Liberty Print Works: Wartime Remembrances

Local History Notes 8: by W J Rudd

Bill Rudd has achieved a great deal in this paper. There are good clear descriptions of the processes that went on in each of the separate buildings, (together with occasional stories of his personal mishaps), set against a background of wartime life, air-raids, lack of sleep, bomb damage, finding some lunch, etc., ending with call-up in 1943.

This will be of interest to many future historians – the map and illustrations are nice too!

Review by Margaret Carr in MHS Bulletin 112 (Dec 1994)

ISBN 1 903899 22 2
Published by Merton Historical Society – September 1994
Further information on Merton Historical Society can be obtained from the Society’s website at
www.mertonhistoricalsociety.org.uk or from
Merton Library & Heritage Service, Merton Civic Centre, London Road, Morden, Surrey. SM4 5DX
1 Manager’s Office
2 The Loft
3 Colour House
4 Coles Shop
5 Air Raid Shelter
6 Apprentice Shop
7 Long Shop
8 Engineers Workshop
9 Boiler House
10 Steam House
11 Dye House
12 Laboratory
13 Block Shop
14 1929 Shop
15 Screen Store
16 Works Office
17 Wheelhouse
18 Sports Pavilion
LIBERTY & Co. Ltd.
Silk Printing Works, SW19
© W. J. Rudd 1993
LOCAL HISTORY NOTES – 8
Liberty Print Works
Wartime Remembrances
By W J Rudd – 1993
ISBN 1 903899 22 2
Published by Merton Historical Society – September 1994
Further information on Merton Historical Society can be obtained from the Society’s website at
www.mertonhistoricalsociety.org.uk or from
Merton Library & Heritage Service, Merton Civic Centre, London Road, Morden, Surrey. SM4 5DX
1 Manager’s Office
2 The Loft
3 Colour House
4 Coles Shop
5 Air Raid Shelter
6 Apprentice Shop
7 Long Shop
8 Engineers Workshop
9 Boiler House
10 Steam House
11 Dye House
12 Laboratory
13 Block Shop
14 1929 Shop
15 Screen Store
16 Works Office
17 Wheelhouse
18 Sports Pavilion
LIBERTY & Co. Ltd.
Silk Printing Works, SW19
© W. J. Rudd 1993
LOCAL HISTORY NOTES – 8
Liberty Print Works
Wartime Remembrances
By W J Rudd – 1993
In order to write what I remember of working for Liberty & Co. Silk Printers, Station Road,
Merton, I have to go back over fifty years, and memory can be fickle. Many of the names of the
people I worked with are lost to mind. During my time there, a little under four years, I worked
as a tier(tray)-boy or block printer’s assistant, screen printer’s assistant, screen printer, assistant in
the Dye House and finally assistant storekeeper. Other processes I only glimpsed in passing or by
casual observation. The chronology of events is approximate.

How did I come to work there? The war broke out when I was still at school or rather the tail-end
of the summer holiday, and classes had to be held in small groups in neighbours’ houses until the
air-raid shelters were completed in the school playing field. Once back at school, during my final
term at the Central Boys, Canterbury Road No. 2 School, Morden, I had only the vaguest idea of
my future employment and that was overshadowed by the fact that the country was at war with
no indication of what was going to happen next. My father came home one day and announced
that he’d found me a possible job at a grocer’s shop in Wrythe Lane, Carshalton, which I didn’t
much fancy. Then one evening I went with my mother to the school for an interview. I explained
my likes and dislikes to no effect, and then my mother said ‘He likes colour, he’s always colouring
things’. The interviewer, a lady, said she could offer me a job at the Liberty silk printing works

as a tier-boy. So the die was cast. I left school on the 22nd December and, after the last good
Christmas before rationing took hold, I set out by bus for Merton, with some sandwiches for lunch,
on the 27th December 1939.

1929 Shop, Works Office and Screen Store 1963

That first day at work was a long one, finishing at 5.30 p.m. broken by a mid-day (unpaid?) meal
break and fifteen-minute tea breaks mid-morning and mid-afternoon. When I went to work the
following day I was told I was late. The work started at 7.00 a.m. but I was excused as I didn’t
know. So I had to get up at 6.00 a.m. and leave home after a hasty breakfast. From then on I used
my new (14th birthday present) BSA roadster bicycle which I had to tip up through the side wicket
gate at the works entrance in Station Road, and over the railway line. My wages were fifteen
shillings (75p) per five-day week, which was, as my father pointed out ‘a cut above ‘ the normal
starting wage of fourteen shillings. Pay day was Thursday and I drew one day’s pay, having started
work on the Wednesday.

On Thursday 8th July I had to report for a medical examination at Kingston-upon-Thames in
preparation for call-up. My eighteenth birthday in September came and went and nothing
happened for weeks. Eventually the call did come and with it my last day at work just a month
short of four years with the firm. I went the rounds of the factory saying goodbye to all and sundry,
and handed in my Civil Defence equipment. On Monday 29th November 1943 I left Euston Station
for Carlisle on the first stage of what was to be a whole new way of life.

It was to be another four years before I returned to ‘Civvy Street’ being demobbed in the autumn
of 1947. I visited the firm as I had done when home on leave. When I saw the manager I was offered
a job under the new Reinstatement Act. After consulting with friends and relations I decided to
join the G.P.O. as a postman which had better prospects for the future. I finally retired from the
world of work in September 1985.

