The Road to Arbroath

The job at Bathgate proceeded without incident into 1977. On a personal level I had only blotted my copybook once which was at the New Year Party. Whatever I had done during the festivities resulted in me not being spoken to for nearly a month ! It may have something to do with the fact that my Father-in-Law to be now looked liked a stand-in for Jack Duckworth from Coronation Street. My Father-in -Law (to be) now sported a stylish pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose held neatly together with elastoplast in the centre. I felt that it was incumbent on me to apologise to someone, but as no one was speaking to me I didn't know for what ! Ahh well 'c'est la vie !'

The big moment came on Friday 4th March '77. I was in the office at about 5.pm (we used to work 10 hr days as standard at that time). The phone rang - it was the hospital - Linda had gone into labour ! I asked how long did they reckon she had - a few hours I was told. I did a quick calculation - An hour to finish the shift - an hour to drive to Paisley Maternity - 7.pm, yeah I could make that ! In hindsight I now know what a dumb attitude that was - but, in those days, the priority was not lose 'hours' and therefore money and anyway she would be in the hands of professionals - what could I do ? What an idiot ! But then a lot of guys thought like that in those days.

Anyway - I did make it with an hour to spare and did my 'duty' - well almost ! I became too caught up in the drama and emotion of the scene only to be ejected from the delivery room ! I was left in 'expectant' fathers bit imagining all sorts of doom & gloom scenarios. This guy had a packet of cigarettes which I grabbed and smoked (I didn't even smoke at the time !). Eventually someone came and told me I was the proud father of a baby boy ! My life and way of thinking was to change forever !

It occurred to me that our 'gypsy' lifestyle could not go on and that I had to be nearer the sources of work on the East Coast. If I was to be 'travelling' a lot then Linda should be closer to her family who were in Arbroath. 'Solus' managed to get me a Council house on an incoming worker ticket. What a mistake that turned out to be ! The Big Day came, we were moving - I hired 2 Transit Luton vans and plus we had my 'Solus' Escort van. This 'convoy' set off leaving Linwood (and the West Coast) forever heading for 64 Horologe Hill, Arbroath. I was driving one of the Lutons and all was going well until we started to pass through Auchterarder. The main street was busy and narrow. There was a big 'flatbed' artic lorry parked on the road. I misjudged the the width of my Luton and 'clipped' the edge of it tearing a huge gash in the side and wiping out the cooker and the fridge at the same time. Not in a happy frame of mind we arrive in Arbroath later that afternoon.

Now, I had planned this operation meticulously, I wanted to organise things so that everything was unloaded in order and put in the appropriate rooms. Well, we all know what the Bard said about " the best laid schemes of Mice & Men etc." I opened up the 1st Luton and climbed up to pass stuff down to my 'army' of helpers, I jumped down again and CRUNCH ! - I was rolling across the road in excruciating agony - I had done my knee cartilage in ! Shivering and wimpering in shock I was dragged (with great difficulty) and dumped in a corner of the (as yet uncarpeted) livingroom floor. Someone gave me water and painkillers and I watched helplessly as everything was brought in and dumped willy nilly all over the place. The 'Coup de Grace' was delivered later on by Linda's Auntie Margaret, she had prepared a famous Arbroath delicacy, namely Arbroath Smokies for us all. A plate with one on was shoved under my nose - I was not a fish eater so I did not know how to deal with it so I just took a big bite - ARGHH ! a mouthfull of bones - I hated effing fish bones. So there I was - a fecked van, house in chaos, a fecked knee, fecked cooker and fridge and a 'moothful' of fish bones. For the first time ever (but not the last time) I howled the famous cry "WHAT THE F##K AM I DOING HERE !"

The tale did not end there ! The next day my leg all strapped up, (they had taken me to Arbroath Casualty, for the 1st of many visits to there, the previous night) I managed to climb into the (damaged) Luton and the driver only convoy set off back to Glasgow to return the hired vans. We got as far as Kincardine Bridge when I realised my van needed fuel. I spotted a petrol station and drove in - CRUNCH again - I had gotten the van stuck firmly under the canopy ! What a carry on ! At that point ritual suicide seemed a good option. After a couple of stressful hours the (by now even more fecked) van was extricated. We arrived at the hire place and I parked the Luton with the good side facing the office. "No problems ?" the guy asked "None" I lied and recieved my deposits back. I 'legged' it as fast as my 'gammy' knee would allow.

Why did this crap always happen to me ?

