Chapter 9

My move to Silcocks gave me my first experience of management. In retrospect I am sure I must have been very "green," but I had the good fortune to have a works manager in Len Sheppard who guided me and at the same time encouraged me to make my own decisions. I owe a lot to his understanding, he was always supportive, and always ensured that due credit was passed down the management line.

Silcocks mill was typical of many of the factories in the Liverpool dock area at the time. It consisted mainly of nineteenth century warehouse buildings of six to seven storeys. It lay between two railway viaducts , the arches of which formed part of the mill. It extended over four cobbled streets. Within this area there was a Catholic church and hall, a small bedding factory. a tent and tarpaulin factory, two or three shops and a public house. This "open plan" made discipline difficult. It was quite possible for mill personnel to have a couple of drinks in the pub and then go to confession - all in working hours.

Incorporating milling machinery in such buildings was by no means easy and offered quite a challenge. The streets were criss-crossed with conveyers and walkways between the buildings at various levels.

In the early fifties there were still a fair number of horse drawn wagons working along the dock road, including those carrying raw sugar to Tate and Lyle's refinery. Most small boys in the area carried a 'sampler' rather like an apple corer, which they could plunge into the hessian sack to ensure that the sugar was "edible." Many breakfast eggs must have owed their golden yolks to similar sampling of maize destined for Silcock's and Bibby's. The railway horses were stabled in an arch close to the mill, one particular horse would not pass the packing department without a handful of "dairy nuts."

Many glossaries of "scouse" have been written, but the Tate and Lyle, Bibby and Silcock area had a vocabulary of its own. "Brochure" was "bronchial" and "bronchial" was "bronical." The chargehand of the sack cleaning and printing department who fancied himself as a martinet, was proud to announce that his men called the department "Belgian (Belsen) camp." I think my favourite was a word used by my building foreman, Phil Clarke. When he had a big job, he drafted in extra men (skins) to "argument" the job - a word so much more explicit than the correct one.

One day, Dennis (Dinny) Toomey, one of the boilermen, an ex-Cunard fireman, burst into my office saying, "Come quickly Mr Forster, there's bigotry in the boiler house!" I can't remember what the "bigotry" was, probably some minor dispute, but it illustrated to me how seriously some took their work, ex-seafarers in particular. When I took Nicholas (then quite young) to the Mill, Dinny offered him a drink of the boiler house tea, very strong, and sweeter than sweet. He bravely swallowed it until he could pour the remainder on the ashes when Dinny wasn't looking. I still have the drawings of the boilers and other plant that Nick made following the visit.

Silcocks was a good company to work for and I made many friends among my colleagues, notably John Beeley, Geoff Richards and John Wintle who, with their wives, have remained good friends ever since. It gave me a great pleasure to be able to meet and talk with the Chairman, Richard Silcock, although it was a disappointment to learn later that the real owner of the company was Unilever. Later I was to be grateful to be in the Unilever Pension Scheme.

When I joined the company, my brief was to build up a strong maintenance department. I had the pleasure of assembling my own team, I think I was successful, my department heads remained with the company for many years. I equipped machine, sheet metal and joiner's shops, and was eventually able to undertake work for other Silcock mills, which I was encouraged to visit and exchange ideas. My interest in cinematography became known, and I was persuaded to give a film show at the annual children's Christmas party. More than one hundred children crowded into the Catholic church hall to witness shadowy pictures of Charlie Chaplin and others of similar vintage. I used to wonder whether they could see anything from my hundred watt projector, designed for a family audience of eight or ten persons. When I inadvertently hired the same film for the second year running the boos, catcalls and worse that came from the audience soon convinced me that they could.

Later, when the erection of a new mill at Bankfield, in the North Dock area, was started, I was asked to make a film record of the construction. It was a great pleasure to buy a 16mm camera and projector of my choice for which the company would pay, I diligently made a record right through from excavation and piling to the installation of plant and equipment. When I left the company in 1964, interest at the top had waned and I understand that the many cans of film ended up in a skip.

I was accepted for membership of the Institution of Plant Engineers and attended a part time course at Liverpool University. I went to several of their conferences at Blackpool and Scarborough which were both technical and social occasions. The local branch organised an annual dinner dance, to which I took a party for many years.

