relocated to Devon in 2014.

So nicely embedded in our Devon home, and recruitment placements happening at a steady rate, life was good. However one assignment would prove to be the most bizarre in the business history.

One morning the phone rang. “Hello, could you tell me how long you place people for?” said the enquiring voice.

“Well, it depends on the role”, I said. “Permanent is obviously longer term but temporary or interim can be anything from 4 weeks to 18 months or more. It just depends on employers needs and the role.. And how long do you need someone for?” .

“Two hours,” she said.

“Sorry,” I said, “did you say two hours?”

“ Yes,” she said. “We are an Aga Cooker retailer. Tomorrow we are coming from the North West to deliver a new Aga to an address in the Kingsbridge area.”

The rationale of the Water-people contact was still lost on me. But I retained my professionalism and politeness. She continued, “the problem we have is that one of our three-man crew has reported sick and we need a three-man gang to unload the Aga. Health and Safety regulations require it. So we need a fit, handy man for a couple of hours. When we googled recruitment agencies in the Kingsbridge area, you were the only agency that appeared to be operating in the area,” she said.

I explained that we were a specialist water industry recruitment consultancy, not a local agency, and operated across the UK and worldwide.

“I do apologise,” she said, “I don’t suppose there is a local agency you could recommend?”

“No, sorry,” I replied.

“OK thanks,” and with that the interim placement searcher was gone.

Fifteen minutes later I still felt a conscience. Could I have helped her? No, not really. After all we were renowned for placing professional water industry operators, engineering managers, scientists, water and sewage treatment plant specialists, but cooker lifters, no, not within our international portfolio.

But what if I asked John? John was at the top of a ladder outside my window. A Yorkshire painter and decorator who was currently painting the outside of our farmhouse. Between brush strokes and, craning my neck upwards, I shouted to John the dilemma faced by the Aga company.

“ I just wondered if you might want to take a couple of hours off and earn a bit of beer money?” “Cooker lifter? I’ve been called some things,” John muttered “Where’s the delivery to?”

“East Portlemouth,” I said, “a little village about 3 miles from here at the mouth of the Salcombe Estuary. Not that easy to find but I could take you there.”

“Alrate, jobs a good un,” said John, in true Yorkshire brogue.

So we had our interim Aga Unloader. I got back to the Aga company.

“I have been able to secure someone for you. His name is John and he’s available tomorrow afternoon to help you out,” I said. “He is very reliable, practical and fit so I am sure he will do the job for you.”

It was the first time in Water-people’s history that we had given a formal reference for a two-hour employment.

“That’s great,” she said. “Thank you so much. What would John be looking for in terms of payment?”

As newly appointed agent of John, the phlegmatic P&D, and now Aga Carter, I hadn’t got a clue. So to save another stiff-neck conversation with the game Tyke, I blagged “£60 cash and no commission.”

“OK, that will be fine. I will email you the delivery address in East Portlemouth. Can you ask John to be there at 2 30 pm tomorrow please and tell him to ask for Dave? He is our lead delivery man. And thank you once again for all your help,” she said.

Aga day arrived. As arranged I drove John, complete with bib and brace overalls, through the narrow and winding tidal estuary road to East Portlemouth. Dropped him off outside the resplendent and very grand sea-view house of the soon-to-be Aga owners and told him we would relax and wait on a nearby beach, until the cooker-carrying-caper was complete. Forty-five minutes later John strolled on to the beach counting the readies in a plain brown envelope. That was mighty quick. Had anything gone wrong?

“ No, straight forward enough” said John, “although initially I got a hell of a chuffing fright.”

He went on to explain that after I had dropped him off, he had entered the gate of the palatial premises, found his way down the drive to the front door but got no answer.

He could see the Aga lorry was parked close-by. So he wandered into the back garden and, stooping there, admiring the flowers, was a very mature, rather frail, man in his late 80’s, and walking steadily with the aid of a stick.

John said hello and that he was looking for Dave. The man had responded “I’m Dave.”

John continued, “looking at him I thought, bl**dy hell, this might be the last Aga he lifts off any pantechnicon before joining the clever cooker carriers in the sky,” and was not sure what to do. He didn’t want to insult the kindly man. Decorating suddenly seemed much less complicated. Couple of minutes of unsure small talk later and they were interrupted by a burly delivery man bustling his way round the house corner.

“Are you John?” said the burly. “Yes,” said John.

“Hello, I’m Dave. Shall we crack on?” A different Dave, this time resembling Atilla the Hun. Conscience cleared and a win-win. Dave, the octogenarian house owner got his cooker and John got his beer money. “Good deed for the day John” I said, on the return journey,” You should be decorated.”