Tom Hepburn Apprenticeship

When I finished at Alan Glen Technical College in 1890 I enjoyed a short break cycling around the area. My cycle runs soon came to an end for my father told me that it was time I started work at a trade or profession. I told him I wanted to serve an apprenticeship as an engineer. The great majority of engineers in Glasgow were Mechanical Engineers in machine shops and shipyards. We made out a list of possible firms to apply to and my father and I went around calling at a few of the offices of these companies. It was only one or two afternoons a week that my father had time to come with me but we applied at Henderson’s Shipyard and several others. I got my name put down on lists of applications but we were usually told that many names of possible applicants were ahead of mine on their lists. It looked as if I would have to wait a long time to get a start but at one engineering shop called Mirrilees, Watson & Co., they told us that they had a branch shop in the next street called Watson, Laidlaw & Co. If

we applied to Mr. Laidlaw we might get a start there. We did go and there was an opening for an apprentice there. I was taken on with the understanding that I would start in their fitting shop and then their turning and pattern shop. In the last year I would be in the drawing office. We told Mr. Laidlaw that I wanted to be a draughtsman as I had some skill in drawing. So, that was the arrangement made. It was a five-year agreement and Laidlaw told me that any time I was off work would need to be made up at the end of the five years before I got my apprenticeship certificate.

So, the next week I began a strenuous life as an engineering apprentice (1891). I had to walk about two miles to a ferry across the Clyde at the foot of North Street and then another half mile on the south side of Glasgow to the engineering shops on Dundas Street. I had to be there every morning at 6:00am. I left the house on Carrington St. shortly after 5:00am. It took nearly an hour both coming and going. I carried a lunchbox with two meals in it. The breakfast hour was between 9:00 and 10:00 and lunch was between 1:00 and 2:00. The nine and one-half hour work day ended at 5:30pm and I was back home at 6:30pm or thereabouts. It was a long day for a green apprentice and the work in the shops was often hard and strenuous. Watson, Laidlaw & Co. were a go-ahead modern firm and their large workshop was known as the “palace” in the locality. The principal work was sugar making machinery and small, stationary steam engine building. Beginning in the year I started there cream separators were built by the hundred.

The main building was an immense square open to the glass roof fifty feet above. There were two travelling cranes spanning the space above, one on each side of the central pillars, that traveled backwards and forwards. Two very wide galleries all around the square building contained the turning lathes on the first floor. The pattern shop and cream separator assembly shop were on the floor above. The travelling cranes were level with the top gallery. The square ground floor (about 120 feet square) was for the assembly of the sugar machinery. Great copper hoppers 30 feet across, tanks, conveyors, centrifugal machines in lines of eight or ten and steam engine plants lined the floor. The fitter’s benches with vices ran down the middle against the central row of pillars. The travelling cranes were for lifting the heavy castings, forgings, etc, into place for the assembly of the machinery, engines, etc. The heavier lathes were on the ground floor under the first gallery.

It was a well laid-out machine shop and the works manager could supervise all that was going on from his glass office at the center of one of the offices. Behind the main building there were two adjoining buildings. One was a foundry with about 50 men. The other was a blacksmith shop with 10 or 12 forges, steam hammers and the latest blacksmith tools.

In one corner of the ground floor under the lower gallery was a large steam engine that drove all the machinery of the shop. The steam boilers were outside in a boiler room in the yard. The steam engine applied its power through immense, grooved wheels that took 14 x 1-1/2 inch diameter hemp ropes. There was no electrical power in these days. Today, each lathe or milling machine would have its own electrical motor and there would only be wires running along the ceiling instead of the shafts, pulleys and leather belts of former times.

At first, I thought the shop was a noisy place. The banging of hammers, the pounding of the copper smiths, the screech of the turning lathes and the hammering from the blacksmith shop mingled with the squeal of a circular saw in the carpenter shop. Added to this was the continual swish and groan of the leather belts, the rattle of the travelling cranes along with the noise from a few hundred lathes and machine gears rattling was continuous. If you wanted your voice to be heard by your neighbour you had to shout in his ear. However, one got used to the noise and coming out into the street at the end of the day there seemed to be something sinister in the quietness there that took some time to get accustomed to.