Bathgate Compressor Station

The Pictures below: a Shotblaster in action, a Blast Kettle & a typical view of a section of a Refinery or Gas Terminal. The Photo of the Blaster is a bit 'sanitised', he would normally have a Halogen Spotlight attached to the top of his helmet (making it even heavier) as the area would be filled with dust making it impossible to see !

The week I gained my Qualification was also the last for that Phase of the Kirriemuir Compressor Station construction - but I would be back ! - We packed up (Linda & I) and headed back to our house in Linwood. This was just as well as she was by now heavily pregnant and needed to be booked into Paisley Maternity Hospital. We were only home for a few days and I was asked if I would like to cover a job at Bathgate Compressor Station which was handy as it was 'drivable' from Linwood.

Bathgate was unusual for me in that unlike previously where I was a 'one man band' I was now part of an established QA team headed by an SPI (senior pipeline inspector). All these guys worked for a company called Mapel with whom Solus Schall often had 'joint ventures'. This job was a welcome respite for me as they were a great bunch of guys, I could blend into the backgound and it was educational. The only drawback was I had twinges of jealousy when it came to 'Expenses Day', the Mapel guys had a far better deal than I ! The SPI who I will call DB would go to the bank every week and draw out a huge wad of cash. He would come to our hut at lunchtime and ask "Ok what are you guys needing this week ?" Each man would call out an amount and DB would peel off copious amounts. When finished he would look at the hardly diminished wad and say "That must me mine then !" and casually put in his pocket. This man was a 'hero', not only was he making a fortune he got to 'bonk' one of the receptionists in the stationary cupboard at lunchtimes !

One day DB asked me if I would accompany him as he needed a 'witness' - He was going to look at Radiographs of the last 'Butt Weld' on a section of pipeline. This had huge financial implications for the Contractor if it was not passed, due to the plant etc onsite costing £1000's a day. We go into the Radiography hut and DB peers at the illuminated 'films' (really just a photo in negative) and says "No good ! - what do you think Harry ?" - he wrongly assumed that because I was a Paint Inspector, I knew eff all about welding - he didn't know I had done the course ! - I peered at it as well "hmmm" was the only comment I could muster although frankly I could see nothing wrong with it ! The Contractor Rep announced "A Rolex says its ok !" - "hmmm, I don't know about that" counters DB - "A Gold Rolex says its ok !" says the Rep nodding grimly ! Before I knew what had happened the job was signed off and everybody happy (except me, I got eff all apart from some valuable 'education').

I made a decision to 'distance' myself from the Welding guys and went about my own business. I was walking about the site and it started raining, I noticed this 'old' painter painting some iron railings, I could see he was tradesman as he had a classic collection of immaculate brushes and was very professional.

"Excuse me" says I politely "you'll have to stop painting"
"Why ?" he responds gruffly.
"Cos its raining" I replied holding my hands up to the heavens.
"Who are you then ?" he asks suspiciously
"The Paint Inspector" I replied
"What the eff is that then ?" says he

I explained this to him and he stomped off in a huff to his tea hut. Later that day the Sun came out but the ground was still soaking. The Old Painter was back at his railings. I approached him again.

"What do you want now ?" he growled
"You can't paint, the humidity is too high" I explained
"How do you know that then ?" he asked

I produced my 'Whirling Hygrometer' and showed him how it worked. Muttering under his breath he stomped off again. The next day was sunny and dry so the Old Painter was happily whistling as he worked. I approached cautiously.

"See that section over there ! " I pointed "you'll have to do it again, there's not enough paint on it"
"What !" he exclaimed incredulously "how the eff do you know that !"
I produced my magnetic Dry Film Thickness Meter and demonstrated.
"Well thats it then ! The 'games' fucked" he roared, threw his brushes in the skip and stormed off the site. On later enquiry I learned he never worked again. Another career ended because of me !

The main contractor at Bathgate was Wimpey - the young Wimpey engineer responsible for the painters viewed my results with the Hygrometer with grave suspicion as the painters were more in the tea hut than out of it. He sneakily bought one himself and we both climbed up to the top of a 60" vent stack to compare readings. We both 'whirled' away furiously but could not agree, what was annoying him that his readings were in fact more detrimental than mine. I asked to see his to find out what he was doing wrong and proceeded to 'whirl' it. To my horror the top of it (the bit with the thermometers) flew of into space leaving me with only the handle. We both gaped as it flew through the air in a perfect curve and smashed into a thousand pieces on the concrete below ! Trying to keep a straight face I handed him his handle back. He stormed off furiously all the while casting doubts on my parentage, I heard the word 'sabotage' mentioned as well.

Ah well, that was another Xmas list I wouldn't be on !

