大象传媒

鈥淗ow many thous in an inch?鈥� he barked. I was absolutely terrified. There were three of us standing there and him glaring at us as though we were fools. It was Norah who was first to be questioned and then Helen and then me. Norah didn鈥檛 answer at all 鈥� she just stood there petrified. Helen suggested 鈥渕aybe a hundred?鈥� When he pointed the blunt end of his fountain pen at me I tried 鈥渁 thousand?鈥� 鈥� a wild guess. He grunted, turned, and left. It was 1940 and we three girls had met for the first time about 15 minutes ago, inside the main entrance to this custom-built ultra modern factory. There were about thirty womens there that morning, having been conscripted and ordered to report at 7:45 a.m. We were to contribute to the war effort by manufacturing compasses, sights, altimeters and binnacles. The factory had been built well out of the city and had been in operation on this new site for several months.

The letter arrived and I reported to the Ministry of Labour. It was just your luck where you were posted (the girl behind me had to go to an aircraft factory in England). I'd arrived at the factory, been issued with a clock鈥攊n card and then dispersed to the 'shops'. This word 鈥榮hop鈥� was a bit of a puzzle 鈥� some girls were sent to the Assembly Shop, some were sent to the Finishing Shop, some to the Spray Shop and we three to the Engineering Shop. We made our way along towards the terrible noise coming from the Engineering Shop and just stood there.

This shop was a huge bay. The noise was deafening. There were massive lathes at the entrance, becoming smaller further up the bay. The foreman鈥檚 office was on a raised platform in the centre of the shop. He could observe every part of it from his glass eyrie. He came down when he saw us at the entrance.

The look he gave us as he approached was enough to let us know that we were certainly not wanted but it wasn鈥檛 our fault since the Ministry had forced us upon him. He was the epitome of the very best in Clydeside Precision Engineering and war or no war he did not want women in his shop! He was not a tall man 鈥� he had a bullet-shaped head and slightly protruding eyes. He wore a black jacket and there were pens and wee metal rulers in his top pocket. Presence he had in abundance. I had to slave under his wrath for all the war years. And although I became accustomed to his boorish ways, I was always scared stiff of him. And yet there was something dignified too about him I suppose it was that great gift of pride in his work and in his department. I think I saw him smile once when some people from the Navy were up in his eyrie talking to him. Womens began to arrive in his department every day 鈥� within a year about 40% of his charges were women.

He left us standing there 鈥� we looked at each other in our new blue overalls provided by the Ministry and our hats with a peak at the front (rather like a baseball cap) but with a net at the back 鈥� all hair had to be tucked in back and front! We had had no opportunity to look at ourselves in a mirror after these had been issued and we all looked a fright. We were all about nineteen and about as mature as 10 year-olds nowadays.

We were still standing there when a tall man came down the shop towards us. 鈥淗ello girls, come with me鈥�. He was wearing a brown lab coat and had our names on a piece of paper. 鈥淲ho鈥檚 who?鈥� he asked and we whispered our names. He took us up the bay and along a passage and then we were each shown a locker and a turret lathe. None of us had ever seen such machines before but no time was wasted. We were instructed how to use the machines and given very clear demonstrations on how to set up chucks, reamers, drills 鈥� tools for making beautiful threads on metal and tools for knurling. We also had to learn about the metals we would be using 鈥� brass, soft brass, and naval brass copper. By tea break I had made a beautiful brass bolt with a broad thread and a knurled head 鈥� this was engineering! The great relief was that Helen and Norah were on either side of me busy learning and glad of each other being so nearhand.

On that day we had two breaks, one at 12:30 p.m. for about an hour and one at 5:30 p.m. for about 45 minutes. Once and only once a week we were allowed to finish at 5 o鈥檆lock and all other week-nights we had to work till 8:45 p.m. This meant leaving home at 6:45 a.m. and arriving back home at 10 p.m.

We were permanently tired. The hours were quite nonsensical yet none of us had the wit to object 鈥� it was a time when you obeyed. Travelling home after a long day shift, or worse after a night shift, it was impossible to stay awake on the bus and you had to depend on the conductress getting you off at the right stop 鈥� otherwise you could add hours to the day, waking up at the terminal miles away from home. It happened to me and many of my workmates.

