PERSONAL EXPERIENCE.
Like most boys in the area where I lived, I left school at 15. My
first job was as the boay in the time office in Fairfield's Shipyard in
Govan, Glasgow. On turning 16 I would start my apprenticeship, It
wasn't a case of selecting your chosen profession, it was a matter of
being told that yi wur ti go ti' the fittin' shoap. It could just as
easily have been the brass foundry or the joinery shop, or any other of
the many trades in shipbuilding, and my “career” would have gone on a
different direction. However the powers that be set my sails as a marine
engineer, a “fitter” was the usual title.
That's when my education started, I found myself among a myriad
of political pundits of all shades. The discussions were many, varied
and at times “ferocious” and I loved it. Probably most of the workers
were Labour with a very strong communist contingent. There was one Tory
among the fitters, he was one of the journeymen that I was attached to,
and he was insane, but a great tradesman. When asked why he was a Tory,
his answer was, at least when you vote for them you know that they are
going to screw you, not like the other bastards who pretend that they
won't. It seemed a fair answer. In all the debates and discussions I was
always being “courted” by the communists and being told that I should
join the YCL (Young Communist League). Somehow or other they never
fitted in with the way I felt.
From entering the yards, I was always eager to get involved in
the political and it was in 1952, as a third year apprentice that I got
my first real feel of “political” activity. That was the year of the
first Clydeside apprentice's strike since the second world war. I loved
all the activity and was keen to do my stint of leafleting and what ever
else to further “the cause”.
It was during this strike at one of the several marches through
the city that we had a rather interesting event. We were supposed to
march from Blythswood Square to Glasgow Green and on passing the City
Chambers at George Square, the police had set our route to proceed from
there round the corner into Cochrane St. and through some more back
streets to the Green. Our little group at the front had some other
ideas, and as the police were lined up expecting us to turn left into
Cochrane St. we marched merrily on deciding that we wanted a more public
route down Glassford St. Argyle St. and Trongate to the Green. More
publicity for our “cause”. There was chaos as the rest of the marchers
not really thinking just followed on and the police trying to form up to
turn us round. It failed miserably. By now it was no longer a march but
lots of grinning apprentices running in groups, down Glassford St. with
the police trying to re-direct or grab, what was now a wild mob of
youth. By the time various groupings reach Argyle St. some were running
in the direction of the Green, perhaps hopeful of still holding a rally,
while others, myself among them, were running along Argyle St. in the
opposite direction.
At that time Argyle St. was still a two way traffic system and
the pavements were mobbed. As I ran furiously along I could see ahead
the ludicous site of some of the apprentices still carrying their
placards, and these could be seen weaving their way though the crowds.
By now there were mounted police and foot slogging coppers in hot
pursuit. As I, and many others, ran past what is now Debenham's (then it
was Lewis's) and turned into the lane at the side of the building, I
knew the the mounted police were gaining fast, and as a simple city lad,
I had this stupid idea that if I ran up the stairs of the lane up to
what was St Enoch's Station, the horses wouldn't be able to follow. Of
course as I got near the top I could hear the unmistakable clippity-clop
of horses hoofs behind me. Entering the station I stopped running and
tried to merge with the station crowd, others ran straight through and
out the front and as I walked casually towards the front entrance I saw
about 8 or so of my hapless marcher colleagues run straight into a ring
of police, who duely flung them into waiting vans. One of those caught
by that ring of police went on to make a name for himself on the Clyde
during the Upper Clyde Work-in, he was Jimmy Reid.
