Old Crewe

My grandfather, Charles Ernest Perkins, and my father, Charles Herbert Taylor, arrived in Crewe a few years either side of the turn of the century, the former from 32 years in the King's Royal Rifle Corps and the latter after a spell down Chatterley Whitfield Colliery in the Potteries.

The carriage works in Wistaston Road had been built around 1878 for the repair of rolling stock and Charles Perkins found a job in 1888 as a timekeeper - in line with his army service where he had been a Quartermaster Sergeant. There were four sons and one daughter and each son went in turn into the Carriage Works to learn trades, although their first job was 'blacking up' - painting black the underframes and 'bits that didn't matter'. After the fourth the foreman asked if there were any more. On being told that the next was a girl he said there would be no point in sending her because she would be no use to the Company. (Shades of equal opportunity!).

The eldest son became an upholsterer working with the horsehair stuffing and moquette of the time. Eventually when carriages were transferred away in 1932 he went to Derby, where he was criticised for being a Crewe man and making too good a job, thereby taking too long.

William became a coach painter and signwriter, graduating from blacking up to lining out and intricate detail work. He joined the Crosville Bus Company in the late 1920s.

Ernest became a joiner, transferring to the Outdoor Machinery Department and eventually going to Garston Dock. The work here included all woodwork for water troughs on the main line as well as the routine jobs round the Old, North and Stalbridge Docks. When the LNWR and L & Y amalgamated in 1922 gangs from both Outdoor Machinery Departments were used on jobs and there were stories of distrust and rivalry between them. The first time they worked together was on troughs at Brock, and the Horwich gang was busy taking out length after length of the old trough in spite of being told that there would not be time to put it all back. There was also argument about the method of packing before riveting. The winter dusk came and the North Western men prepared for home, leaving their partners striking matches to see where to put rivets. Following complaints from the Operating Department they went back the following weekend, cut out some rivets, put in proper packing and finished before dark.

The fourth son went on to the clerical side and eventually the Operating Department of the South Eastern and Chatham, retiring as Station Master at Bexhill after being injured in a war-time air raid.

These were the days of 54 hour weeks when the men were not on short time. They began at 6.00 a.m. with 45 minutes for breakfast between 8.15 and 9.00, one hour for dinner at 12.00 o'clock with a finish at 5.30. Steam whistles (known as the buzzer) at the Steel Works and the Old Works, controlled from the respective gate houses, sounded one hour before the morning starting time, followed by further blasts ten and five minutes before time, with a short 'pop' on time. The gates were then shut and any late comer had to wait for fifteen minutes, hence the expression 'to lose a quarter'. After this time there was no entrance until the next starting time. The procedure was repeated at dinner time. Further blasts on the buzzer signalled finishing times at 12.30 and 5.30. Men who lived near enough went home at meal times while those living farther away could heat their prepared meals at the cook houses in Eaton Street or Goddard Street.

They were also the days of white overalls worn by tradesmen, usually a short drill jacket called a slop and either white corduroy or drill overall trousers. They can be seen in photographs of the time and lasted until the 1914 war, and, in one or two isolated cases, until the last war. Locomotives and rolling stock were kept clean, so the job was not as dirty as some of us remember in later years. Many men carried a piece of chalk to be rubbed on any offending dirt patch which was not too big. Workmen wore caps and clogs while foremen wore the bowler hat as a symbol of authority.

Discipline was strict and I heard many times the tale of the fitter and apprentice attending to the regulator on one of Frank Webb's engines just out of the paint shop. The dome cover was off and they were standing on the boiler top literally up to their elbows in the dome when the Man himself walked by. It was explained to them clearly that "He didn't spend money putting all those coats of paint on for some clumsy individual to damage with his clogs".

Sometime around 1895 Charles left the Carriage Works for a spell in Kent with his brother but was soon back to find a job on the 'Big Dig' which was the local name for the freight division lines being put into the west of the station from Basford Hall Sidings, under Crewe North Junction and thence to the Manchester and North lines. This was a big civil engineering project and at the peak 1000 men were employed. While here he managed to damage his left forefinger with a piece of rusty wire and despite attention it went bad so that Dr. Atkinson, the Company Doctor, had to amputate the top half in the old Company Hospital on the corner of Lyon Street. After that he had various jobs with tradesmen in the town until 1914 when he volunteered to go back into his old regiment, was most upset when they said he was too old and managed to find his way into the R.A.M.C. at Aldershot.