In no time at all we could use to micrometer, the vernier, read a blueprint and appear at the stores window requesting material for the job order, like a time-served engineer.

After four weeks of day shift we worked four weeks of night shift. Night shift was from 8:45 p.m. until 7:40 a.m. The only night in the week you did not work was Saturday. Much of my night shift in the early years of the war was spent in the air raid shelter. We had an air raid shelter at home 鈥� an Anderson shelter, in the back garden but by strange coincidence I was never in it 鈥� I was always on night shift during those raids.

We were very weary young women. The one thing that caused apathy and lethargy was the long, long hours. I began to feel I could have packed the whole thing in but there鈥檚 no doubt that there was this feeling of loyalty and patriotism and you just had to put up with it. On night shift you had 鈥榖reakfast鈥� at midnight. (I hated nightshift. No matter how much sleep I had had during the day by 3 a.m. I was spent.) At breakfast out would come the letters from the boyfriends, the fianc茅s and husbands. They would be read out and then we would discuss the war and when oh when would it be over and would it never end. Breakfast would be spam and chips with tea with dried milk and saccharin. I don鈥檛 think I鈥檝e ever tasted anything so foul as that wartime tea in the middle of the night in that canteen. We would talk wistfully of this thing called your 鈥榬elease鈥�. In order to obtain your 鈥榬elease鈥� you had to appear before a board and then another board and maybe even another board.

So, it wasn鈥檛 worth your while, was it? I never even investigated properly 鈥� I never ever heard of anyone getting their 鈥榬elease鈥� 鈥� it was a bit like doing time.

There were all sorts of things going on to keep us happy. ENSA would appear now and again and sing songs up on the stage while we were having lunch 鈥� the dreaded spam and the mysterious Shepherd鈥檚 Pie. The food was pretty awful and the ENSA singers were pretty awful too. Womens up there screeching 鈥淗appy days are here again鈥�, 鈥淏luebirds over the white cliffs of Dover鈥� and men tap-dancing. I used to think 鈥榳hy are they not in here working鈥� because I could sing better that that. Sometimes Lady Somebody would appear on stage and there would be silence because she looked so good and would be dressed beautifully and even the males would be attentive but it would be the female employees, as she referred to us, that she wanted to pay attention because she would be returning tomorrow with an interesting demonstration immediately after we finished our spam and a large room was to be set aside for this business. 鈥淚鈥檓 not going鈥�, 鈥淣either am I鈥�, 鈥淢e neither鈥� and we鈥檇 settle down for a quick game of Whist or Pontoon before going back to our work with indigestion. The next day Lady was there waiting to demonstrate to us. The one I remember most was how to make a handbag out of an old coat or skirt. Handbags were scarce, sure. Her handbag was real leather and she was dressed to kill. We all promised to bring in an old coat next week. We thought she was cuckoo but how much was she being paid we wondered.

A notice appeared in the canteen one day that FIRST AID RED CROSS LECTURES were starting on Tuesdays at 7:15p.m. A doctor, a nurse and a man from the St. Andrew鈥檚 Ambulance Association would be present, it said. I coaxed a few of my friends to enrol but no one was interested 鈥� neither was I really but you were allowed away from your work early. So I thought, 鈥渢hat鈥檚 for me!鈥�. I started the lectures and began to enjoy them so much that when on night shift I arrived at 7:15 so I would not miss the lecture. I even swotted on the bus to remember the names of the bones; humerus, radius, femur, ulna, tibia, fibula. I was learning something that I enjoyed much more than engineering. We practiced bandaging and splinting on make-believe injuries. I loved it; sat the exam, got a certificate and then onto more complicated stuff about the effects of gas after an air raid. I was now the proud owner of a Red Cross Badge and a tin helmet with a red cross painted on the front of it. I kept the helmet on the bottom shelf of my locker 鈥� I got enough ribbing about the badge. I thought about going before the RELEASE board and joining the Army Forces Nursing Unit but I was earning a very good pay which was needed at home. I already had three brothers away on active service so I decided to stay at the factory. The highlight of my Red Cross days was the occasion when Her Majesty the Queen and members of the city Council and the Provost visited and we had to give a demonstration of how we would cope in an air raid. There was an empty field beyond the factory perimeter and it a make-believe crater was cordoned off. The dignitaries were all seated and we were around the back of the factory in lorries with our Red Cross helmets on and rucksacks full of bandages and splints 鈥� the injured were already laid out here and there. I still remember jumping out of the lorry and running the wrong way to my pre-selected patients through the crater 鈥� we had been given very strict orders about how to reach the injured and NEVER to cross the crater 鈥� go around the edge! Very dirty looks from the St. Andrew鈥檚 Ambulance man. Anyway we splinted and slung broken bits, soothed burnt bits, then got them onto stretchers to the claps and cheers of Royalty and the Rest, then back in to the lorry and round the corner. Every time I see Dad鈥檚 Army I think of that day.

