Shipbuilding
When I got back home from Watford I heard a buzz that ship-builders or joiners were desperately needed at Lowestoft. I went up to the Labour Exchange and found that Brookes of Oulton Broad were indeed very short of staff, and that I could start when I liked if I was so minded. I rang Benny and told him the position. As always, he was most kind and understanding. He sent my cards on, wished me luck, and said that if I ever wanted to go back just give him a ring. I had all my gear at home, and spent a couple of days having a good sharp-up, and getting the necessary pass to allow me to enter the defence zone on my motor bike. Brookes picked up my tool box, and next morning I was off. I was stopped, as anticipated, at the road block where the defence zone began. A quick check of my pass, driving licence and registration number of the bike, and I was soon on my way again. One condition of having the pass was that strict adherence to the
route between home and work must be observed. If you were caught anywhere else it meant big trouble, and probably the cancellation of your petrol ration. I had had quite enough of push-biking anyway, so there was no joy-riding whatsoever.
On arrival at Brookes I was detailed to the fitting-out basin, where ships already launched were finished off. I found the work highly interesting. It was a different trade altogether from anything I had known. I suppose wheelwrighting was the nearest thing, and I did find this helpful. My very first job got me guessing, which was to set up and fix some door frames. I tacked one up temporarily and got my upright spirit level to check it for being upright. After I had watched the bubble swinging all over the place, I realised I had forgotten that the ship was afloat, and when anyone walked across the deck the level was useless. The elderly shipwright in charge soon explained the 'drill', which was that every bulkhead had an upright datum line scratched in before launching, and that had to be worked to all the time. It was straight from one faux pas to another for me, for I asked where the nails were. "Nails indeed" said old Bill. "You never use nails in shipbuilding. It's all screws, and brass screws at that."
The ships we were building were motor launches, or MLs for short, about a hundred and twenty feet by twenty feet. They were all prefabricated as far as possible by a firm called 'Fairmiles' and carted to Brookes for assembly. The keels came in four or five pieces, all ready for the massive gunmetal bolts which held them together. The frames came completed, to be bolted to the keel and held in place by the stringers or joists. The planking was all done by hand, consisting of two skins of three-quarter mahogany which crossed each other at right angles. A layer of oiled cotton cloth went between the skins, which were screwed to the stringers and then riveted together with copper rivets. The decks were planked in similar fashion. Then all the joints were caulked with special string banged into the spaces with caulking irons. There was a good deal of skill in this process as the string had to be twisted between each stroke. This was where the skill of the shipwrights really came into its own, and although they showed us what to do, they could leave us standing and do twice as much as us 'learners'. The big shaft blocks were fitted and bored to take the twin screws or propellers.
Then the painters, mostly women, took over and finally the hull was launched, to be finished off inside on the water. They were beautifully fitted out, with mahogany bunks, tables, cupboards and thick corticene on the floors. For their bite, there were twin torpedo tubes on deck, Oerlikon 20mm cannon and Lewis machine guns. For power they had two supercharged Packard motors, and would do around thirty-five knots.
As D-Day drew nearer, we were switched to landing craft built with ply, with quarter-inch armour-plate fixed to the sides and the deck. Some of these had a four-inch gun on a revolving turret in the bows. It was all most interesting work. There was no talk of strikes, go-slows, or restrictive practices in those days of fighting for survival. I often think if only the whole-hearted co-operation between different trades could be practised today, Britain's troubles would soon be gone. The skeleton staff of boat builders and shipwrights would really go out of their way to impart their specialised knowledge to us 'rookies'. There was never a thought that we might want to pinch their jobs when the war ended. Everyone just did anything that came along, and worked to their utmost capacity.
The only thing to interrupt the work flow were the air raids. Any day that was overcast with low cloud would bring the hit and run raiders. We took no notice of the ordinary sirens, as we had a system of crash warnings when danger was really imminent. When the crash warning came we all made a dash for the shelters. The yard got hit several times, but luckily not in working hours. One of the most expensive incidents was caused by sheer ignorance. There were several big paraffin storage tanks in a depot adjoining our yard. One Saturday night a low raider dropped several small bombs, one of which hit one of the tanks. When we arrived for work on Monday morning there were large notices all over the place - no smoking or naked lights. Everywhere stank of paraffin as the burst tank had leaked and soaked all the foreshore, and the water itself was covered in oil.