Meanwhile my father had found a job labouring in 5 Shop, progressing to a drilling machine. Eventually he graduated to a 6 ft. Radial Drill where he stayed until he was 65, when he went back to labouring for another five years. No. 5 and the adjacent 6 shop were then 39 years old and although called Erecting Shops, housed a multitude of machine tools and fitters' benches in typical Crewe fashion. (The NRM Library has a photograph of the shop in 1943 'showing the crowded nature of the shop' so things didn't change too much.) His work involved hornblocks, slide bars, cylinder covers and the odd miscellaneous item. His brother James followed him to Crewe, going into the Signal Shop and being recorded for posterity as the leading hand on the left in the official photograph of "Women munition workers employed by the Railway during the 1914 - 18 war".

Each man had a number which was stamped on a steel disc about 1" in diameter with a small hole drilled above the number so that the discs could be hung in numerical order on a board in the Time Office. The check was collected on entering and given up at finishing time, so providing an easy record of who was in or out. On Friday afternoons the steel check was replaced by one in brass, and the men lined up in numerical order at finishing time to exchange this for the wages tin, cylindrical, about 3" long by 11/2" in diameter with a tight fitting lid on which was stamped the check number. The money was counted and the empties thrown into a large basket or box to be sorted out ready for the next week.

In the works the wages were brought from the Wages Office by Chester Bridge in large wooden trays, each tin in its own drilled hole, escorted by Pay Clerks, all in "The Cab". This was a four-wheeled van with open sides and a well floor to just above rail level, running from end to end in the Works Yard to a timetable, drawn by a 14" 0-4-OST of Ramsbottom design.

Friday was also the day when dismissals were made as two fitters in No. 5 Shop discovered. They were talking while leaning back against a bench - not actually sitting on it because of its height - when the Works Manager walked through the door, turned and went upstairs to the Foreman's Office. Nothing was said but the men finished that weekend.

There was normally no time to stand and stare because of the piecework system which allocated a time and therefore a price to every operation, the timing being done by a Piecework Setter. These men were all time-served and were expected to be capable of taking off their coat and showing how the job should be done - and they were not very well liked. In fact it was forbidden to mention the name of one particular man in our house even though he was in the same Chapel choir as my mother.

This man was due to time Dad on a new job and duly arrived at the drill to begin, which meant a trip to the Tool Stores for the tackle, drills and clamps. The job was then set up square and true but before beginning to drill he told Dad to take it all down again. "Now" he said "we will begin". Everything lay in a neat ring around the machine, so obviously the operation was completed much more quickly. There was no argument. The time was floor to floor and should allow a normal worker to do enough to cover his base rate plus a bonus of up to a third. Anyone making more was inviting the job to be retimed, and they didn't have to wait for the design or method to be changed as in modern practice. Some tightly timed jobs were known as 'time and a Woodbine'. All mistakes were put right for nothing - no rectification time. The Company was obliged to pay the basic wage for the week but if the man had been slow, unwell or just had a run of rough jobs the money earned under the piecework system might be less than the basic rate so that it was possible to go into debt. This would be paid off from the next week or weeks when output improved, but if it happened too often, the man would go. And in Crewe, as in many other railway towns, if you didn't work for the company you stood almost no chance of working at all. In later years I used to help my father 'book his time' on Thursday evenings. This was supposed to be done inside but the job didn't allow the required time for concentration. There was always the worry about piecework prices and the fear of going into debt, but most men managed to keep a bit 'in the back of the book' - time not booked for a week or two and saved for a rainy day. When things became desperate it might be possible to book someone else's job, if a good friend who had a bit of time to spare could be found.

