John Readhead's Shipyard - Page 37
Local Memories
Readhead's Unusual Launch Day - by Bill Stephenson
When it comes to
building ships a shipwright is a very important person. He strikes the very
first centre-line, lines up the keel, sets the stern frame, sets the stem bar
and ensures that the bulkheads and frames are at right angles to the base -
because the ship is actually built on the berth where the ground slopes towards
the river to allow a slipway to be put in place.
The ship is built on raised timber blocks to allow other trades such as the
platers, welders, riveters, caulkers and painters to work under the ship. But
one of the most important jobs a shipwright is called upon to do is to launch
the ship in to the water. For this he has to ensure that the tide is just right.
Too little water and the ship will slide down the ways and drop off the end of
the berth - too much water and the ship will become buoyant before the trailing
end of the ship leaves the berth. Both situations cause damage. Obviously then
the 'launch ceremony' is determined by the tide.
On one particular launch day our shipwright hero, a man called Johnson, was
working under the ship knocking out the blocks (this lowers the ship on to the
slipways).
The launch party were on the ceremonial platform. The lady sponsor who was going
to name and christen the ship was already holding in her hand the bottle of
champagne which was to be smashed against the fore end of the ship.
The lady receives a beautiful present for doing this and she is also presented
with the bunting and silks which are wrapped around the bottle of champagne.
This bottle was hung by a lanyard connected to the forecastle deck, it was to be
released as the ship moved off so that the bunting could be retrieved.
The launch time arrived - the lady named the ship - she swung the bottle at the
ship, but low and behold, it didn't break.
The workman 'standing by' up on the fo'c'sle released the lanyard (he couldn't
see that the bottle hadn't broken).
The bottle, now released, crashed to the bottom of the berth and luckily didn't
break.
Now it is always believed by the sailors and the owners that a ship which is not
properly christened will be a very unlucky ship.
Our shipwright Mr Johnson knew all about this superstition so he reacted
quickly, he picked up the bottle, ran down the berth after the ship which was
now gathering speed, flung the bottle as hard as he could - success!!. The
bottle shattered and the champagne contents were splashed all over the bow. The
ship was christened. This had been a very brave thing to do because of the risk
of personal injury, which could have been caused by flying blocks, wires or the
drag chains.
Mr Johnson was invited up on to the launch platform to meet the shipowners and
directors, but above all, the lady sponsor whose day had been saved.
They were all proud to shake the hand of - "A shipwright with bottle".
Thinking
On Thoughts
June 2005 by Val Atkinson
A friend once took students for a walk then asked them to write an account of
the event. None were the same or even remotely similar.
As a teacher my friend had watched how they walked, their awareness of
surroundings, and their interaction with walking companions.
STUDENTS WROTE OF:
The weather and a visual description of the journey
Group camaraderie
Memories evoked while walking down familiar streets
Beauties of park and wild life
Traffic problems
Sky colour/cloud formation
EVERYONE LEARNED THAT:
People see things through their own eyes
Though all experience the same physical journey, individual awareness and
thoughts are unique
Many children experienced a childhood in the North East England of the 1950’s,
so if you’re looking for something profound, press ‘delete’. If you’re
in the mood for nostalgia, dreams, memories and unique thoughts, read on.
In the 1950’s every Dad worked in the shipyards. All
Dads had jobs and all Mams stayed at home. Seven days work a week meant £8 and
a ‘flat’ week was £3.
7AM: GREAT EXODUS’ when Doors opened and slammed as workers hurried to the
yard gates
7.30AM: HOOTERS announced the start of work.
7.40AM: GATES LOCKED: Late arrivals lost half a day’s pay and had to be let in
by the gate man. Everyone got up by the hooters. Each shipyard had its own, and
the noise was deafening even from a distance. The men wore a ‘uniform’ of
leftovers from the war: army beret and greatcoat. All carried haversacks, and
billy cans to heat tea.
12 NOON: THE GREAT HOMECOMING: To a man they came home No one had packed lunches
in those days. Packed lunches were what we ate on the beach in the Summer.
We always had dessert, which was often custard, so that for years I thought all
desserts were called ‘custard’ even when they were rice pudding, semolina,
spotted dick or syrup sponge.
We were never asked what we wanted for dinner. It was dished up and eaten (no
nonsense) even if we didn’t like it. Likes and dislikes didn’t influence
menus.
Mam mashed turnip in with potatoes, which I hated, but that was the weekly cross
I had to bear, and bear it I did (every Tuesday if I remember rightly!).
After dinner we positioned ourselves strategically on the doorstep to get a
penny when Dad climbed over us to be away before the 1pm hooter.
We went to see ships launched at Readhead’s where Dad had worked since his
1946 demob. I thought he was in charge of the whole thing the same as at home.
The launches were great celebrations with crowds there to cheer the ship away,
and we waved at tiny figures high up on the deck, not knowing which one was Dad,
but pretending we did.
One launch I remember well was the ‘Apollon’ in 1957. She was huge and could
be seen way above houses and buildings as we walked down Reed Street to the
yard.
A ‘half shift’ overtime meant one of us would go to the shop for a loaf from
the noon baking. We waited as the bread came out, and brought it home wrapped in
tissue paper.
