HEART OF A SHIP.

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXIII, Issue 3249, 6 February 1933, Page 7

HEART OF A SHIP.

•TORY OF ORDEAL OF TWO BROTHERS. What? There’s nothin’ romantic aboot a ship until she’s launched! Nonsense! man, ye dinna ken what ye’re talkin’ aboot. The buildin’ o’ every ship is responsible for scores o’ romances —ay, an’ for scores o’ sore hearts. Peter Crawford in the pattern shop puts in a lot o’ overtime an’ saves every penny o’ the extra money—he tells Jean MacLeod that they can get married at Glesca Fair. Matha Gilchrist, the old foreman moulder, overworks himsel’ an’ brings on a stroke. That’s aboot the end o’ the story for old Matha, but Andy Paterson steps up into Matha’s job, an’ Andy’s wife decides that she can flit to a hoose wi’ an extra room. Young Hector Kerr, one o’ the draughtsmen, thinks oot an improvement in electric winches. The firm patents the design, an’ young Hector has taken the first step towards bein’ a works manager some day. Romance! Man, there’s no lack o’ romance aboot'the buildin’ o’ a ship. Long before the salt water touches her plates she has brought good luck and bad luck to hundreds o' men an’ women an’ weans.

Two years ago we launched a big Diesel-engined ship for the Argentine meat trade. Just before work on her had begun it was decided to increase her draught by a foot an’ a half. Now, ye canna do a thing like that withoot causin’ a lot o’ trouble. The draughtsmen ca’ed the Argentine firm a’ the nasty names they could think o’, then got doon to makin’ the necessary alterations to the drawin’s. One day, a good many months later, I had occasion to go up to the drawin’ office —I’m head foreman in the machine shop; I don’t think I tellt- ye that. I was talkin’ to Donald MacMurray.' the chief draughtsman, aboot a difficulty we were havin’ wi’ the macliinin’ o’ the engine cylinders, when a thing caught my eye that made me stop in the very middle o’ what I was sayin'. On Donald’s table, on the top o’ a pile o’ drawin’s, was a blue-print o’ the drawin’ o’ the stern-post—the sternpost, if ye don’t happen to ken, is the big heavy steel castin’ that carries the propeller an' the rudder. I had been lookin’ at the drawin’ o’ the rudder just before I came up to the drawin’ office, an’ the sizes were still fresh in my mind. An’ the depth o’ the sternpost an’ the depth o’ the rudder—didna agree. A draughtsman lives continually over a mine that’s a’ set an’ ready to blow up—any day a discrepancy may be discovered in his drawin’s. Donald Mac Murray at once looked grave when I said sharply: “Ha’ ye a drawin’ o’ the rudder there, Donald?”

Wi’ fingers that were suddenly a’ thumbs, Donald turned over the drawin’s on his table until he came to the one I had asked for.

One glance at it tellt me that I wasna mistaken. I said nothin’; only put my finger on the size on one drawin’ an’ the size on the other that should ha’ corresponded. “God!” said Donald, an’ his face went as white as the paper on his board. Neither o’ us needed to tell the other how the thing had happened. The draughtsman who had altered the drawin’ had got confused wi’ his figures, and had made the stern-post, no’ a foot an’ a half longer—but two feet a’ a half longer! The usual thing. A young fellow in a hurry, wi’ his mind runnin’ on the wee lady-tracer he was goin’ to tak’ to the pictures that night. A mistake like that is the easiest thing in the world to mak’. In a voice that was no’ like his own, Donald said; “I’d better tell Bob!” He touched a button at the side o’ his table.

It was only then that I realised what a terrible position Donald was in. The stern-post for a big ship weighs tons. The castin' was by this time machined and practically ready for fittin’; it represented a dead loss to the firm o' hundreds o’ pounds. Donald an’ I knew the rules. Wee mistakes can be overlooked, but when a man is guilty o’ a costly blunder, he is told to “put on hia coat.” The man Donald had summoned was his assistant, or leadin’ hand, who was technically guilty, for it was his job to see that the drawin’s were right before they were issued to the shops. But this man was much more than just an ordinary assistant. He was the man over whose shoulders Donald had climbed, only a month before, to the position of chief draughtsman. His name was Bob MacMurray—an’ he was Donald’s own elder brother! When Bob Mac Murray appeared, Donald laid his finger on the two sizes an’ said, quietly: “Look at that, Bob.” After that a solid minute must ha’ passed while none o’ us said a word. Bob Mac Murray looked oot 0’ the window, though I doubt if he saw anythin’ on the other side o’ the glass. Bob knew the rules too. When he spoke Bob didna look round. “You’ve got to do it, Donald. For your own sake, you've got to do it." Bob tried to speak firmly an’ evenly, but hie lip was shaky an’ wuldna let him. Now, if I had been a mere onlooker I might ha’ advised Donald Mac Murray to try to save his brother. But in this case I was far fra bein’ an uninterested spectator, for my eldest lassie happens to be Mrs. Donald Mac Murray. Wi’ the wife, I had been along at my daughter’s hoose no’ later than the previous Sunday, an’ as I now stood lookin’ at Donald an’ Bob, I could hear Flora croonin’ her wean to sleep. I could bear her braggin’ aboot what a