My first year in the fitting shop went past quickly. There were about eight other apprentices and a dozen journeymen or fitters as we called the grownups. I was taken in hand by ‘Jimmy the Crank’, the oldest of the journeymen. The foreman of the shop was a tall, bearded man who gave his orders to the journeymen and seemed to leave them to handle the apprentices themselves. One of the fitters whose nickname was ‘Jimmy the Smasher’ was the only one the apprentices avoided. He was always in trouble from breaking tender pieces of machinery that he was working with and nobody would stay with him as his helper. He eventually was fired for one too many breakages.

There was one job that the apprentices turned into a race to see who could finish first. This was the cutting of large oval holes in the bottoms of sugar mixers. These were huge tanks for breaking up the sugar pulp. These tank mixers were long containers made of ¾ inch steel plates and were about 40 feet long by 12 feet wide with holes for the sluice valves every five feet along the bottom. These holes were oval shaped to fit the castings outside and were about 15 inches by 10 inches. The immense mixer tank was turned upside down by the crane and then the holes were marked off and the apprentices climbed up to sit astride legs on the rounded bottom at each of the eight holes. With diamond pointed chisel they first cut along the line right around the large oval. Then with a flat chisel to drive the slot through. Whoever was done first with the edges of the hole filed smooth won the prize of a clap on the back from the foreman. One time the oldest apprentice, Jim Gourlay, took the wrong line in attempting to be first. There was a great to-do with much swearing from the foreman and the works manager who came down to see what the delay was. After some discussion it was decided to repair the misplaced 6-inch slot by riveting a piece of steel over the spot. After the slot was covered and filed it was daubed with paint by the foreman. News of the mishap was kept from the office and Jim Gourlay was sufficiently contrite to prevent further swear words coming his way.

Shortly after starting in the fitting shop, I took a cold from travelling in winter months. The ferry across the Clyde had no shelter, only an open deck with a vertical boiler and engine amidships and that winter had many icy blasts. I was also careless about carrying my waterproof coat when the weather required it.

I was off work about two weeks and got back on the job again feeling rather peaked and tired. The first morning I was not very busy and had the misfortune to get caught by the boss, Mr. Laidlaw, with my hands in my pockets trying to warm them. What a fright I got when Laidlaw came up unexpectedly and shouted in my ear, “Take the hands out of the pockets or I’ll get them sewed up.” When he went further away old ‘Jimmy the Crank’ who had overheard the castigation shook his fist and swore some of his lurid sentences and then said to me, “Why didn’t you say you had been sick Jimmie?” My nickname at school of ‘Heppy’ was no longer used – I was known as ‘Jimmie’ in the shop.

One day all the apprentices agreed to go up town one Saturday afternoon to a photographer and get our pictures taken. It turned out to be a more elaborate photo than I expected and I just had an old jacket on under my grey overcoat. When the photographer asked for all coats to be taken off, I refused to remove mine knowing my jacket was not as respectable as the others. So, there I am sitting in a grey coat in the middle of the group. It reminds me every time I look at it of my foolishly stubborn crankiness. It shows my lower jaw jutting out in a belligerent fashion. I am very sorry now that I didn’t write the names of these fellow apprentices on the back of the photo because now, I have forgotten them.

After my strenuous first year in the fitting shop, I was transferred to the pattern shop up on the top gallery (1892). Two stairways had to be climbed to get there passing first through a long room filled with wooden patterns up to the ceiling. There were about eight large, double work benches in the shop with circular saws, bandsaws, planers and wood lathes. I got one side of a bench for myself with a journeyman patternmaker called Jim Montgomery on the other side. Jim was a short man and a good worker but he liked to tease his apprentice often. We were often at loggerheads but he never lost his temper at my back talk. Although I often got a whack from a chisel handle or a piece of wood when I hadn’t followed his orders properly. He was always nimble at ducking my return slap but one time I got in a smart blow and in return I got a black eye. Jim was quite sorry for this and gave me a wet cloth to hold on it to reduce the dingy colour. I was Jim’s partner for three years. At the end of that time I could make any kind of pattern from drawings supplied by the drafting office, turning the round parts on a lathe or making the other parts at the bench. These patterns were then moulded in boxes of sand in the foundry to cast the hot metal.

The pattern could be used for hundreds of castings. The castings were mostly cast iron but sometimes cast steel was specified or brass or gun metal. There were no aluminum castings in those days. Patternmakers had to use special foot rules because allowance had to be made for contraction with cooling.