The Ball of Kirriemuir - Part 3

NOT A PRETTY SIGHT !

Three significant events occurred prior to the end of 1976 which were to change the course of my life and career forever ! The first was not to come to fruition for nearly 15 years and could only be described as one of life's ironies. I was 'patrolling' the Kirrie Site one day when I bumped into Bob Railton. He told me a 'Decorating' Contractor was on site painting all the lampposts and asked me to keep an 'eye' on them. The company in question was Angus Decs of Arbroath owned by Allan Kennedy, a very astute businessman. He was on-site and was fascinated by the activities of the Industrial Shotblaster Painter companies. I was invited to his offices in Arbroath for 'lunch'. This comprised of copious amounts of Grouse Whisky and when I was well 'pissed' I revealed all the secrets of the trade. It was out of this encounter that Tayblast was born in the mid 80's headed by his son, a then very young Colin Kennedy. This was to be the company I now work for as a Director.

The 2nd event was on a far more emotional level ! It was October 1976 and my mother-in- law to be (Ruby) was up visiting. Now we have all heard the mother-in-law jokes and I won't bore you with them, but suffice it to say she modelled as a 'space-hopper' in her spare time. She was about 5 feet tall and out-weighed me ! I went home for my dinner and I was supping my 'Cock A Leekie' soup when Linda announced she was pregnant by 3 months. "ohh Aye" says I not really taking in the enormity of this statement. I calmly finished lunch jumped into my van and headed back to site. It was only when I arrived at the car park this news hit me like a thunderbolt ! "Holy S#@t" I thought "what are my Mum & Dad going to say !" - At 1st examination that would seem to the on-looker a totally inane and pointless thought. The problem was when I met Linda she was already married ! This was at the time was one of our deepest secrets, and no way we could marry until she divorced (obviously !). This led to avoiding conversations with my parents and family alike who would ask disapprovingly "When are you going to do the right thing then ehh ?". My already tarnished reputation with my relations (and hers) and friends plummeted to new lows - Jack the Ripper was probably more popular than me ! What a #@&#ing mess ! To my eternal discredit I did what any 'honourable' male would do in such a situation - retired to the Pub got blazing drunk and proceeded to pick on the 'hardest man' in the place. This unfortunate turned out to be 'Manny' who I had met on my 1st day in Kirrie - he had become increasingly hostile over the weeks anyway as I was usurping his 'position' so a confrontation was inevitable. The poor soul ended up with every bone in his right hand broken, which destroyed his career as a wood-cutter (lumberjack ?). The only positive thing is that we became firm friends (its a man thing that women don't understand) and he was my loyal disciple for many a year.

The final event ultimately put me at the top of my 'profession' for years to come. The agency I worked for (Solus Schall, at that time a subsidiary of the Rank Xerox organisation) had a policy of awarding an extra £1000 a year on top of your basic salary for every 'Ticket' you gained. Every Inspector (ie Welding Inspection personnel) had to undergo an exam at British ERS (Engineering Research Station), Killingworth, England and awarded an appropriate grade and ID card depending on level of competence and experience. This 'Ticket' was highly sought after as it had at the time Worldwide recognition and was a passport to a lot of money. British Gas decided it was time to bring Paint Inspectors into the scheme and started exams mid 1976. There were 2 grades available ie Painting Inspector & Paint/Painting Inspector. This may seem unintelligible to the layman but meant a 'Painting' Inspector could only monitor and record a job while a 'Paint/Painting could make limited on the spot decisions regarding unclear interpretations of the relevant specifications.

Two Inspectors from other companies had been and gained 'Painting'. Solus sent down 4 men (this included 'Bob' who had 'trained' me) and all failed. My humiliated Boss at Solus (Angus) contacted me with a proposal. As I was the youngest and closest to a school / college exam environment would I go down and take the exam. It would not matter if I failed as my task was to remember as many of the questions as possible so that a training course could be built around them. Failing an exam was not in my vocabulary however, I had never failed an exam in my life ! - Suddenly I got serious, stopped my shenanigans and started training like an Athlete for the Olympics cramming every Paint Technology text I could lay my hands on.