Machinists generally booked their own time, but fitters were more often in a gang, called 'so-and-so's job', where the time was pooled, which was a task for the leading hand, who drew an extra one or two shillings a week. When an engine came in for repair it was allocated to a fitter, who, with an apprentice, would strip and rebuild it, sending components away as necessary. The whole 'job' helped with the heavy tasks such as wheeling or rodding. When finished, the engine would run to Whitmore, up the London Line, possibly coupled to others, accompanied by the fitter whose responsibility it was. It was his engine and there could be no excuses. Sometimes a Premium Apprentice would go as well and on one occasion with a Super D one chap decided to walk around the footframing while running. Unfortunately the driver glanced across just after he had left the footplate and thought he had fallen off, which was not difficult with no gangway doors. Regulator and brake handles were slammed over and he shot to the fireman's side looking for a body somewhere in the rear. By now the Premium was out of sight in front of the smokebox to reappear on the L.H. footframing as a very shocked driver returned to his side. The position was explained clearly and basically before the regulator was again opened.

Any sick time meant a short week, so men went to work when they should have been off. Most men paid into the LNWR Hospital Fund, which later became the LMS fund and later still, the British Transport Fund, but was always known locally as the Half Day Fund because in the beginning the annual subscription equalled half a day's pay. The fund was recognised by the local, and sometimes not so local, hospitals so the men and their dependants were admitted free - this was before the N.H.S. - while cash help was given for surgical appliances and expenses incurred by family visits to members in hospital. There was also free admission to the Railway Convalescent Homes.

There was always the risk of injury, especially of a hernia, because lifting heavy tackle was a basic task. One could lose an eye with flying debris caused by the large amount of chipping by hammer and chisel. Equipment and conditions were primitive by today's standards and accidents were relatively common. The Company Hospital built in 1911 in Mill Street catered for both in and out patients, with men suffering from eye accidents being sent by train to Manchester Eye Hospital. Accident cases started back to work as Compensation Cases or 'compos' and, depending on the nature of the injury, would be found a light or lightish job. The degree of lightness can be judged from the case of the man working the ashpit at Crewe North Shed. He had a partial amputation of one arm and used a hook to throw shovelfuls of ash into five plank wagons.

After 1911 the children of any Company servant who was killed on duty could go into Webb's Orphanage (as it was known locally), which was on the opposite side of Victoria Avenue to the Cottage Hospital and which had separate accommodation for boys and girls. The inmates wore brown jerseys with W.O. embroidered in yellow on the front.

The LNWR Works Insurance Fund provided some assistance to accident victims and irregular subscriptions were taken from the pay of those men who joined whenever there was a 'Call' signified by the posting of a notice on shop notice boards. The number of Calls depended on the number of accidents. Many men subscribed to a sick club or Friendly Society such as the Oddfellows, Druids, Moose or Buffaloes, and when the national sick pay scheme (always known as 'Lloyd George') was introduced, the money was paid via this network of Friendly Societies. The Societies added a few shillings per week and there was also a death benefit as well as social activities. The sick pay rules were very strict - not to be out after 6.00 p.m. in winter and 9.00 p.m. in summer, no drinking, no manual work of any sort and no travel more than two miles from home. Members acting as sick visitors could visit homes unannounced and any breach of the rules could mean loss of benefit.

Smoking was not allowed in the shops (the wheel has turned full circle) because of the fire risk but in LMS days this was relaxed apart from the last hour of the day. Many men chewed tobacco instead. When the Company built their 'village' no public houses were allowed and any sign of over-indulgence when at work was a disciplinary and maybe a sacking offence. Dad always drummed it into me never to drink before going inside because if there was an accident the smell on the breath could mean the sack.

There were no washing facilities provided and men would use cutting fluid or oil to take off the worst dirt before going home. Both practices were forbidden but everybody indulged in them. There were no breaks for refreshment during working hours, although some did manage to brew up. One apprentice was caught by the foreman with tea in the lid of a brew can and was led out of the shop door before being told to pour it away.

The toilets were outside the shops, the urinals open to the sky and the rest in brick buildings known as squarehouses. Just inside the door was a small glassed-in enclosure where sat the toilet attendant (usually called something more basic) to whom the men shouted their check number when entering and leaving. The record was examined in the shop office every week and unduly long or frequent visits had to be explained. The cubicles had no doors so that on his periodic inspections the attendant could see if anyone was smoking or reading the paper. Doors appeared in 1939 and the attendants went around 1940. In the Millwright's Shop there was a urinal actually in the shop - no health and safety regulations then!