The foreman patternmaker was a little stout, red-haired man called Wylie. He was always in a hurry and had a nervous and worrying disposition. He was a good draughtsman, however, and could make neat sketches to elaborate the draughtman’s drawings that came from the office. He often overlooked my shortcomings and didn’t bawl me out very severely when I happened to be late of a morning or happened to make a slip in my measurements. I had another apprentice at another bench, Mathew Wilson, who used to travel home on the same ferry with me. Mathew was a good worker. He was also interested in cricket and got me to come and learn cricket on Saturday afternoons.

In my last year in the pattern shop a young apprentice named Alfred Carruthers started there. Several others started during my three-year term but he is the one I stayed in contact with the longest. Alfred was the younger son of the head of an engineering works in Glasgow: Carruthers & Son, Pump Makers. The father had a small but complete works that supplied most of the shipyards with the many ancillary pumps used aboard the ships being built. Alf was a very handsome fellow and a good comrade. He seemed to take a liking for me and asked me to his parent’s house in a small part of Glasgow near Queen’s Park. I also had him out at Lochwinnoch occasionally and we went fishing in the River Calder there. He and I once went on a fishing expedition to the Tweed and we stopped a night at Aunt Lockhart’s cottage at Biggar on the way there. We were going to fish all night where we went but it turned out to be a wet night so we lost taste for the venture. It was too late to catch a train back to Biggar ten miles away. I decided to get a bed at a friend of my father’s, Robert Hanihead of Kilbucko Farm near Broughton. We got there about midnight and knocked on the farmhouse door. We did get a bed and a fine breakfast the next morning. Alf was almost recovered and ready for the six mile walk from there to Biggar. We didn’t go on any more fishing expeditions together as Alf had not the enthusiasm necessary for these hikes.

The next time I went on a fishing trip to Biggar I was alone and stopped at Aunt Lockhart’s a day longer than my railway excursion ticket allowed. I had forgotten about the ticket until I came to the station at Glasgow (Eglinton St. Station) where tickets were lifted. I was a very fortunate fellow for I had got started talking before that to a stout young lady on the opposite seat. She told me she was a cook for a well-to-do family in Glasgow and had been home near Wishaw to see her people. So, I had to tell her all about my fishing trip. When the collector came round to each compartment he demanded the extra fare for my lapsed ticket. I searched all my pockets but found I had spent everything. I felt my face getting red but I had found a friend for a well filled purse was pushed into my hand. A stout voice said, “Just take what you need.” The collector took the money with a smile but said nothing. On the next payday I made a point of going out to the Hillhead district to the address that I had asked the nice girl to give me. I returned her two shillings that I had borrowed. In her cook’s uniform she looked a little older than she did on the train. She and one of the maids gave me a pleasant reception with a cup of strong tea. These good deeds from strangers live long in the memory.

I forgot to mention that I attended evening classes at the Glasgow Technical College in advanced engineering subjects for the first two years of my apprenticeship. In the first year the classes were three nights a week. During the second year they were just two nights a week. They were held in the college building close to the Glasgow Municipal Hall on Great George Street. They were large classes with university professors as teachers. However, I did not make as much success there as I had at Allen Glen’s School. Two hours in the evening from 7:30 to 9:30 after a long day’s work and a mile and a half to walk to and from class was a bit much for a growing lad. I often caught myself nodding off in class when the professor's voice became monotonous. The second year's work was money wasted as I gave up before the end of the session.

Only one thing was in my favour at that time. I kept clear of bad company and I found that books were the best and most fascinating company in the world. I became interested in the wars between England and Scotland. Also, I read a book or two on the Crimean and Peninsular Wars. From these I got the notion that I should have been a soldier. That idea got such a hold that I mentioned it once to my mother. I told her that I was tired of the long hours working in the pattern shop. “What do you want to do then?” asked my mother in an exasperated tone of voice. “I want to be a soldier,” I said. Then I got such a blast of ridicule and plain speaking that I never mentioned the subject again. The idea faded more rapidly than it had arisen.

My father had died in 1994 and my mother decided to sell the grain store and relocate from Glasgow to Lochwinnoch in 1995. Before moving she looked around for lodgings for me near my work. I think she had an ad in the papers for lodgings for an apprentice and fixed on a home in Eglinton Street. She saw that I was installed and comfortable in my small bedroom rented from a working couple. I have forgotten their names but I had room and board for 12/- per week. That was all I was making as an apprentice so there was nothing left for expenses. When I took a weekend out to Lochwinnoch I had to get the train fare from a savings account my mother kept in my name.

