Chapter 6

After several months in the drawing office I returned to the engine shop, which by this time was working long hours. Evening classes had been abandoned due to air raids, and apprentices were obliged to continue their studies on Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings. Ships bringing food, raw materials and arms from America were being lost at a terrible rate (four million tons in ten months). I was working on engines for "A' Class" submarines. These vessels were desparately needed, and after early teething troubles, an engine was completed every two or three weeks. Many of the "bought out" parts were made by companies that had no experience with marine engines of any sort.

After the first engine completed had been running on test for a short time there was an explosion, the loudest I have ever heard (perhaps because it was the nearest). All the crankcase doors were blown off. Fortunately the tarpaulin sheets draped around the test bed to provide a black out prevented these from becoming missiles. Subsequent investigation indicated insufficient backlash in the skew gears driving the camshafts and auxiliaries had given rise to serious overheating - igniting the crankcase gases. It also showed the inadequacy of the explosion relief panels on the doors.

Some unusual vessels appeared on the stocks. These were very much smaller than our usual ships, three or four to a slipway - box like, with hinged bow doors. They were powered by lorry style diesel engines from America. What we did not know at the time was that every yard in the land was constructing similar ships which would be used on D Day.

There were no canteen facilities in the yard, and when not taking our own lunch, we used various cafés in the town. My friend Jack Sindall, "Black Jack," introduced me to the British Restaurant, state-run, and very basic. Tallies were bought and exchanged for the meal, cafeteria style. Quite often we would have a meal and two puddings - total cost something under two shillings (10p). Jack was "famous" for slipping from a submarine fitting out in the wet basin. As he disappeared beneath the surface of the water he held his can of tea aloft.

There was a strange ritual by regular passengers on the Birkenhead Ferry. On boarding they would ascend to the upper deck, forming two groups to circle the deck, the inner at a leisurely pace, the outer at a brisk walk, lapping the inner group several times duing the six minute sail. I can imagine how a biologist would describe this behaviour were the animals not human. I wonder whether ferry passengers in other parts of the world behave in a similar fashion.

On completion of my apprenticeship I returned to the drawing office where I was involved with the new Ark Royal, the keel for which had been laid by the Duchess of Kent. I was initially involved in boiler mountings, following which I was section leader for the four evaporator rooms. Evaporators are still a vital part of a large warship with a crew in excess of one thousand, which can be at sea for many months at a time. Fresh water for all purposes has to be distilled from sea water.

I have always been proud to have been associated with Cammell Laird, a name renowned throughout the maritime world. I was sad to see this name becoming synonymous with silly demarcation disputes, followed by a slow decline and eventual closure.