The Plumbing Shop Cat
The Plumbing Shop Cat
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It was the late nineteen-fifties. In April.
Most of us had, in one way or another, been victims of the calamitous
Second World War, and Bertrand Russell was about to invent the
'Holocaust' with his new book as a new terror for the human race
for rest of the twentieth century.
Mind you, few of us at that time realised that we were to become
victims of the future. And, with the benefit of hindsight, we would
probably have voted for a different kind o' future given half-a-chance.
At that time my father worked in the goods receiving area of Fairfield's
Shipyard's Plumbing Shop. Now the Plumbing Shop was not about
Plumbing. Ye see, that's just what it was called.
In reality, it was his job to mark off huge castings with a Vernier height
gauge, hermaphrodite callipers and French chalk. It was a skilled job.
The whole idea was to ensure that there was enough metal on the
right places to guarantee that when say a propeller was being
bored, it would not be scrapped on account of machining metal
out of the wrong place. After all, time is money.
He had always had a love of animals like dogs and cats, and,
it fell to him to go into the yard during holidays with pints of milk
and wee odds and ends of food for the Shipyard cats.
He knew them all by name, and used to swear that they knew him.
Well, it so happened that he had his own personal cat in his hut.
He was called Barney.
Barney was a large orange coloured tomcat, who just knew that
he was no ordinary cat. He was a kind of 'aristocat' ye might say.
My father had arranged a drawer under his workbench as a wee bed,
and had lined it with old cardigans and jerseys. Barney appreciated this.
Sure, he used to sit on the top of the bench during the day purring his
big stupid big heid off.
Now, it turns out the new Quality Control Manager, with the unlikely
name of Mr Brass, was a stickler for punctuality, good order and above
all good appearances.
It was obvious that the sight of Big Barney, sitting on the bench,
purring his big stupid big heid off would be like a lighted blue touch
paper to Mr Brass.
And so it came to pass.
One day, it was a Tuesday, Mr Brass and the Senior Foreman were
touring the Shipyard looking for fault, the way managers do.
Looking at this, pointing at that, and talking as if the whole world
was stupid except them. You know what I mean.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye Mr Brass spotted Big Barney sitting
on the bench 'smiling', while my father whistled away marking off big
propeller forgings. Like a bat oot o' hell, he flew over to the bench and
gave my father a helluva dressing' doon aboot the cat...in public.
"Thur will be nae effin cats in the Plumbing Shop", He said it twice.
Well, that was a big mistake.
Without any further deliberation, my faither slapped his hermaphrode
callipers down on the marking table and strode off to inform the Union
Steward about this assault on the rights of the working man.
Before you could say Jack Robinson, the whole yard was alerted to
this most serious turn of events. Bob Brown's cat Barney was
catapulted intae the role of surrogate representative of the entire
British Working Class.
In a twinkling, Bob's cat became "the Yard's" cat, and then
the "Fairfield Cat". There was an unstoppable momentum in the
whole situation. By Thursday of the same week, there emerged a
standoff of monumental proportions as Barney symbolised the
heroic struggle of man against his master.
By mid-day Thursday, the entire workforce of the yard was
incensed, and a mass meeting was called. Welders, caulkers,
riveters electricians and engineers showed solidarity with the
Fairfied Cat. In an unprecedented act of defiance they gave
an uncompromising message through the Union Steward.
"If Barney is oot, the whole yard is oot !!"
"Nae cat, nae work.it's as simple as that."
By this time the yard's management, not least Mr Brass,
were holed up in the boardroom searching for a solution to the
dilemma. The Daily Record had caught wind of the story and
Fairfield's managers just prayed that this was not going to be the
latest farce in their catalogue of industrial relations disasters.
Meanwhile Barney just purred his big stupid heid off on the end
of the bench as usual.
A private message was slipped to Joe, the Union steward from
Big Harry, the Yard Superintendent, and a 'wee diplomatic chat'
behind closed doors was arranged.
Big Harry, astute, as ever laid it on the line.
"Joe, you and me baith know that, that bliddy cat will be the death o'
us all. If this gets oot o' hand every bliddy yard on the Clyde will be
shut doon afore the week's oot. Is that whit ye want."
Of course Joe was an old campaigner, not easily deflected.
He offered to have a wee quiet word with Mr Brass, the Quality Manager,
in private, if Harry didnae mind.
Big Harry and Joe had been apprentices together, so there was a healthy
respect between the two. Sure enough, before the day was out, Joe was
spotted in Mr Brass's office. Mr Brass was not his usual cocky self,
it was reported.
By the end of the shift, word was spread round the yard that Mr Brass,
Mr Brown, (my faither), and Joe the Union Steward would meet in the
Plumbing Shop Hut to discuss the matter, where Mr Brass would hope
to 'have a meeting of minds'. It appeared that Joe, whose name should
have been Solomon, was working a special kind of working class magic
spell on the whole situation.
That night, my father brought Barney home to our house for fear of
management reprisals. Barney just sat on my mother's coalbunker,
purring his big stupid heid off, while my father grew more and more
apprehensive.
On the Friday, at the appointed hour of ten o'clock, my agitated father
was waiting in the hut, when the punctual Mr Brass and Joe came in.
It was a tense moment that was relieved when Johnny Smart, the tea boy,
placed a nice brew-up in front of them. Johnny had the onerous
responsibility of making sure that Barney was nae where to be seen.
Now, it's a first rule of industrial relations, that humiliation gets
you nowhere and Joe was a seasoned negotiator.
"Robert, Mr Brass thinks there may have been a wee bit of a
misunderstanding aboot Barney the other day.
Isn't that right Mr Brass?"
"Oh aye Joe, yer right. It was a misunderstanding.
I apologise tae ye Robert for letting my blood pressure get the
better of me".
There was a silence, then my father said, after a wink from Joe,
"Aye that's okay Mr Brass, naebody's perfect", a wise remark
in any doubtful situation.
"Well ye see Robert, whit I really meant to say was, that
"Nae effin cats will be SEEN in the Plumbing Shop"
Suddenly, there was an outpouring of mutual understanding and relief.
"That's fine Mr Brass, well, can we take ye at yer word then?"
"Of course Joe", said the obviously relieved Mr Brass, and the
meeting was 'concluded'. He popped his head back in the door
and said " Can I tell big Harry we've reached agreement?"
Joe, to the eternal gratitude of Big Harry had exercised the cautionary
Wisdom of Solomon, and the 'class war' had been postponed.
The word quickly spread throughout the yard, and everybody got back
to normal, squabbling about other things.
A new kind of two-story cat box was quickly proccured from the yard's
Sheetmetal Shop, painted battleship grey and placed on the floor below
bench level. The same old cardigans and jerseys were placed inside and
the distinguished Barney took to his new accommodation with
enthusiasm.
The following Tuesday, on Mr Brass's next visit to the Plumbing Shop,
Mr Brass greeted my father courteously, and walked on contentedly.
Sure enough there were nae cats to be seen, but if you were quiet,
you could still hear Big Barney purring his big stupid heid off,
in his new two-story cat box.
In later years Fairfield's Shipyard merged with other yards to form
Upper Clyde Shipbuilders, and a future, we never got to vote on befell us.
One by one the Shipyards disappeared, and so did the cats.
But one thing is sure, my faither always smiled when he thought
of Big Barney, the Plumbing Shop Cat.
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Date:Fri, 3 Jun 2005 21:00:02 +0100
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