I was now twenty years of age (1895) and all on my own living in lodgings and my mother and sister twenty miles away. My memory of these days is rather dim. I finished my three years in the pattern shop of Watson, Laidlaw & Co.. I then began to think about applying to get into the drawing office as Laidlaw had promised this job for the last year of my apprenticeship. Laidlaw had retired from his position as Manager and another man was in his place. The foreman still kept his office as a director although he was not present there every day. I spoke to the Manager about getting transferred one time. He was not very sanguine about starting another youngster in the drawing office. He said young Bennett (a son of the works manager) did all that was required of a junior draughtsman. However, he took me along to Mr. Laidlaw’s office and we found him there. Laidlaw looked at me when he heard my request. He said with a scowl, “I remember nothing about promising you a year in the drawing office. What is your name anyway?” I told him and he looked at the manager. “No. I never promised anything of the kind. It is not customary.” I mentioned that my father was with me when I was taken on and one year in the drawing office was mentioned because I had done so well in drawing at Allen Glen’s Technical School. “Oh, you came from Allen Glen’s?” said the manager. “Yes, and my father is dead now. So, I can’t have him here to have his opinion.” “Well,” said Laidlaw, “It looks like we will have to do something about it. What do you say?” turning to the manager. “He can work with young Bennett. It is the only vacant table.” “All right,” said Laidlaw, “See that you work, young man.” …and that was that.

Foreman Wylie and the journeymen pattern makers gave me a good send off. Wylie even mentioned that he hoped I wouldn’t forget to visit them occasionally. My apprentice pay was not increased any. It was only 12/- a week still and I had to work another year for that remuneration.

The Chief Draughtsman was Mr. McLaughlan, a capable fellow but he did not take much interest in his apprentices. There were only two of us anyway among a dozen draughtmen. Young Bennett and I worked at the same table each having a drawing board. Our principal work was writing out bills of material for machine drawings. These were usually copied from previous lists or from rough lists made out by the draughtsman. Occasionally we had a drawing to finish up, usually a copy from an older drawing. The lists of material had to be written out in copying ink, checked and then taken into the tracer’s room to be copied in a press. This was worked by the youngest and huskiest of the girl tracers.

There were six girl tracers who traced drawings on tracing cloth. There were very few blueprints used by Watson, Laidlaw & Co. Tracings were sent out with every order of sugar machinery and the six girls with one older one in charge were quick and skillful at tracing in coloured inks. Tracings were even used in the shop for assembly purposes.

Young Bennett who had more assurance than I had and had teased most of the girls in the room took me in to introduce me to the head tracer. I was struck dumb when they all stopped work to smile and have a good look at the new apprentice. I nearly went out without handing my bill of material to the stout lassie at the copying press. Then she had to ask me, “How many copies do you want, Mr. Hepburn?” I managed to say,” Six” before Bennett chipped in with: “He is not Mr. Hepburn, Bella. He is just ‘Jimmy’. I got on with the tracers all right after that but the one in charge kept a close eye on our doings. There was no talking outside business allowed. Bella had to toe the line as well but she had a mischievous eye. I met her years later at a Y.M.C.A. gathering and she had to tell me her name. I had forgotten her altogether but the squeeze of a warm hand forgave me.

I really felt up in the world when working in the office with a white collar on, giving instructions to girl tracers and going in and out the companies front door instead of the worker’s entrance where a brass check had to be given to the door keeper each time. The draughtsmen kept good time without brass checks as McLaughlan had a rasp of a tongue if anyone was late. He needed it for himself too as he had the reputation of a gay man about town and Bennett could tell stories of his tickling the girl tracers when they had to work late. I didn’t believe all that Bob Bennett talked about, however.

The draughtsman at the table next to ours was an engineer from Poland. His English was quite good but his hair was always cropped short and stood on end. We asked him about it one day and he said that all Poles did their hair that way to let the Russians know that Poland never forgot. We didn’t see the connection at the time. I never found out how he spelled his name but it ended with –ski.

The time came when my five years apprenticeship was near an end but I made a painful discovery when I spoke to Bob Bennett about it. “You better count twice before you go to the office, Jimmy.” “How so?” I said. “My five years are up next month.” “May be,” said Bob. “Were you ever off ill or took a holiday anytime?” I admitted I had been off a few weeks every year. “Well,” said Bob with a smile, “You have all that to make up.” There was no help for it. I had about three months’ time to make up for the times I had been off work in the five years. Even the times I had been late in the morning were added up. However, at long last the time arrived when my full five years were behind me (1897).