Our house move to Hoylake further enlarged our circle of friends and enhanced our social life. Lena and Marjorie, already mentioned, were near neighbours. Lena's husband, Charles, was captain of a Shell Tanker. Tom Malone was licencee of "Ye hole in Ye wall" in Liverpool. Lena spent many evenings with us while Charles was away and we had long talks on many subjects. Lena was a devout Catholic, and religion was often one of these subjects. The Malones had a large social circle in which we were often included. A Boxing Day dinner dance at the Victoria Hotel, in New Brighton became an annual event, and we were guests several times at a very enjoyable RNVR dance on HMS "Eaglet." The Lord Mayor of Liverpool was present on one occasion. Doreen admired his beautiful enamelled and jewelled dress pendant and he kindly allowed her to wear it. We were entertained by a troupe of dancers. Finishing their routine with a "Tiller Girls" style exit, they had not reckoned on the camber of the ship's deck and ended up in a tangled heap in the scuppers. (Oh! For a video camera)

We spent many happy weekends at the Malone's holiday cottage in Cynwyd near Corwen. Their cottage was an old water mill, "Felin Uchaf" (Upper Mill). On our first visit our bedroom was on the second floor, up near vertical "ship type" stairways. Before retiring the coal fire was stoked up to allay the cold and damp, with electric fires in various rooms. The house had only been wired for lighting, and the meter could be heard spinning like a 78 gramophone record. We were quite anxious about the fire risk and on our next visit secreted a rope in our suitcase. When using the Elsan toilet in the basement, the roar form the waterfall just feet away was deafening. The three tier waterfall ended in a pool in which we could bathe, if we could bear the cold. They adopted an orphaned fox cub as a family pet. For years, "Grumpy" travelled in the trailer behind their Ford V8 Pilot known as "Pontius." Gail was the same age as Louise and they were at school together until the Malones moved to Ruthin in North Wales. At the weekly dances at the YMCA in Hoylake they were entertained by such groups as the Beatles and Gerry and the Pacemakers, who had yet to achieve their fame.

Cyril Coleman married Edna Hawley and they set up home in Hoylake. Cyril was a gifted, if unorthodox tennis player, and we played quite a lot of tennis on the municipal courts on the promenade. Edna's mother and father lived in a flat in the same house, they became very good friends and our regular "baby sitters."

We spent a holiday camping in Devon and Cornwall several days of which were spent on the farm of our friend Fred Hocking at St Juste near Lands End. Fred had a small herd of Guernsey cows, his cowman, John, was from Sennen Cove, about three miles away. One day, in conversation, Fred referred to him as a "Sennen Cover," much as one might refer to someone from another planet. Apparently some members of the ill fated Armada landed there, spread their genes and made the "Covers," a quite different species.

White Sand Bay adjacent to Sennen Cove had magnificent rollers. Doreen just adored bathing in such conditions and would have a look of pure ecstacy on her face as she jumped to meet each wave. We both found swimming in pools very tame compared to the sea.

Our tent was quite basic by todays standards, just six feet square with twelve inch walls - no fly sheet. Fortunately the weather was near perfect, so hot that on the first night at Edithmead, near Burnham-on-Sea, we were forced to rise at seven in the morning because of the heat. In the Torbay area we were unable to find a suitable camp site, (we were very choosy) every road we took ended at the side of a creek. Eventually, we again came face to face with water at Kingswear, Doreen and Louise were nearly in tears. We saw a sign in a window "Bed & Breakfast," never was there a more welcome sight. In the event shunting in the adjacent railway terminus kept us awake most of the night.

We were impressed with St. Ives and enjoyed a holiday there the following year in a bed and breakfast apartment. We planned a further visit the following year, but early in that year Doreen was pregnant again and in view of our previous experience, we decided to holiday at home. We took delivery of our first new car on Doreen's birthday, February 16th. Louise had been born in one of the coldest winters, Nicholas arrived on what must have been one of the hottest days of one of the hottest summers. After visiting Doreen in Clatterbridge Hospital I went for a late evening swim in the sea at Dove Point which was quite popular (and still clean) in those days.

Nicholas was christened in Berriew. The Rev. William Williams who had married us, and christened Louise, had a slight "tic." It was quite disconcerting when he explained the marriage vows or the duties of Godparents with "winks."

The following summer we rented George Alcock's caravan in Abersoch. We enjoyed the freedom of caravanning and decided to look around for one of our own. How we bought it has already been described. We joined the caravan club and attended several rallies at which we soon felt that our rather old fashioned van looked a little out of place among the Siddalls and Cheltenhams and bought a fifteen foot Willerby in which we attended the national rally at Harewood House. We were among the last to leave of some twelve hundred caravans. There wasn't as much as cigarette end to be seen, a tribute to Caravan Club rules and discipline.