I arrived at Whitley Bay (near Killingworth) with Linda in tow and booked into a Hotel on the night of Dec 8th 1976. I arrived at the exam centre the next day a bag of nerves, there was only one other lad there, Tony Cunningham from the Solus London office (he later went on to do great things and started his own company Transocean in Gt Yarmouth) - The exam was in 2 parts, theory in the morning and practical in the afternoon - The Theory paper was presented and I quickly read it - Oh Joy !! - it was as if someone had taken my old job spec from the Lab at the Chrysler Car Factory and converted it to an exam - What a doddle !! - I finished it in half the allocated time and left the room leaving Tony behind. Because I was so quick they gave me the practical early and I was out of there by lunchtime. I arrived back on-site the next day and hovered nervously around the Office. Bob Railton knew the man (Ron Crisp) in charge at ERS and fed up with my pacing up and down, phoned to get my results. I had passed the Paint/Painting Grade !!! What a party there was in the Og that night !

The financial impact for me was huge ! In the 70's the top earners in Britain tended to be in the Car Industry - A shop floor worker averaged about £85 per week - My finishing salary in 1975 was about £5500 per annum (about £40k in todays terms) - My starting salary with Solus was £2500 plus £120 per week expenses plus paid overtime - relatively not too bad - Because I had achieved 2 grades in one Solus had to increase my rate by £2000 pa (they were not happy !) - I was now better off than in '75 - Later in early 1977 I discovered that ERS had introduced a new Senior Paint Inspector grade which, of course,I wanted. I phoned Ron Crisp and asked him how I would go about getting it. Puzzled he said "But you do have it ! we upgraded you automatically when the grade was introduced - we sent your ticket to Solus !". I was stunned and then filled with rage - the conning bastards ! - I jumped into my van and set up a World Speed Record to Barrhead and stormed into Angus's office - not a pretty sight ! Before I could utter a word Angus went into the top drawer of his desk and flipped my 'Ticket' at me " Oh sorry ! I'd forgotten about that, meant to post it to you !" The 'wind taken out of my sails' I turned about and snarled "I expect my increase to be back dated !" - Yes ! another grand a year.

So there I was ! The 1st ever Senior Paint Man in Britain (I was the only one for years), the highest paid and I was made ! The only problem was that my arrogance and eccentricity increased exponentially as I was aware I could now get a job anywhere in the World and could name my own price. The adage 'Pride comes before a fall' was, however, soon to become painfully true !

The Ball of Kirriemuir - Part 2

KEEPING THE WORKFORCE IN LINE !

My friend and former colleague Tom Cupples, who has an excellent blog himself, left a comment on one of my previous posts asking if I had ever had a job where there was no fighting, animosity or problems - the straight answer to that is NO !

A sweeping answer such as above requires some explanation. I touched on it briefly in my earlier post in that everyone 'hated' the Paint Inspector but it goes further that that when one examines the environment and types of people involved in this Industry.

Shotblasting or Gritblasting is one of the most arduous and possibly dangerous occupations around. A man is required to hold a Blast Hose (known as an Auger Line) for hours on end spewing out Iron Oxide (or Copper Slag) Abrasive 'granules' at a constant 100 pounds per square inch pressure supplied by a Blast Kettle containing up to 1/4 of a ton of grit. This is powered by a large Air Compressor supplying over 400 cubic feet a minute of air. The velocities and pressures are enormous. All the while the 'Blaster' is protected by a heavy and uncomfortable Blast Helmet which is pressurised and is subject to a continuous whistle of air inside. The 'Kettle' can empty in between 30 to 40 minutes and is refilled by a pot man who heaves and empties fresh bags of Grit into it as quickly as possible. In the 70's Grit came in 50 kilo bags but was thankfully reduced to 25 kilos in the 90's. The object of all this was to 'scour' off any rust, millscale or old coatings to bring the steel back to a 'white' condition. Once completed the object being worked on had to be sprayed in with high pressure spray units operating at about 2500 psi using specialised heavy duty Coatings. Added to the above all the spent grit had to be removed. On one occasion I had a squad of men removing over 300 ton of grit by hand. For weeks after this episode we were still exuding 'black stuff' coming from literally every orifice in our bodies.

In short this occupation required a very special, and frankly, hard man indeed. Interestingly enough the kind of guy who came into 'the trade' in the early days were usually ex -military and ex- convicts. The set up and mobilisation exercises to a job were very like the military and they also got to blast the crap out of stuff. To the men in this occupation the adage 'work hard and play hard' could not have been more true. Respect !

Squads I worked with comprised of former SAS, Commandos, Paras and other elite units. At one time in the 80's I reckon we could have retaken the the Falklands by just sending down a Blast / Paint squad as long as they were promised a bonus ! I even had - now wait for it ! - an ex member of the Waffen SS called Armin, as a Foreman. The men were terrified of him and he would take great delight in showing people his SS serial number tattooed under his armpit ! I caused a problem for myself with him when I revealed my own German antecedents. I (stupidly) told him my original name was Harry Wolff (long story !) which was the same surname as a notorious General of the Waffen SS. After that revelation he would speak to me only in German, gave me knowing nods and dodgy salutes and asked when we were invading Poland again !

