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MARSHALL MP6 TRACTOR

FIELD MARSHALL SINGLE CYLINDER DIESEL TRACTOR

MARSHALL 12/20 TRACTOR

In the May of 1965, I was an 18 year old, 3rd year apprentice turner at Marshalls of Gainsborough. To supplement my meager pay packet I had been a part-time fireman on the Companies Brigade for almost two years. Periodically we were required to work a 12 hour shift on Sundays patrolling the factory for security reasons.
Because of the area the company covered it was impossible to walk through every department in that time so the premises where split into North and South patrols. On the morning of the incident, carrying an Ash night stick, flashlight and a large set of Master Keys that gave me access to any office or department, I was patrolling the South Side and had been walking for the best part of three hours.
The following are excerpts from a short story I wrote some years ago and it is considerably shortened. The story is ostensibly the truth and I have absolutely no doubts what I saw in broad daylight that day.
I left Marshalls as a Machine Shop Foreman in 1975 and I am very proud of my heritage. If I can be of any assistance to this marvelous site or answer questions about the company please do not hesitate to contact me at christony@sympatico.ca
The story picks up shortly before lunch and I had just left the Boiler Shop heading down to Jarmans Shop where I spent the first year of my apprenticeship on lathes. During this time I would machine many spare parts “tractor-men” will fully understand. “Stauffer” drip oil-feed parts, all in brass comes readily to mind.
Enjoy!!.............
I unlocked the door to Shop 23, “Jarmans Shop” (Spares Dept) and lifted the heavy latch, stepping through the port door that was enclosed in the 20 feet high main sliding doors. The shop opened out, some 150 yards long and 40 yards wide. Down the left side were the standard factory windows, 20 feet high and curved at the top. The machines were all neatly lined up in rows underneath the 20 ton gantry crane that would clatter up and down the shop some 40 feet over head. Half way down the shop I checked into the storeroom and telephoned Percy my shift partner and the Leading Officer, which was a mandatory step every 30 minutes or so for safety.
I traversed the full length of the shop to the coffee machine underneath the gallery. Taking a sip of coffee, I climbed the stairs to the gallery intending to exit at the upper level and head back towards the fire-station in due course.
I leaned on the rail looking down the full length of the shop. To my left was the empty crane cab. I lit a cigarette staring at the accuracy of the Suns’ rays as they streamed obliquely through 30 or 40 windows. Airborne particles that had probably never settled since the turn of the century danced merrily in the warmth of the morning sun.
The silence of this normal hive of industry was broken as the big latch was lifted on the port door I had just passed through at the far end of the shop. In the brilliance of the Suns’ rays I could clearly see a Foreman with his white coat and Trilby hat that was traditionally worn by the older foreman as a sign of rank.
I didn’t think there were any of the old boys left now. Maybe from the Boiler shop I mused. He closed the door with a clatter and walked across the end of the shop before stopping at Ernie’s inspection table. He was probably looking for a drawing or gauge most likely. He looked up towards me and I waved. He didn’t respond and I assumed he couldn’t see me so high up on the gallery were it was relatively gloomy. It occurred to me that I hadn’t heard him unlock the door although I was sure I had locked it. He turned and left by the port door and again, I never heard him lock it. I cursed him and set off all the way back to check.
I lifted the latch and satisfied it was locked retraced my steps for the inbound leg of my patrol.
I climbed the spiral staircase to find Percy reading the News of the World. “Is everything ok?” he asked, logging my return. “I thought there was no one working today?”
“To my knowledge there isn’t, certainly no-one is booked in” he said rather unconcerned. “Well, I have just seen a Foreman in Jarmans Shop”.
At that moment the door clanged noisily down stairs marking the arrival of the Chief. We both stood as he entered the room and exchanged greetings. He moved to the log book. “Tony just saw a Foreman in Jarmans Shop Chief” said Percy in a terse tone. The Chief stopped reading abruptly and stared at me quizzically. “Anybody logged in Percy?” he asked studying row upon row of keys up on the board. Each one was properly labeled in alphabetical order by department. There were no gaps. Percy was looking at me now when he replied negatively. “What did he look like?” asked the Chief. “Like a Foreman, White coat and Trilby hat, I couldn’t see what he looked like from a distance”. “The two old campaigners looked at each other. “Looks like Harry’s out and about again,” confirmed the Chief, reading Percy’s mind. “Harry who?” I asked upon seeing the faint smile that passed between the two men. “Harry Tranter, he was killed in a crane accident in ’31 at the far end of the shop. “It was near Ernies’ inspection table”. With that, the chief bade us farewell and left, probably for a couple of pints at the club before getting stuck into roast beef and Yorkshire pud. “Well, I’m gonna take a stroll to stretch my legs” said Percy. “I’ll be back in an hour or so once I’ve said hello to Harry” he grinned.
I opened my knap sack and ate my lunch very deep in thought.
1. The name Harry Tranter is fictitious as I simply cannot recall the name used
2. Upon hearing about the incident later that day my fiancées father said he remembered hearing his father tell that story. Both served their apprenticeships in the Smith Shop.
Written by:-
Anthony (Tony) Roberts
November 22nd 2010.

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