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Memories of growing up in Leith. The trials and tribulations of the period, allied to the camaraderie of the community in facing up to an uncertain future made a lasting impression on John Stewart.
It was not all work in the shipyards in Leith, for laughs were plentiful. Working alongside us was a squad of tank chippers and painters. Their job was scraping off the rust from the bare steelwork of the double bottoms and clearing away any debris that was left there by the likes of us the plumbers.
As in any squad of men, there were all sorts of characters. Well read through the whole gambit to downright illiteracy, our tank squad was no exception. Characters if ever there were any, all eight of them
'Chinny' Ritchie was a small squat man with a Desperate Dan chin. He had no teeth so when he laughed his chin touched his nose. Johnny Smith, the butt of his mate's jokes was as thick as they came. Ask him a question such as what year was the 1926 general strike and he would evade answering it. Both he and 'Chinny' were drinking mates.
There was also Magnus Low, an unfortunate name as he was only 5-foot tall. He was a great little person with an equally great sense of humour. I envied their working relationships but as for their job, an emphatic no. It must have been the dirtiest in the whole yard.
I remained with Sammy Wright as his apprentice for almost two years before I was felt to be capable of going on my own and then given a young mate. Tam Smith was his name.
I could now delegate jobs such as run to the general store for bolts and nuts, get me this and get me that. The errands were numerous, but then I had done the tasks before.
I was transferred to engine room installations at a later date. However this work meant descending into the bowels of the ship by a long ladder. These ladders could be more than thirty feet in length. All right when you had two free arms, but sometimes you were required to carry something or another in one hand. When I think of it now I shudder.
The cream of plumbing work was in the fitting out of cabins and wash places. The latter word was the nautical term for communal toilet facilities. The 'Heads' was another for toilets.
This work was the responsibility of the 'finishing' squad. It was mainly carried out after the ship was launched and moored in what was called the finishing basin.
At this point we would transfer to another vessel at the earliest stage of building and begin all over again.
The launching of a ship was always a big event. We would all be allowed to leave our own work and congregate around the slipway. Each trade, and there were many involved in shipbuilding, allocated two persons to go aboard the ship for its launching. I got my turn on the Trentino in 1954.
Eventually I graduated to the finishing squad and got my experience of working on the finer aspects of plumbing.
When I reached eighteen years old, I received my notification from the Ministry of Labour and National Service that I had to register for National Service.
All boys of this age were required to serve two years in the Forces. As I was serving my apprenticeship, I was given a deferment but this had to be reviewed each year.
My time on new work was almost at an end, but I did get the opportunity of going on seagoing trials with a vessel. You left the finishing basin on the early tide and sailed up and down the River Forth all day. If you were lucky, you had nothing to do as all the work was carried out by the Yard's own ships crew under Captain Nicholson.
I was then transferred to ship repair work. This was a new experience and involved stripping out old pipework and replacing it. The job was now old hat to me, and I was weary for my time to finish.
During my last six months I had made plans to emigrate to Canada in the spring of 1956. I was accepted by the Canadian Immigration Service and was given my Blue Card for admittance.
There was one cloud hanging over me, National Service. Five years earlier I had been rejected for the Navy but I was not sure how I would be viewed for the Army.
Anyhow, I had arranged to sail to Canada early in February 1956. The letter dropped through our letterbox requesting me to report for my National Service Medical at a date just seven days before my sailing.
I had to attend, but I was determined I was still sailing on my arranged date come what may. On the day of the medical, two doctors differed on my suitability for service. It took the third to decide that I was not being accepted. This time I could have cheered.
I sailed away on the Saxonia from Liverpool to New York safe in the thought that I could return without fear of call-up. However, I was to return to Scotland after seven months. A severe case of homesickness!
Within eighteen months I was married and, despite an initial determination to return to Canada as a couple after presenting both our set of parents their first grandchild, we never did.
John Stewart, 2001
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