Toilet facilities in the town were primitive. Some houses had 'turnover toilets' which turned over when almost full to empty into the main sewer, but most had privies at the end of the yard which were emptied by night-soil men once a week some time during the hours of darkness. The system lasted until around 1930.Many men found relief from the harsh conditions by fishing in the local canals on Saturday afternoons and every shop had an annual match. The Iron Foundry used horse manure from the Cartage Department for inclusion in cores, and, given the opportunity to slip away for a few minutes on a Saturday morning, men would raid the heap for worms. Every chapel and church had a choir and there were several brass bands, dance bands and orchestras, while the Working Men's clubs and the numerous pubs were well patronised except when the Works was on short time. Bowls was a popular pastime with a green in Queen's Park as well as at some public houses. The game was the northern crown green version. Crewe Alexandra Football Team, founded in 1876 and in the Second division of the League from 1892 to 1896, provided entertainment on Saturday afternoons at their Gresty Road ground.

For the apprentices and young ladies there was the ritual Sunday evening promenade back and forth along Coppenhall Terrace from the General Offices to the Square with couples progressing to 'the walk round the Green' i.e. Crewe Green past the station.

Every August saw the Carnival or Park Fete in aid of the Cottage Hospital. This was held in Queen's Park and was preceded by a procession of decorated floats, bands, dancing troupes, the Fire Brigade and the Mayor and Corporation. It went from Gresty Road, through the town centre, along West Street and finally turned into Victoria Avenue and the Park where the judging took place. All the shops in the Works had entries as did the Steam Sheds, as they were then known, together with some of the other departments. Many thousands of pounds were raised over the years.

Before the 1914 war my father organised the 5 and 6 Shop entry for some years. One year he had a Barnum and Bunkum's Circus, a parody on that of Barnum and Bailey which was very popular at the time. A couple of coal carts were transformed into circus cages populated by apprentices in monkey skins (some of which were too small and split) and men dressed as lions and tigers. Dad was the Ringmaster, resplendent in frock coat and top hat, riding in a pony trap. Everything went well until, as they passed the end of the Machine Shop in West Street, one of the cart axles began to split. They managed to keep going to Merrill's Bridge where there was a coal yard, shut, of course, on a Saturday afternoon. The other troupes were, of course, delighted to see them draw in to the side of the road, but missed seeing several lions going over the fence and returning with an axle which was jury-rigged to the offending cart. They rejoined the procession just in time to go last into the ring where they won a prize.

For another year's Carnival Dad designed two yachts representing Uncle Sam and John Bull and consisting of a pair of wheels in the middle of a long plank astride which sat the crew to propel the boats with their feet. The sides were wooden frames covered with white canvas and there were masts and sails. In the race, of course, John Bull always won. This entry was taken to other carnivals in the North West, and by now Father's fame had increased to the extent that Pat Collins, the showman, offered him a job, which he declined.

Building the floats meant a lot of spare time work plus the 'loan' of various items from the shop stores and the following Monday morning saw much activity as everything had to be put back before it was officially missed. There was never any trouble and it seems that the usual strict discipline was relaxed because of the charitable results.

The daughter of Charles Perkins always watched the procession as did everyone else and she noticed the Ringmaster, who had red hair. Although she had said she would never marry anyone with red hair, she did so in 1913 and they took the train to Hanley for tea at the Grand Hotel. This was their honeymoon before they returned to work on the Monday.

In common with many men of the time my father joined the Cheshire Volunteers - 2nd Cheshire Royal Engineer (Railways) Volunteer Corps - where in addition to normal training he was a runner and a bugler. The Corps was disbanded in 1912 on the formation of the Territorials.

There was always the worry about short time and the sack. When Dad joined the Company, there was short time which lasted until 1906 when men over 65 up to the eldest at 80 had to leave. (There was no official retiring age.) Around 1909 Saturdays were not being worked and the full 54 hour week did not return until 1911, with overtime again in 1913, which is why my parents got married that year. By now, however, some apprentices were being sacked at 21 or after their Improverships at 23 when they came on to full rate. This practice continued into LMS days, as did the spells of short time up until 1938.

Men grumbled about the Company but they grumbled more after 1923 and hostility between Crewe and Derby lasted well into BR days.

Both men named Charles, my father and my grandfather, now lie not far from the grave of H.P.M. Beames and almost against the fence bordering the North Road.

(This article was written for the L.N.W.R. Society Magazine and is reproduced here with the author's and editor's permission).