Yes to be a Paint Inspector you had to be a little bit special and a little bit mad as well to survive. It took a brave man to tell that lot that their work was rejected !

The below are 'rearranged' Hagar the Horrible cartoons popular in the 70's & 80's devised by some wag who thought there was some similarity to myself - I don't see it ! The bottom one does show, however, a reasonable representation of a night in the 'Og' after a hard days work !

Back to the Tale !

I was the only member of the site management team to have the temerity to reside among the 'bears' in Kirrie. All the rest of them were more prudent and lived in outlying areas (mainly Forfar) to keep away from the debauchery, and it was safer ! I came under pressure from my beloved to bring her up, so about a month later I rented a flat in Kirrie (that meant I had 2 houses now - the other in Linwood) and we moved in. That didn't half curtail my activities, which was probably just as well. It didn't take long, however, for Linda to be drawn into the 'social scene' and she made a pal called Pam who she hung out with when I was on a 'bender'. Pam worked behind the Bar at the 'Og' and Bob Railton (the boss) fancied her like hell. Because I was there as a 'bodyguard' Bob timidly came into the Bar one night to try his luck. The Bar was heaving and Pam had no time to talk to him, so like the gentleman he is, he offered to come behind and collect / wash glasses to help out. Three new Glaswegian Welders came in and demanded he serve them. Bob could not pull a pint to save himself so he studiously ignored them much to their chagrin. Eventually one of the Welders grabbed Bobs tie in a rage and proceeded to repeatedly bounce his chin off the bar. This was somewhat amusing at first until I realised that tomorrow was timesheet signing day. With the assistance of some of the other Inspection staff we leaped in to rescue him and the inevitable fracas ensued. Another quiet night in the 'Og'!

Part 3 next Post.

The Ball Of Kirriemuir

The Site Office at Kirriemuir Compressor Station.

.........

Taken early 1977, standing next to me is Bob Railton who was the BGC Senior Surveyor. Bob came from Whitley Bay (a posh Geordie). He later became a Councillor in Forfar

..........

The 'Ball of Kirriemiur' is best described as a Rugby song of about 25 verses that cannot really be fully printed here in the interests of decency. The first 2 verses are not too bad and go as follows and should be sung in dialect:


Four and twenty Virgins came down from Inverness
And when the Ball was over there were four and twenty less
(chorus)
Who'll do it this time
Who'll dae it noo
The wan that did it last time
Cannae dae it noo
(next verse)
The Vicars Daughter, she was there,
Had us all in fits
Swinging off the chandelier
And landing on her tits !
(plus many more of deteriorating quality)


I use the above sample to assure the reader that every verse was true !
Oh my God !! Never within recent history or ever again has such a faithful reproduction of a Bacchanalian Roman Orgy ever been achieved !

Kirriemiur was a sleepy small town about 6 miles west of Forfar with a population (in the 70's) of about 5000. It had 3 claims to fame, it was the birthplace of J.M.Barrie, author of Peter Pan, the fact that the female population outnumbered the men by 3 to 1 and had about 11 pubs within an area not exceeding a square mile

Then one day 300 Construction and Pipeline workers descended on it like a horde of invading Viking Warriors. Kirriemuir was never the same again - There was an instant baby boom and the amount of kids starting primary school in 1981 with Geordie accents was uncanny.

The High Temple of this den of iniquity was the never to be forgotten Ogilvie Arms Hotel whose motto was "We Never Close" - this in an era when Pubs were supposed to shut at 10.30 pm and all day opening was still in the distant future. The High Priest and Priestess of this paradise on Earth were a couple called Bruce & Isabel - Bruce was a little chunky man of about 5'4" tall and Isabel a big lass of 5'10". She had a very pretty face and it was rumoured she had been a model prior to contracting some glandular disorder which resulted in a huge weight increase and complete hair loss, hence she always wore a blond wig. The only crime that could result in being 'barred' from the 'Og' (pronounced 'OAG') was in fact knocking off Isabels wig - It was the only Pub where, if there was any trouble, they locked you in !