As a Red Cross Badge holder I came into action in Air Raids. They always occurred on my night shifts. In the early forties these lasted from about 9 p.m. until the early hours of the morning; maybe around 6 a.m. when the ALL CLEAR would be sounded. The raid would begin with an announcement over the tannoy; Air Raid warning 鈥極range鈥� and I think civilians would be making their way to the shelters at that point. Next would be Air Raid warning 鈥楻ed鈥�. We would then be prepared to abandon our workplace. Air Raid warning 鈥楽carlet鈥� meant 鈥榤ake your way to the shelters鈥�. The shelters were at the rear of the factory. They were clean and comfortable and had toilets and facilities for making hot drinks. There was a look-out point where the warden could raise a roof-flap; a very heavy round door. I was allowed to look out very carefully. The drone of the ers and strange bumping noises could be heard. This was the Luftwaffe attacking the Clyde Shipyards. I could see the whole North side of the river and the fires burning.

Another person I was terrified of was Mrs. Cartwright. Now Mrs. Cartwright had nothing to do with the production of scientific instruments but her position was just as important as any of the other people who were 鈥榠n charge鈥�. She was controller of the ladies toilets. I look back now in astonishment at the whole business. The toilets were a dream. You opened the door and there she was in a tiny office - it was about the area of a telephone booth 鈥� wooden at the bottom and glass from waist-height, with a bit of wood that acted as a desk 鈥� a note book on it and a fountain pen. Sometimes she would write something down whilst looking at you. I never ever found out what she wrote but I always wondered. The place was always clinically clean. There was a long row of white porcelain sinks with chrome taps - the rest of the world had brass taps 鈥� and above each sink there were containers with liquid soap which when you tapped it swung round! We imagined this was what it would be like in Hollywood. Then there was a towel on a roller which you pulled and got a perfectly dry clean bit to yourself! A visit to the toilet was quite an experience - the only off-putting bit was Mrs. Cartwright. There had been rumblings that girls had been spending too much time in the toilets 鈥� there鈥檚 a war to be fought you know 鈥� and then there was some kind of encounter between a union rep and Management and a ridiculous decision was arrived at about timing 鈥� if I can recall accurately we were allowed eight minutes. I had such admiration for the girls who would defy her in her office by going slowly into their overall pockets and producing lipstick and face powder and comb and casually concentrate on making themselves more beautiful. There were others who would lean nonchalantly with their backs to the sinks and take out their fags and matches and light up and still looking over at her in the box blow out! I would never have had the courage to do such things. I had a feeling my name was in her book. Sometimes she would appear out in the factory strutting smartly through the bays. She was such an imposing sight that we all noticed her and would look at each other making signs and asking 鈥漺hat鈥檚 up?鈥� 鈥淲here鈥檚 she going?鈥� 鈥渟omebody鈥檚 getting reported!鈥�, 鈥渉ope it鈥檚 not me鈥�. She wore a Rinso white overall and could have passed as the Chief Lady Surgeon in Glasgow. Then one day she had a wee notice in her wee office about a fayre that was to take place for wool for knitting balaclavas and socks for soldiers. Anything that could be sold would be welcome, it said. For some strange reason I wanted to be approved of by Mrs. Cartwright so I asked my mother if there was anything at all in the house I could take for the fayre. We looked around and Mother said I could take that for she had no use for it and wasn鈥檛 even sure what it was. It was a large bottle, like a HP sauce bottle, only bigger and the label said 鈥淐amp Coffee Chicory鈥�. The label was very faded 鈥� it looked like it had been in the cupboard since the First World War. Anyway, I put it in my bag, hid it in the bottom shelf of my locker and on my next visit to the toilet slipped it to Mrs. Cartwright. There was an uneasy atmosphere 鈥� I could feel something was up 鈥� girls were looking and signalling to each other. I looked around and there she was in her snow-white overall with her shiny beads and earrings and bangles heading along my passage and stopped at ME! 鈥淢ary鈥�, she said. MARY - she knew my name! 鈥淲here on earth did you get that Camp Coffee. I鈥檝e not been able to get it since the war started.鈥� I said 鈥渕y mother gave it to me鈥�. 鈥淎re you sure, Mary? Did your mother get it on her ration book? If I get the coupons, could she get me some?鈥� 鈥� Yes, I鈥檒l ask my mother鈥�. Every eye in the place was on me.
The fayre was held at the back of the canteen after dinner one day. There was no Camp Coffee for sale.
As well as Camp Coffee most commodities were scarce; tea, sugar, ham, eggs, butter, oranges, bananas, coal, blankets, soap and paint 鈥� paint has a particular memory for me. I came home from work one night and my mother was telling me she had to call in the plumber to fix a tap and they were chatting and she was lamenting about the state of her kitchen and he told her about a man he knew who had a brother-in-law who worked down the Clyde in the shipyards and could maybe do something. Well, the upshot of that was that I came home from work a few nights later and there she was exhausted but very pleased with her kitchen and bathroom painted in top to bottom in 鈥榖attleship grey鈥�. The house reeked for weeks after this operation. It took a great deal of paint remover and energy to remove the stuff in later years yet even now in the nineties when doing up the kitchen or bathroom a wee bit of battleship grey still peeps through. Memories.

