CONCERNS REGARDING CSCS AND CLC DECISIONS - IN A TONE OF VOICE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AND USING PERIOD APPROPRIATE TERMINOLOGY

Dearest Mr Kearns Steward of the CSCS - A Pensive Epistle

Like the masons who toil upon the scaffold's walls, I, too, bear a burden—a weighty concern that gnaws at my soul. The sun wanes, and the hourglass spills its sands upon the anvil of fate.

The Council of Stone and Craftsmanship (CSCS), in league with the Council of Laborious Cogs (CLC), hath decreed a fateful date—December’s end in the year of our Lord 2024. An edict, nay, a gauntlet cast upon the path of artisans—the Industry Accreditation (IA) route, and the forge of NVQs.

Yet, wherefore this haste? Hath the moon whispered secrets to their chambers? The wise elders, the grizzled hands that have shaped oaken beams and laid cobblestones, were not consulted. Their voices, like echoes in a cavern, fade into oblivion.

With a flourish, the quill dips into the inkwell, and I inscribe my lament:

"O, CSCS, thou art the weaver of fate, yet thy loom is tangled. The seasoned hands, calloused and true, now face a precipice—a choice betwixt the hammer and the plow. Shall they retire, their trowels rusting, or seek refuge in the aisles of Tesco, stacking wares for the masses?

And lo, the prophecy foretells a tempest—a deluge of departures. A million souls, as leaves borne by autumn winds, shall forsake the scaffolds. The House Builders’ Guild, its banners aloft, shall weep for want of bricklayers, carpenters, and roofers.

Didst thou, O Kearns, not extol the virtues of the CSCS Alliance? In May’s bloom, thy words flowed like mead at a feast. “Standards, safety, competence,” thou didst proclaim. Yet now, the NVQs—swift as Pegasus’ flight—veer from the path.

Behold, whispers reach mine ears—an L6 NVQ, its units myriad as stars, promised by a single assessor. Two hundred crowns to be bestowed in a year! A conjurer’s feat, or a jest played upon the gods?

Dr. Abisogun, that beacon of wisdom, sought convergence—a symphony of skills. Yet, dost thou hear the cacophony? The CSCS logo, once a seal of mastery, now adorns the unworthy. Their deeds, like a poorly wrought sonnet, falter.

Alas, I know thee not as the architect of this labyrinthine policy. Thy hands, mayhap, are bound by threads unseen. But, sir, I beseech thee—unravel this skein. Let competence be the lodestar, not mere parchment.

In this missive, I stand—a humble scribe, a voice in the tempest. May it find thee well, and may thy reply be as a sunbeam through storm clouds.

With reverence,

Mick Norton, Bearer of the BEM