I arrived at the Kirrie Site on the 1st Friday of July 1976. later that day I asked Bob Railton (who was in charge) if I could leave early to look for 'digs'. Now, I must have some sort of natural 'homing' instinct to seek out the worst of places (depending on the way you look at that) and my path led me unerringly to the Bar in the Og at 4.45 pm just before opening time. The Barman, named Davy Bulloch from Lanark, was busy cleaning glasses. He, as I discovered, was probably the best Barman in the world and his word was Law ! On one occasion when I was getting particulary out of hand he took my wallet, car keys, passport etc and locked them into the Hotel safe saying that I wasn't to get them back until Monday morning ! After considerable pleading he relented slightly and gave me £20.00 of my money back to 'keep me going'. Now that is what I call a Barman !! (Requiem in Pace ! Davy).

Davy informed me that Bruce wasn't in yet and would I like a Pint while I waited. I went to pay for this but he said that was Ok - on the house. I had nearly finished my Pint when a scruffy lad about the same age as me arrived. This was 'Manny' a complete nutter and as hard as nails - he was interested in the fact that I came from Glasgow and offered me a Pint as well. I felt then it was appropriate to offer them one back but Manny declined saying matter of factly - "Naw ahm ganging tae a Gang Bang, dae ye want tae come ?" - to say I was astonished was an understatement, I'd only been in the place about half an hour ! - The lady in question (whose name I cannot reveal here) was apparently a Sexual Athlete of some note and was said to have left 14 guys exhausted on the floor and left them to go to the Pub saying they were all 'gay boys' !

I declined this dubious invitation more due to the fact that coming from Glasgow I was well aware of the dangers of 'entrapment' and possible mugging in an as yet unknown area. It later transpired that this turned out to be absolutely genuine ! More guys piled into the Bar and further free Pints were offered (strangers were a rarity in the Og apparently) and by 8.pm my legs were starting to give way. Bruce arrived and negotiations started re dig money.

"35 quid a week full board" says Bruce hopefully,
"I'll be here for a while" says I with a poker face
"Ok 25 quid" says Bruce quickly (too quickly I thought)
"Done" says I and handed a chuffed Bruce 2 weeks up front.

It turns out Bruce needed me as much as I needed him - As the Og was a hotel it had Residents Licence which meant that as a Guest I could have further 'guests' after hours - I suddenly had more new 'friends' than I could 'shake a stick at' !

This got out of hand a few months later when the Forfar Police decided enough was enough (the Kirrie Police would not come near the place) and staged a 'raid' at 1 in the morning. I saw Bruce being 'huckled' down a corridor by 2 big 'Polis' with his wee legs dangling in the air. Isabel appeared and prevented any further progress with her considerable bulk and a huge row ensued. I rushed to the Bar and with the aid of some of 'my' brawny shotblasters and welders we went into Kirrie Square and turned the Police car over onto its roof ! (the blue light was well #&!#ed I can tell you).

A Police Sergeant, attempting joviality, came into the bar wringing his hands,
"Hah hah very funny lads, c'mon give us a hand to put it back !"
He was met with a hail of abuse, crisp packets and beer bottles at which he completely 'lost it' and called for re-inforcements. An ugly 'stand off ' followed during which, in the confusion, Bruce managed to escape. After a while the Police retreated to lick their wounds and rescue their Vehicle from the square. Apparently Isabel agreed to 'keep the noise down' and the Band set up in the (large) Gents Toilets - I know - unbelievable !!!

The 2nd part of this saga continues next Post.

So now we know what a Paint Inspector is !!

One of my favourite photos - I nearly fell off the Helideck trying to get this one ! - It was taken on Brent Bravo and combines nearly all the iconic elements of an Oil Rig - ie the Derrick, the Flare Stack, the Crane, the 'Chopper' and in the distance the 'Spar' with a tanker alongside.

To continue with the tale, I managed to escape 'Bob' after a weeks training with no significant damage to my liver ! I was allocated my 1st job around May 76 (one of the best summers ever !) to a small bridge at the Strathclyde Parks Construction project near Hamilton - Glasgow City Council was the Client - On about the 3rd day just before dinner break a gaggle of schoolgirls appeared, went under the bridge, stripped off to their bra's and panties and proceeded to frolic in the river ! Now Painters, especially the Industrial variety, are perverts by default and required no invitation to strip off their overalls and join in. I resisted at first as I was a responsible person and supposed to be in charge but after a few minutes (I am weak ) I thought '#?!# it' and jumped in the water as well. I was in the act of wrestling with a well endowed nubile 17 year old trying to throw her over my head into the water (this was not easy as her ample charms kept getting in the way !) when, to my horror, I heard a 'posh' voice say 'Mr McIntosh if you have a moment could we see you in the office please ?' 4 Council engineers had come to see how the job was going ! - Humiliated I stood in the Site Office in nothing more than my wet 'Y fronts' trying to explain how the job was progressing well ! It was fortunate that it was still within the dinner break period. They said nothing, but the next day a team of Council Workmen arrived put fencing up all along the river bank along with large signs stating 'Positively No Swimming' - spoilsports !

