Chapter 10

The year before we bought our cottage, Silcocks moved to the newly completed mill at Bankfield. The major part of the machinery was new, but several key items had to be transferred from the old mill. This necessitated careful planning, and often working through the night, as production had to be maintained. This was a stressful period involving long hours and many phone calls at night. It was soon apparent to me, and many of my colleagues, that the happy atmosphere of the old mill had not moved with us to this vast and soulless mill. I felt unsettled, and when George Alcock, who was planning to extend his oil refinery and storage installation in Birkenhead, offered me the position of Works Manager, I decided to accept. I had been with Silcocks for just short of fifteen years. Bankfield Mill only survived for three to four years and no mill of its size and type has been built since.

When I joined Norco the storage capacity was some six hundred tons, in the seven years I was with the company it was increased to four thousand tons. I had the satisfaction of planning and organising this expansion which required additional steam raising plant air compressors, pumps and of course pipelines which had to be upgraded to cope with the increased tonnage to be handled. Norco was a private company without large resources, so quite a large part of the equipment was bought on the second-hand market. I was also involved in the day-to-day running of the installation, I particularly enjoyed the shipping aspect, loading and discharging sea-going tankers, mainly destined for Rotterdam. Apart from the vessels with which we were directly involved, every ship entering or leaving the Birkenhead Dock system passed within one hundred feet of my office window. Unfortunately my relationship with George Alcock was not as happy. Although I was a director, it was in name only, and I had no say in company policy. I became very depressed, and realise I was, for a time, a trial to my dear wife. The cottage was a great comfort, where the cares of the world could be left behind and on many Sunday evenings I was very reluctant to leave.

We were at the cottage one weekend in the early days. The lady in a nearby cottage had died, and her relatives were clearing her furniture. They offered us her television. Nicholas, then about eleven, spent the whole day dismantling the aerial and erecting it on our chimney. Successfully completing it he descended to switch it on. Picture - fine, sound - OK, but all in Welsh!! I cannot remember his exact words, but they were not what one would expect from an eleven year old.

Our cottage was a constant joy to us. In addition to exploring the beautiful Welsh countryside and the mountains of Snowdonia which rose behind the cottage, we had our little boat which we could launch in the Menai Straits, just three miles away. It gave us great pleasure, but also some heart-stopping moments. We usually fished in the straits, but sometimes motored through the gap into the open sea, going out on the ebb and back with the flood. On one occasion the wind got up while we were out and we were obliged to return against the fast ebbing tide. We were making little or no headway and steered towards the lee shore, where the current was less severe, and inched into calmer water, praying that the petrol would last out.

On another occasion we were heading towards Caernarfon up the marked channel when the engine failed, just when an Esso tanker was heading towards us. It would only be about a thousand tons, but it looked to us like the QE 2. Doreen was convinced that they could not see us and would run us down. I has to assure her that they could, while feeling far from convinced in my own mind. They evidently could see us, and passed safely by.

Another time we were motoring into Caernarfon harbour under the Seiont swing bridge, when power again deserted us. No danger this time, but the embarrasment of grabbing the oars and rowing in full view of the many visitors lining the bridge.

One very special day stands out in my memory. It was Whit weekend, Louise and her friend Angela had set off very early on the Monday morning to return home. We had the boat on the water before eight o'clock and were at Abermenai in 15 minutes. Abermenai is an isthmus projecting from the island of Anglesey with beaches facing north, south east and west. It is only accessible by boat or by a long walk along a narrow spit of land. As we landed, a low mist rose from the sea, cutting off the view of Caernarfon and the surrounding country so that the mountains of Snowdonia appeared to be suspended in the sky. As the mist cleared they were reflected in the sea which was like a mirror. The sun came out and we spent the rest of the day in and out of the water

We all found great pleasure in "beachcombing." Two long beaches at Llanddwyn in Anglesey provided a "bonanza," not in value, but in the joy of finding - wood for construction or fuel was plentiful.

Penmon point in Anglesey was another favourite. Like Abermenai there was a choice of beaches facing in many directions, so a sheltered beach could always be found. Fishing off the rocks was popular with visitors and local people. We were fishing one day without much success, one of the native fishermen told us to wait until "high water slack." As if on cue, the surf suddenly "erupted." Thousands of whitebait were being attacked by hundreds of mackerel which were being attacked by dozens of seagulls - it was an amazing sight. It would have been possible to "scoop" the mackerel out with a bucket or similar. The rocks took their toll in fishing tackle and at low tide, stocks of hooks, spinners and weights could be more than replenished.