Mam cut thick slices and put boiled egg in straight away so the hot egg mingled
with the bread, and melted the butter the way Dad liked it. He always had the
same sandwiches for his half shift, and came home after our bedtime.
Sometimes he brought off cuts of wood for the fire (very illegal, but most men
did it, and found ways to get past the gate men who watched the departing
workers).
There was quite a contraband traffic of all sorts of this and that, but Dad only
brought wood. The time I leaned on the fireguard (which wasn’t there) is a
‘burning’ memory of splintering wood, sparks, and scorched backside.
He used leather patches to repair our shoes, and when he finished we wriggled
our feet to check no nails were sticking up. Sometimes they came through later:
agonising!
1950’s parents never had baths because they were never dirty!
We bathed once a week (Whether we needed it or not!) in a tin contraption that
hung on the back door. Water was heated on the gas stove in a huge iron bucket,
and all of us got in together with our knees to our chins. We were washed and
dried one at a time, so every once in a while we had a turn at stretching out
for a precious five minutes.
Mam washed on Monday using water heated in the ‘bath’ bucket. She soaked the
clothes then rubbed them up and down on the ridged porcelain sink, squeezed them
out by hand, and took them to the cellar where there was a huge ‘mangle’.
She ‘mangled’ them (put them through the wringer) then hung them in the back
yard to dry. The occasion I jammed my finger in the mangle while feeding the
sheets through is a separate (bloody/ squashy) painful episode.
We were lucky to have a large back yard. Some families had to hang washing in
the back lane and take it down every time the bin men, coal men, or rag men
shouted.
I HAVE A THOUSAND THINGS TO SAY.
WHY DO I WANT TO SAY THEM?
BECAUSE:
Quiet ordinary tales become extraordinary when viewed from the distance of
years.
No moment is ordinary, they’re all special
I want you to remember your uncomplicated past, glory in it, and write it down
as your ‘never ending story’, your eternal record.
No one in this world is quite like you, and your nostalgia is unique.
AND PERHAPS MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL:
Family history is anecdotes and nostalgia that generate facts and eventually
crystallise in a desire to discover the past.
This article is copyrighted by BA Research Services Ltd. and is used with
permission of the copyright owners.
Link to the article source;-
http://www.britishancestors.com/newsletter/archive/view.php?action=view&id=27
The photo above shows Apollon in Readheads drydock.
Typical street where
the shipyard workers lived.
The
Shipyard Community
A whole community of Readheads
workers lived within walking distance of the yard in row upon row of rented
terraced houses most of which consisted of an upstairs and a downstairs flat.
In 1947 I was born in a downstairs flat in South Eldon Street which was close to
the yard, and later we moved to a downstairs flat in nearby South Palmerston
Street. I can remember that it consisted of a living room, one bedroom and a
scullery with a sink and cold tap. At the rear was a shared yard with a flush
toilet situated in a draughty out-house and next to it the coalhouse. I can also
remember lying in bed at night and hearing mice scurrying across the canvas
floor. The reason why so many people kept a cat I suppose.
Most of the yard workers would have lived in similar housing. The sound of the
yard whistle could be heard clearly every day at start and finish times and at
break times....Ed.
Typical back lane and looking like it is about to be demolished. Note the coal house hatches in the wall.
The following reminiscences are a selection from a website 'lineone' submitted by Alex Patterson , a former Shields lad now living in Montreal,Canada. In it he gives an idea of what it was like around the Readheads area when he was a child;-
"In the photo with Readheads' offices and the bridge
between the two, you can see the sign for 'Cookson's' which was at the corner of
Anderson Street. I lived in the house next door to the bar, until I was two
years old, in a "single-enner", one room which was the living room,
bedroom, kitchen. The toilet was one of four further up the street, we had no
water in the house, and got that from a tap at the toilet. My first memory is of
a ship being launched. All I remember is the rusty dust and the mass of this
huge thing moving and the noise of the chains dragging through the yard and the
smell of tallow and rust. It really made an impression on me...I would be barely
three. Across Anderson Street from Cookson's was Charlton's the butcher, where I
would do odd jobs later in life, and next door to that was Fittes's restaurant,
that served sandwiches and tea-cakes and other things to the shipyard workers,
who didn't go into the pub. Across the back lane from Fittes's' was a tenement
building that fronted on Smith Street next to Robson's the boat-builders, where
I used to do sweeping up for free, just to have a look at the lifeboats in
progress. No wonder I became a Naval Architect. I can still smell the sawdust
and wood shavings and remember how clean the wood looked after it had been
dressed and planed.
Going back to the Readhead's photo the building at the centre right in the
background was the Neptune Hotel, where my Mum worked as a barmaid, until she
went into nursing. The landlords there were Billy and Evelyn Lamb, two really
nice people. Upstairs to the pub was an elegant reception room which was panelled
in mahogany and all of the cabinetry in both the bar and the reception room was
custom built to fit the curve of the building as it rounded onto Commercial
Road. It was a beautiful building.
The picture below shows the Neptune Hotel at the top of the road
Similar stories like this one are needed from anyone who worked at Readheads Yard. Send them to me at;- jbne17514@blueyonder.co.uk