A few weeks later when that job finished with no further incident my 'not yet wife' and I were given a Council House in Linwood - this was quiet remarkable in that era as unmarried couples were frowned upon - my Dad however had 'contacts' and after a few dodgy 'handshakes' we were in ! Things were looking up !

It occurs to me as I attempt to write this that a lot of the episodes that spring to mind relate to drinking, violence, women and general getting up to no good ! I suppose that is what makes anything memorable (and possibly interesting). The main point that comes out of this for me as I dredge the memory banks is simply that there were at that time just so many dreadful and unpleasant characters about. These seemed mostly to be in the Management circles and conducted themselves in a manner that would just not be allowed today ! The ability to stand up for oneself and outhink these morons was a important asset. A lot of these guys were in positions of responsibility that they should not have been in having IQ's no greater than an ape (thats maybe unfair to our hairy cousins). On the subject of Apes that brings me neatly to the next episode.

The Office instructed me to present myself at a British Gas site namely, Loch of Skene AGI at Westhills just outside Aberdeen (that was the one mentioned earlier where I had a punch-up with the painters a few years later). In 1976 (for a west-coaster) to go to the N East of Scotland was like being asked to go to Vladivostok (Siberia for the uneducated). It could take in excess of 6 hours to get there and no dual carriageways. The man in charge was an 'APE' (Assistant Pipeline Engineer), his name was Clive, and yes he was English ! When I introduced myself to him on the Monday I quickly realised he was a complete @#?!er so I kept out of his way for the first week. The problem was that my 'wife' and I were in love and could not bear to be parted (funny how years later you can't bear to be in the same room). I arranged to rent a residential caravan in Westhills for the Saturday going home Friday evening to pick her up and drive up early Saturday to arrive back on-site mid morning. I had been told it was Ok to leave site when the Contractors left which was about 2.pm on the Friday. No-one told me Clive liked to have a site meeting at 3.pm to discuss the weeks progress (what a tosser - no one had site meetings on a Friday afternoon !).

I arrived home (Linwood) at about 9.pm, the wife was packed and ready so we ordered in fish suppers. An hour later there was a knock at the door and there was Angus my boss at Solus Schall.

"What the hell are you doing here ?" he asked, "I could ask you the same" says I dumbfounded - "Never mind that ! I had a call from site and if you are not there tomorrow 8.am sharp you are sacked !". Well, bloody hell, what a carry on ! We hastily threw our gear into the van and I drove up through the night to Peterculter where a friend had a caravan hired (I did not have the keys for mine yet). He was not too chuffed at being woken at 4 in the morning but he agreed to put us up and to pick up Linda (oops ! ok so now you know her name - I still do 'cos it's still tattooed on my effing arm !) later that day.

I arrived at the site office at 7.45am - Clive was waiting - In a roomful of about 20 men he gleefully gave me a serious dressing down - I was furious at the injustice of it. When he had finished I calmly said "Can I have a word with you outside ?" - with confidence in his 'status' he stupidly followed me round to the back of the portacabin. I turned on him and putting my nose up to his and said "If you ever talk to me like that again in front of the men I will put 'yer heed' right through the cabin wall, you little English @##&ard, and don't bother looking around, no ones here". His face went chalky white as I jabbed my finger onto his forehead. "Remember it's a long way to Gretna (the English border) from here" I said as I turned away.

Ok Ok ! its nothing too be proud of but it happened. The job went on without further incident except that I always had great difficulty in getting my time sheets signed, wonder why ?

This incident led to a feud which lasted for nearly 25 years as our careers alternated. 5 years later I was working out of BGC Perth standing in for Gas Board surveyors who were on holiday. The Senior rushed into the office (I was the only one there) and asked me what I knew about site contractor release procedures. "Well I've seen it done" said I cautiously. That was good enough for him and he armed me with a check list and sent me on my way. Any Contractor on a Gas Site had to have a release certificate of completion before being allowed to remove personnel and equipment.

I arrived at Kirriemuir Compressor Station, and guess who was the Rep for the Contractor ? Yes ! My buddy Clive - He stared in horror at the titles emblazoned across my hard-hat - "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear isn't this just peachy" says I producing the check list - I tortured the poor sod for 2 weeks, cost his Company about 50 grand and aged him by 20 years before I finally relented and released them. Another 5 years later he was a Manager for Rigblast and I a mere supervisor and he returned the compliment. This situation alternated until fairly recently we met and were at about the same 'rank' and a lot older and wiser. "Truce" he smiled offering his hand which I happily accepted. That was the end of that chapter.

