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Brave old engineer probably saved our lives at Fletcher’s
The day a steam engine nearly blew up during a trial run at the Masson Works of Derby sugar machinery manufacturer Fletcher and Stewart is just one of the tales recalled here by Harold Deacon, of Bawtry, South Yorkshire, who worked as a designer at the company in Litchurch Lane in the 1940s and 50s, following in the footsteps of his father and uncle.
I finally retired from there as director of agriculture of Tate and Lyle Technical Services.
At TLTS, we shared an office with A and W Smith and Co (then a Tate and Lyle company) which later united with Fletcher and Stewart to form Fletcher Smith, the company that now survives at Friar Gate, in Derby.
Roy Webster, who wrote about his time at Fletcher’s in Bygones last month, stated how he was advised to join the company because of its reputation for good training.
This was borne out by the fact that many trainees were head-hunted after completing their apprenticeship by other engineering concerns. Many went on to attain very senior positions in other companies country wide.
The main reason for this was that designers at Fletcher’s not only designed items of plant but acted as project engineers, requisitioning all the materials and components for making the plant, as well as doing the drawings.
They then had to compile a detailed specification of all parts to be used in the manufacture, literally down to the last bolt, nut and split pin. So each man was fully engaged in the design of any order, however large or small, from its start to completion.
Fletcher’s also had a reputation as a family firm, since many of its employees included sons and nephews working at the company at the same time as their fathers and uncles.
I was one such as my father and uncle were both senior engineering designers. My father, Frank Deacon, went on to be the chief engineer of the Distillers Company (Southern) and my uncle, Harold Blood, staying on at Fletcher’s until his retirement.
One of the facts not mentioned in previous articles is the fact that much of the equipment made at Fletcher’s was very large and extremely heavy, making it impossible to transport by road.
As most of our products were scheduled to go overseas, it was essential to send them to various ports such as Liverpool, Avonmouth or Glasgow. We had our own railway sidings running the length of the factory site, with branch lines into the factory assembly shops.
A large sugar mill roller could, for example, weigh up to 20 tons and be 15ft long, while a steam engine flywheel could be 24ft in diameter and weigh 20 tons. Sometimes, there were shipped in halves.
Segments of vessels, such as vacuum pans, were as much as 15ft in diameter and 6ft high. It was therefore necessary to load these into railway wagons inside the factory, using the workshop overhead cranes.
We employed a senior despatch clerk, Viv Reynolds, whose sole responsibility was to arrange all railway shipments. He had an office located beside the railway lines leading into Derby station.
Not long after the outbreak of the Second World War, the managing director, Cecil Murray, called a meeting of all staff, both offices and workshops, with the intention of forming firewatch teams.
“Firebombs,” he informed us, “are no problem to deal with – you just stamp them out with your boots.” He knew since he had been in the Royal Flying Corps in the First World War.
A roster of teams of three men was agreed and I was to lead the first one on duty. A rest room was set up in the works canteen with three camp beds. Meanwhile, the company was equipped with a motor-driven wheeled pump and we firewatchers were given instruction on how to use it. This was great fun and we vied as to who could squirt water right over the factory roof.
This we succeeded in doing much to the annoyance of Viv Reynolds, whose office, on the other side of the factory, received the full force of the torrent.
Anyhow, come the first night of firewatch duty, I, with my loyal team of Derek Shepperd (another trainee designer) and a young boy out of the workshops, made my way, armed with stirrup pump and bucket up on a tour of the workshop roofs.
It was pure bravado, of course, as we were not supposed to do that. With nothing to be seen or done, we went back down to earth to the canteen and had a good night’s sleep. So much for Fletcher’s first-ever firewatch.
One incident I recall which might have had dire consequences occurred in the early l950s when it was decided that a steam engine that we had built should be tested under steam.
Prior to that, no engine had been steamed before final erection on site. This engine, with a 24ins diameter bore by 42ins stroke, was not a large one by our standards but had a flywheel weighing 14 tons.
By that time, we had acquired the capacity to generate sufficient steam for a test but only on a Saturday morning when most of the workshops were not requiring steam. So, on a particular Saturday morning, some of us went into the works to observe the test – including Wilfred Smith, the senior engine designer, Ernie Berks, the engine shop foreman, and myself.
When sufficient pressure of steam had been generated, Ernie gently opened the main control valve to warm up the cylinder and, this being achieved, opened it up fully. Gradually, the engine ran up to speed but then a grinding noise was heard and we could see that the engine was over-revving.
The designed speed was 60 rpm and it was already being exceeded. We had all heard of tremendous damage that could result from overspeeding, causing the flywheel to shatter. Not a pleasant thought and one which suddenly occurred to us as we scattered to places of safety.
That was – all but one. Wilf Smith ran towards the engine and slowly turned the control valve down. He was, by then, an elderly man and not used to a lot of physical exercise but, that day, he moved like lightning – a brave reaction which saved the day and probably our lives.
What had happened was that a pin had been left out of one of the bevel gears of the flyball governor and the gears had disengaged, resulting in the governor being useless and the engine running out of control.
Another innovation during the post-war period was to give a Christmas party to the children of employers. This was held in the works canteen. I, along with Harold Watts, then manager of the design office, volunteered to help, later discovering that we were to be the front and back end of the reindeer which pulled Santa’s sledge.
The works manager was to be Santa and the sledge was made of solid timber in the pattern shop – as ever, of really heavy construction.
So, attired in a reindeer skin, Harold and I dragged the combined load of sledge, Santa and presents the length of the canteen. Not funny! And guess who was at the back end – me! Nevertheless, it was good fun for the kids and a great start for future such occasions.
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