Nowadays the years seem to fly but the war years certainly did not. The early forties were long, waiting years 鈥� waiting for some sign of hope. There was despondency creeping in. We were working so hard yet no victory or end of war was in sight but then one day there was a very important announcement over the tannoy that we had been victorious at El Alamein. This was early in 1943. A surprising number of my workmates had relatives in the eighth army. As short time after that in April 1943 I came home from work one morning and it was a Monday and there was a telegram to say my brother had been killed in action out in Burma. A terrible sadness penetrated through us and even the very stones of the house and the garden were gloomy and a bewilderment about the whole retched business of war and what on earth was a big handsome lad like Terence doing out here anyway fighting Japanese. I returned to work after staying at home to be with my mother for a time. There is a strange vacuum when someone you love dearly dies very far away without any hope of having the ritual of the funeral. There is never any finality to it. Hope always keeps seeping through, even decades later. Acceptance only of a sort may come eventually only because of time which has a sort of healing.

I remember vividly the morning of June 6th 1944 when all machinery had to be switched off for a special report. I think it was Andrew Snag, a familiar voice on radio to say that it had happened 鈥� our troops had landed in France. The Invasion was on! I still had two brothers on active service. There were not many smiles. We were too well aware of the terrible task ahead for our soldiers, sailors and airmen in Normandy. No complaints at all and no noise in the canteen, that day. After the Armistice when the true horrors of the Holocaust and the appalling treatment the prisoners had to endure in the Far East, my lot at the factory with long hours and exhaustion seemed trivial compared with what had been going on.

It鈥檚 the nineties now and this war-torn century will soon be over 鈥� it鈥檚 almost sixty years ago yet oddly enough it鈥檚 becoming still fresher in my mind. I felt quite relaxed recently while listening to a general knowledge quiz. 鈥淲hat took place in June 6th, 1944?鈥�. 鈥淒on鈥檛 know鈥�, was the reply. Well, maybe I wouldn鈥檛 know the date of Culloden or Bannockburn

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