Last updated at 10:29, Wednesday, 19 May 2010

Memories of Smith Brothers

bygone industry: Taken outside Smith Brothers’ factory entrance at North Shore in the 1940s. On the left sharing a joke is Len Watson's dad and the chap in the centre, looking down, is John Nichol, while the man with the shovel is Billy Bland.

ANYONE with a nostalgic soul has special memories. A first love, a first car, a special gift, an important wedding... and then there was that initial foray into the big wide world of work, your first job.

Mine arrived in August 1951 when, fresh-faced and wet behind the ears, I went straight from school to join the industrial empire that was Smith Brothers’ printing firm located on North Shore at Whitehaven.

It was situated right opposite the entrance to what was Pattinson’s Flour Mill, later to become the Quaker Oats factory.

Going to work at Smith’s for me meant upholding a family tradition. In 1951, my Dad and two uncles worked there, together with my older brother Ted and his fiancé Sally Windward.

I believe my Mum was also working there when she met by Dad in around 1920. She was initially employed making paper bags by hand, however paper bag making had advanced apace by the 1950s. Four Beasley French machines were producing between two and three million paper bags every day when I joined the company.

As part of my apprenticeship I served six months making and printing paper bags. The actual printing was by means of a flexographic process using aniline ink. As my Dad had decades of experience I had the very best of tuition in the paper bag line. This was invaluable when the family eventually moved to Kent, and Dad and I carried on the trade with a local Kent firm.

It was a poignant occasion when Dad left Smith’s after more than 30 years service – I well remember all the girls crying. That in itself made a lasting impression on me.

However, my own six-year apprenticeship was in the letterpress department. Some of my colleagues I remember were: Stan Greaves, Kenny Byers, Walter Colquoun, John Nichol, Harry Henderson and Stan Mossop.

After school hours, the long factory day took its toll and some getting used to, and I often fell asleep as soon I got home after my first days on the shop floor. The hours were from 8am till 6pm, five days a week with one hour for lunch – all for the princely sum of 31 shillings per week (£1-55p).

As well as the letterpress and paper bag departments, there were the lithograph and bookbinding departments, and a section that made bags for loose tea – with strange sounding names such as Mazawattie, Canchu and Hornimans.

Each department had its own cacophony of sound. The tea bag machines sounded like the incessant rattle of cutlery (which reminded me of the British Restaurants of the time). The letterpress machines had their own particular rhythmic droning sound as the presses came in contact with the ink rollers. However, the bag machine noises eclipsed all. Each machine sounded like the rat-a-tat of a machine gun and took some getting used to. It’s hardly surprising that both Dad and I were to develop hearing problems later on.

As the youngest apprentice I was the ‘Printer’s Devil’ and a victim of various pranks especially in the first few days. As one who was green and innocent I dutifully trotted off to the stores when despatched to get some tartan ink – and it took me months to live that one down.

There was the usual factory banter, but all in all everyone got on well; everyone knowing their own jobs and tackling them with efficiency and good humour.

After a few months I was deemed proficient enough to manage my own printing press. It was a small ‘Falcon’ flatbed automatic press, and on it I produced hundreds of labels and letterheads. It gave me enormous satisfaction to print such colourful work, but I couldn’t envisage then that the same productions that took many hours to prepare, would one day take only minutes on a computer.

The actual Smith brothers in the 1950s were Brian and Jimmy Smith.

Mr Brian buzzed around in a small Fiat car and as he was well over six feet tall, it was amusing to see him levering himself in and out of it; and of course foreign cars were somewhat of a novelty in the early 1950s. The brothers patrolled the factory almost daily and generally got in the way of the printers and the printing process itself, but on the whole they were pleasant and friendly.

And they were certainly generous to me, for I was ill with TB for five months and they paid my wages in full every week. Because of my illness, I missed out on my National Service. It was the time of the Korean War so I didn’t particularly mind!

The foreman of the bookbinding department was Mr Wigham who lived near us on Bransty. He and Dad were great friends and colleagues of long standing. Mr Wigham’s son, Leslie, wrote a book about the long history of Smiths, a company that was established in 1880.

I played in the Smith’s cricket team and we were quite successful and of course, as supplier of the kit, Mr Brian was a prominent member of the team. We played (18 over) evening games at venues such as the Whitehaven CC ground, St Bees, and the Recreation Ground on Coach Road. We were weary playing after work, but we were young and enthusiastic and we loved it.

The whole experience of my first job was a memorable one, even the cold winter mornings walk to work down Bransty Hill caught in the ice cold sea spray coming off the Solway, and then the sounds and smells of the factory that were a constant accompaniment to the camaraderie and industrial learning of my teenage years.

First published at 15:45, Wednesday, 05 August 2009
Published by http://www.whitehavennews.co.uk