Halfway through Monday morning, the old chap whose job it was to clear up all the shavings and rubbish had done his usual job and made a big heap on the foreshore. Several of us saw him doing this, but no-one dreamed he would set fire to it! But as the men near him gazed with horrified eyes, he struck a match, threw it in the shavings and walked away. Before anyone could do a thing there was an almighty whoomp, and in seconds the whole foreshore and the river was a sea of flames.
The workshops on higher ground were all right, but there were two MLs tied up to the jetty surrounded by blazing oil. Then the petrol pumps on the jetty went up, and thence to the paint shop. It really was panic stations; luckily the oil storage depot next door had big foam pumps which were in action in a matter of minutes. In the meantime the two MLs had been pulled across the river out of danger, but not before they were damaged. The paint shop was completely gutted. The old cleaner, when hauled up before the bosses, swore he couldn't read and so the notices meant nothing to him. He was probably right too!
The worst incident of all happened when I was working down in the main harbour. The coxswain of the ML told me what he wanted done and it made me smile as he explained that his bunk, situated between two bulkheads, was only six feet long and he stood six feet six; he had to sleep with his knees up which wasn't very comfortable, to say the least. I had to cut a hole through one bulkhead, make a box to contain his feet which projected into the next compartment, and make everything watertight.
It was a bitter winter's day, snowing heavily, and I was eating my sandwiches in the lunch break when the crash warning went, followed almost immediately by the crump of bombs. It was a terrible tragedy as some of the bombs got a direct hit on a large restaurant in the main street, just as the place was filled with people getting their meal. Although it was no more than a quarter of a mile from where I was working, I had no idea of the carnage wrought up in the street. That is, until the coxswain returned and told me that the death toll looked like being sixty or seventy, with many others injured. Some of my workmates lost wives and sisters, and it must have been the worst disaster in the town for the whole war. It cast gloom and despondency for many days, and no doubt for many months for those who had lost husbands, wives and youngsters.
One daylight raid gave us a bit of a laugh. We had two or three Lewis guns on the yard manned by workmates in the Home Guard; when danger threatened, their one big ambition was to 'have a go' at a Jerry plane. On this particular day the crash warning went, the gunners made a dash for their guns and we did likewise for the shelters. Almost immediately a big Heinkel dropped beneath the low cloud cover. One of the gunners got a few rounds off, when the gun jammed. Just at that moment the Heinkel released a single large bomb which looked as if it was coming down dead centre on the gun position. A frantic yell from us passed unheard as the gunner was still struggling to clear the gun. Luckily for all, the bomb handed about a hundred yards or so beyond the gun in a watery marsh. As it exploded with a deafening thump, a cloud of mud shot skywards. When it subsided, there was the gunner covered with mud from head to foot and looking absolutely astounded. Now that the danger was over, we had a good laugh which soon relieved the tension.
route between home and work must be observed. If you were caught anywhere else it meant big trouble, and probably the cancellation of your petrol ration. I had had quite enough of push-biking anyway, so there was no joy-riding whatsoever.
On arrival at Brookes I was detailed to the fitting-out basin, where ships already launched were finished off. I found the work highly interesting. It was a different trade altogether from anything I had known. I suppose wheelwrighting was the nearest thing, and I did find this helpful. My very first job got me guessing, which was to set up and fix some door frames. I tacked one up temporarily and got my upright spirit level to check it for being upright. After I had watched the bubble swinging all over the place, I realised I had forgotten that the ship was afloat, and when anyone walked across the deck the level was useless. The elderly shipwright in charge soon explained the 'drill', which was that every bulkhead had an upright datum line scratched in before launching, and that had to be worked to all the time. It was straight from one faux pas to another for me, for I asked where the nails were. "Nails indeed" said old Bill. "You never use nails in shipbuilding. It's all screws, and brass screws at that."
The ships we were building were motor launches, or MLs for short, about a hundred and twenty feet by twenty feet. They were all prefabricated as far as possible by a firm called 'Fairmiles' and carted to Brookes for assembly. The keels came in four or five pieces, all ready for the massive gunmetal bolts which held them together. The frames came completed, to be bolted to the keel and held in place by the stringers or joists. The planking was all done by hand, consisting of two skins of three-quarter mahogany which crossed each other at right angles. A layer of oiled cotton cloth went between the skins, which were screwed to the stringers and then riveted together with copper rivets. The decks were planked in similar fashion. Then all the joints were caulked with special string banged into the spaces with caulking irons. There was a good deal of skill in this process as the string had to be twisted between each stroke. This was where the skill of the shipwrights really came into its own, and although they showed us what to do, they could leave us standing and do twice as much as us 'learners'. The big shaft blocks were fitted and bored to take the twin screws or propellers.