clever man Donald was, an' tollin' ni her plans. She was goin' to get this for Donald, she was goin’ to get that for the wean, she was goin’ to get somethin’ else for hersel’—she could afford it, now that Donald was chief draughtsman. Although I had worked wi’ him for twenty years an’ never had a cross work wi’ him, I stood there an’ didna say a thing on Bob MacMurray’s behalf. But I kent fine what this would mean to Bob. Bob was a lot older than Donald, so there was no chance at a’ that he would get another job anythin’ like the one he had—if he got another job o’ any kind, wi’ trade so slack.

Bob had been a well-doin’ man a’ his life. By scrapin’ an’ bein’ careful he had made one o’ his sons a doctor. He wqs goin’ to put his other son through the University an’ mak’ him a minister. If Donald acted accordin’ to the rules, he would just aboot break Bob’s heart. To hide his feelin’s Donald answered his brother angrily. “You know very well that I can’t tell you to go.”* “You’ve got to, Donald. You’ve got no choice,” Bob pointed oot. Now that Bob’s watchful eye was no longer on his men, some o’ the younger fellows had burst into subdued harmony, an’ the sound o' their slngin’ came faintly from the other side o’ the glass partition that separated Donald’s room from the drawin’ office. One industrious youngster was whistlin’ cheerily as he worked. That’s the way o’ the world! Donald pretended that he badna heard what Bob said. “I’ll see the managing director at once, and get it over. I’ll put up the best fight I can for you.” But Bob Mac Murray threw himsel’ between his brother an’ the door. “You mustn’t do it, Donald you mustn’t do it,” he said, earnestly. “You would do yourself infinite harm, particularly as you were only recently appointed, as you are only on trial yet. Whereas, if you—lf you did what you know is the right thing to do, it would be —be all the more to your credit that . , . that I’m your brother.” Donald Mac Murray turned back fra’ the door, dropped his elbows on the pile o’ drawin’s, an’ let his head fall on his hands. I didna dare to think aboot Donald’s feelin’s. He and Bob were brothers In the best sense o’ the word —two fine fellows. Donald didna say much aboot it at the time, but It had hurt him that his promotion should be over his brother’s head. An’ now this ! Donald raised but didna look round. “What a predicament to be in,” he groaned. “The choice of ruining my brother, or ” “Spoiling your own career,” Bob finished for him. Donald turned to me . “What do you think?” But how could I gie him an honest opinion? I could only think o’ my lassie, goin’ to buy this an’ that an’ the other thing, now that she could afford them. I could only think o’ my lassie wi’ her pride in her man, my lassie croonin’ her wean to sleep “Ye ken the answer withoot me havin' to say it, Donald.” Donald an’ Bob kept lookin’ everywhere but at each other. After a while Donald said: “You would understand, Bob, that I —l ” “If the position had been reversed I'd have had to do the same,” Bob tell’t him. Donald drew himsel’ together an, still withoot lookin’ at Bob, turned again towards the door. But he stopped wi’ his fingers on the handle. “I’d better be able to say that I have told the draughtsman to go, too! Who was on the job?” “Jimmy Carmichael." "Get him.” A minute later a scared young fellow was bein’ tell’t that he was finished. The young draughtsman’s face had gone as white as Donald’s had done. Then his eye caught the blue-print on Donald’s table. He darted to it. From the drawin' he turned to Donald, stammerin’. “I thought I had destroyed all the copies. I—l put In the wrong figures, but discovered my mistake a day or two later. I—l got new copies made on the quiet ” Donald could hardly get the words oot. “Then the stern-post is—is all right?” “Yes, Mr. Mac Murray.” For the first time since Bob had answered his summons Donald looked into his eyes. Then suddenly he swung round, threw his arms on the pile of drawin’s, and buried his face in his hands. - He wasna cryin’. It was worse —big, dry sobs. Bob took a step towards Donald. He just laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

I grabbed the young draughtsman by the arm an’ barked at him: “For God’s own sake let you an’ me get oot o’ this room.”