With our new caravan, we spent weekends in Yorkshire, the Lake District and North Wales. We had two summer holidays in Pembrokeshire. During one of these holidays we entertained Bunny and family to lunch who were en route home from a fishing holiday in Cork. Everywhere we went in Pembroke we saw signs "Corgi puppies for sale" which convinced Louise that we had to have one. We compromised with an offer to buy a puppy on our return home, and eventually bought "Jasper," a blue roan cocker spaniel.

We had found a semi permanent site for the caravan at "Plas Coch" near the Menai Straits in Anglesey. It was an ideal site with acres of land on which we were free to roam. The mansion which gave the site its name provided modest club facilities. We were able to enjoy visits of many of our friends to the site. One of our neighbours, Les Harry, introduced us to boating and fishing and we were able to buy "Braemar" a fibreglass dinghy, which was to give us so much pleasure, and which Nicholas still has.

At "Moel-y-Don," the narrowest part of the Straits the ebbing spring tide flowed at a frightening speed. One day, Jasper fell off the slip-way into deep water and was fast being carried away by the tide. Without a thought I waded into the water fully clothed and just managed to grab his collar as the water was up to my neck. In retrospect, it was quite foolhardy and the one and only "act of heroism" in my life.

We had disquieting news from Berriew about Doreen's mother. When we went to her home it was quite evident to us that she was not fit to remain on her own and we took her back home where she remained with us until our doctor advised that she should go into our Cottage hospital where she died on 11th December 1962.

We were so happy at "Plas Coch" that we decided to buy a larger caravan - a six berth Sprite, in which we were able to entertain overnight visitors. This was one of our less successful ventures, after just one season the site was put on the market, and the portents were, that there would be changes - changes that would not be to our liking. We started looking for an alternative site. Doreen rather favoured a cottage, and how right she proved to be, as she was on all our major decisions. Following up an advertisement in the Liverpool Daily Post for a cottage for sale near Caernarfon, we decided it was exactly what we wanted and made an immediate offer which was accepted. When we took the family to see it the following weekend, we learned that a higher offer had been made and were devastated. However, when we phoned our solicitor to tell him the sale had fallen through, he assured us that if our offer and the seller's acceptance were not subject to any conditions, we had a binding contract. We had good cause to be grateful to our "Mr Bigge" for this advice. "Rhwngddwyryd" (between two streams) was to be our holiday home for fourteen years and a lovely home for a further seven years.

To furnish the cottage, Doreen went to the sale rooms in Hoylake and Wallasey and acquired some real bargains, the total cost of which was about sixty pounds. One of them was an Electrolux vacuum cleaner (five shillings). The name plate states "by appointment to H.R.H. The Prince of Wales" (Edward). It still works perfectly.

On the day Doreen and Nicholas saw the furniture delivered to the cottage, our Vauxhall Victor estate car was stolen from the garage shortly after their return. We heard nothing for four weeks, then, Sergeant Spencer of Hoylake CID asked if I would be able to identify the car, which had been traced to a remote farm house near Buxton. He asked whether I would go with the police to Buxton at the weekend. I had visions of a Police Rover with flashing lights and a siren. In the event we went in Sergeant Spencer's Morris Minor. It started snowing, and going through a deep puddle the engine cut out. Fortunately I was familiar with this tendency of Minors and was able to dry it out. At Buxton Police station a woman witness described our car in exact detail - expressing horror that she had been a passenger in a stolen car. (I later learned that she was the wife of the thief.) Sergeant Spencer returned with her to the farm, where on entering the house, he saw a child wearing Nicholas's anorac. A subsequent search revealed an Aladdin's Cave of stolen objects. Meanwhile I was sitting in the Police station hearing on the radio reports of worsening weather conditions, including accidents on the "Cat and Fiddle" pass over which we had to return. I am sure we must have been the last car to negotiate the pass that evening.

I was asked to go with the Police to collect the car which was by then in London (plus prisoner) but declined. When we did collect it from the local station, the tyres were bald, battery boiled dry, the carpet deep in tobacco ash. They had driven six thousand miles, driving from Buxton to London to do "jobs." Needless to say, the car was never the same again. Two men were given an eighteen month sentence, not for the theft of the car, but for the burglaries done with it.