What The Hell is a Paint Inspector ? Part 2

BIG H STANDING ON THE 'BIG H'

...

Celebrating the completion of a difficult Helideck refurbishment project circa 1978 on the CDP1 Platform in the North Sea. Working out the correct orientation of the markings was a bit fraught in case you got blamed for the Helicopter crashing !

...

Back to the question of what is a Paint Inspector and what do they actually do ? The so called 3rd Party Inspection Industry throughout the late 60's and beyond consisted mainly of Welding Inspection personnel ie Radiographers, Ultrasonics technicians, MPI technicians, Welding Inspectors (ie ex welders) etc etc. Nobody involved in this part of the steel fabrication sector particularly the Engineers had a clue as to the machinations and mystery perpetuated by the Paint Supply and Application Contractors. To the layman the processes involved were a form of alchemy and unintelligible technical jargon and were viewed with a great deal of suspicion. In other words they probably thought they were getting ripped off and their beautiful steel masterpieces were in danger of corroding and falling to the bottom of the sea long before the end of their service life.

The Paint Manufacturers and Industrial Painting Contractors did nothing to dispel these fears maintaining a front worthy of any Masonic Order or secret society !

OUT OF THIS CHAOS THE PAINT INSPECTOR WAS BORN !

.

The idea was to have a 'qualified' & 'experienced' individual (usually an ex Painter & Decorator or Shotblast Foreman) acting as a kind of Site Agent or Clerk of Works on behalf of the Client or Site Engineer. That the specification / contract requirements had to be rigorously adhered to and monitored by the Paint Inspector who reported to his designated Engineer.

.

What happened in reality was that a 'monster' was created that was feared and reviled by all parties for reasons as follows:

.

1) The Paint Contractors hated you because you slowed production & cost them money

2) The Shotblaster / Painters hated you because you cost them money ('piece-work' was common in the 70's)

3) The Paint Suppliers and their Reps hated you and treated you with contempt as they regarded you as upstarts that criticised their products.

4) The Clients & Engineers hated you regarding you as a 'necessary evil' that encroached on their power base, cost them money and did nothing to help them understand what was actually going on.

.

The Paint Inspector perversely enjoyed this notoriety, relishing the unease he caused on site when he appeared brandishing his gadjets and widjets which only he understood how to use. The downside of this was that because it was a solitary life full of hostility most of them (mostly aged 50 plus at that time) were raging alcoholics.

.

I now understood clearly why at my so called interview the fact that I was a 'big lad' was of interest to my prospective employer.

.

So there we are ! It was 1976 and I had arrived ! I was the youngest in the Industry by a long way (25), what I didn't know about Paint Technology wasn't worth knowing, I wasn't an alcoholic and as an 18 stone Rugby playing karate expert well capable of looking after myself !

.

As I will resume my chronological account in Part 3 I do not want to jump ahead, but to highlight the above an anecdote to explain this may be appropriate at this stage.

.

It was 1979, I had just finished a major project for British Gas at St. Fergus as Senior Inspector. They asked me if I would like to look after a small project just outside Aberdeen. I arrived to find 3 Glasgow painters onsite and it was quickly apparent they were doing everything wrong !

.

After 3 days at sniping at each other the Foreman declared 'I'm fed up wi' you, so I'm no the Foreman onymair, ah've made him Foreman'. At which he pointed at the bigger of the three.

This gentleman asked me to have a word with him outside, and it soon became obvious that he was threatening me if I did not 'lay aff '. I asked 'Ok whats it to be, one at a time or all three at once !'. He was taken aback by this as it was not the response he had expected, but because his reputation was at stake he could not back off and the one at a time option was selected. In about 10 minutes after I had neatly laid them out on the tarmac I retired to my cabin thinking 'ok thats that sorted' - In about an hour I ventured out to see what was going on only to find the site deserted ! - Very shortly I was the recipient of a barrage of Phone calls from the Contractor and my Boss at British Gas 'Harry you can't go around beating up Contractors' he moaned.

.

The next day a hurried site meeting was arranged and my plea of 'self defense' was accepted and a new batch of Painters produced. Needless to say I had no further problems on that job !

.

Ahh those were the days ! when men were men and industrial disputes could be settled with a right hook and the PC brigade hadn't yet arrived to blight our existance.