Then the painters, mostly women, took over and finally the hull was launched, to be finished off inside on the water. They were beautifully fitted out, with mahogany bunks, tables, cupboards and thick corticene on the floors. For their bite, there were twin torpedo tubes on deck, Oerlikon 20mm cannon and Lewis machine guns. For power they had two supercharged Packard motors, and would do around thirty-five knots.
As D-Day drew nearer, we were switched to landing craft built with ply, with quarter-inch armour-plate fixed to the sides and the deck. Some of these had a four-inch gun on a revolving turret in the bows. It was all most interesting work. There was no talk of strikes, go-slows, or restrictive practices in those days of fighting for survival. I often think if only the whole-hearted co-operation between different trades could be practised today, Britain's troubles would soon be gone. The skeleton staff of boat builders and shipwrights would really go out of their way to impart their specialised knowledge to us 'rookies'. There was never a thought that we might want to pinch their jobs when the war ended. Everyone just did anything that came along, and worked to their utmost capacity.
The only thing to interrupt the work flow were the air raids. Any day that was overcast with low cloud would bring the hit and run raiders. We took no notice of the ordinary sirens, as we had a system of crash warnings when danger was really imminent. When the crash warning came we all made a dash for the shelters. The yard got hit several times, but luckily not in working hours. One of the most expensive incidents was caused by sheer ignorance. There were several big paraffin storage tanks in a depot adjoining our yard. One Saturday night a low raider dropped several small bombs, one of which hit one of the tanks. When we arrived for work on Monday morning there were large notices all over the place - no smoking or naked lights. Everywhere stank of paraffin as the burst tank had leaked and soaked all the foreshore, and the water itself was covered in oil.
Halfway through Monday morning, the old chap whose job it was to clear up all the shavings and rubbish had done his usual job and made a big heap on the foreshore. Several of us saw him doing this, but no-one dreamed he would set fire to it! But as the men near him gazed with horrified eyes, he struck a match, threw it in the shavings and walked away. Before anyone could do a thing there was an almighty whoomp, and in seconds the whole foreshore and the river was a sea of flames.
The workshops on higher ground were all right, but there were two MLs tied up to the jetty surrounded by blazing oil. Then the petrol pumps on the jetty went up, and thence to the paint shop. It really was panic stations; luckily the oil storage depot next door had big foam pumps which were in action in a matter of minutes. In the meantime the two MLs had been pulled across the river out of danger, but not before they were damaged. The paint shop was completely gutted. The old cleaner, when hauled up before the bosses, swore he couldn't read and so the notices meant nothing to him. He was probably right too!
The worst incident of all happened when I was working down in the main harbour. The coxswain of the ML told me what he wanted done and it made me smile as he explained that his bunk, situated between two bulkheads, was only six feet long and he stood six feet six; he had to sleep with his knees up which wasn't very comfortable, to say the least. I had to cut a hole through one bulkhead, make a box to contain his feet which projected into the next compartment, and make everything watertight.
It was a bitter winter's day, snowing heavily, and I was eating my sandwiches in the lunch break when the crash warning went, followed almost immediately by the crump of bombs. It was a terrible tragedy as some of the bombs got a direct hit on a large restaurant in the main street, just as the place was filled with people getting their meal. Although it was no more than a quarter of a mile from where I was working, I had no idea of the carnage wrought up in the street. That is, until the coxswain returned and told me that the death toll looked like being sixty or seventy, with many others injured. Some of my workmates lost wives and sisters, and it must have been the worst disaster in the town for the whole war. It cast gloom and despondency for many days, and no doubt for many months for those who had lost husbands, wives and youngsters.
One daylight raid gave us a bit of a laugh. We had two or three Lewis guns on the yard manned by workmates in the Home Guard; when danger threatened, their one big ambition was to 'have a go' at a Jerry plane. On this particular day the crash warning went, the gunners made a dash for their guns and we did likewise for the shelters. Almost immediately a big Heinkel dropped beneath the low cloud cover. One of the gunners got a few rounds off, when the gun jammed. Just at that moment the Heinkel released a single large bomb which looked as if it was coming down dead centre on the gun position. A frantic yell from us passed unheard as the gunner was still struggling to clear the gun. Luckily for all, the bomb handed about a hundred yards or so beyond the gun in a watery marsh. As it exploded with a deafening thump, a cloud of mud shot skywards. When it subsided, there was the gunner covered with mud from head to foot and looking absolutely astounded. Now that the danger was over, we had a good laugh which soon relieved the tension.
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