Postscript

At the time of writing the works has undergone a dramatic transformation. It is now described
as the Merton Abbey Mills. The former workshops have long since ceased their original function.
The ancillary buildings, boiler house, steam house and dye house have been demolished and the
lagoon filled in to become a car park. Offices, shops, craft stalls, a tea room, restaurant and public
house have taken over. It is noisy at weekends with the bustle of traders, entertainers and visitors.
I would much prefer to remember the Liberty Silk Printing Works as it was. The neat lawns with
chain-link fencing down the middle of the yard, the shrubberies outside the workshops, the sound
of birds in the wall creepers, the faint dull thump of printers’ mauls on the blocks indicating the
process of producing beautiful fabrics for the Regent Street shop. And how very peaceful it all
seemed in the harshness of war.

The Wheelhouse and Wheel 1962

When I first visited The Loft as a tier-boy there was Ted Green in charge, three girl assistants and
Jessie Simpson, Curly’s wife, who did all the book-keeping at a desk by the west window. Jessie
kept a record of all silks; type, length, pattern, colours and dates of issue and dispatch. When I
started work there late in 1942 there was only one girl and she eventually left. In a small room
partitioned off in the north-west corner was Joyce Young, who did all the art work for new designs
and very clever she was too. Just inside the entrance on each side were wooden racks where
prepared silks awaited collection. To one side of centre was a long padded table on which silks
were laid out. They were inspected both before and after printing and measured to account for
shrinkage. Stacked under the table and any spare space including the little loft were the silks in
their raw state before treatment in the Dyehouse, rolled up in brown paper and labelled. Liberty’s
vans brought in fresh supplies and took away the finished silks in wicker baskets. But if an urgent
order had to reach London in a hurry I was given the money for the fare and with the silk wrapped
up went by underground railway from Colliers Wood Station to the smart Regent Street shop. It
made a very welcome break.

Across the bridge on the other side of the river was a sports pavilion, a sports ground and three
tennis courts. There were two linked ponds which were connected at the north end by an open-
sided elaborately carved wooden pavilion, Far Eastern in appearance and quaintly called the
Kandyan Gate. Originally three ponds they were believed to have been used by the canons of
Merton Priory. The ‘Gate’ was erected after Liberty’s took over the works from Edmund Littler
and the third pond filled in for the playing field.

The Loft was protected by brass contacts on the door and all the windows. At the end of the day
Ted Green would go down to a night-watchman’s shed by the Wheelhouse and I would open either
the door or one of the windows in a rotation sequence to test the alarm. Early in 1943 we set about
the yearly stocktaking. My diary records it took place from Monday 11th to Sunday 17th January.
Saturday and Sunday were on overtime 9½ hours on Saturday and over 12 hours on Sunday from

7.00 a.m. to 8.15 p.m. when the air-raid alert sounded but having finished the job at last we left
for home in the darkness with a wary eye on the sky. Ted lived only a brisk walk away in Windsor
Avenue, I had a fifteen minute bike ride. For several Saturdays after that I did 5 hours morning
overtime which enhanced my pay considerably to £1 17s 5d (£1.87p).
Despite the air-raids which could come at any time I went to the local cinemas a lot, sometimes
two or three times a week, and to Wimbledon Theatre. At home all the family were now involved,
father fire-watched with the neighbours, mother joined the Women’s Voluntary Service and
donated blood, sister joined the Girls’ Training Corps. Everyone seemed to be doing something
for the war effort. We gave up using the back garden shelter, except in very severe raids, preferring
to stay in a warm bed.

I soon fell into the sequence of operations. The table was first washed, scraped off with a wooden
screed and wiped with a cloth. Then next given a thin coating of diluted gum arabic. The silk,
mounted on a backing (the same calico torn up to make aprons), was rolled out, squared up and
ironed into place at the leading end. The ‘piece’ was then rolled to the far end and at this point
I had to stretch out my arms as far as I could reach to hold the ends of the hollow-centred wooden
roller round which the piece was wrapped and pull as hard as possible to get it into position, a
difficult task for a ‘new boy’ and I needed a little help to begin with; and there were girl tierers too.
The far end was ironed rapidly so that I could let go. Then while the rest of the piece was ironed
down, I prepared the first colour.

The irons were heated on a series of gas ranges down the east side of the building, below the electric
fans which provided heat for drying the silks. The irons could be cooled by dipping in a bucket
of water using a hooked rod. The water was mainly used by the printer for washing his blocks.
My first task each morning was to draw a bucket or two of water from the nearby river, a freezing
job in winter!

The heavy timber-framed table was padded on top, covered and sealed with a water-proof material
called American cloth. I can recall being sent to Hadfields paint works in Western Road, Mitcham,
for a can of cellulose lacquer to provide a protective coating to the table tops. The table had a rack
of shelves for the colour trays or sieves. The several white, glazed-earthenware dye pots were kept
in line under the table.

The heavy timber-framed trolley ran on rails beside the table. The inner rail was a flat metal strip
on which the flat-rimmed wheels ran, – necessary since the printer had to stand there. The outer
rail was a metal rod held down by clips on which the pulley-rimmed wheels ran to keep the trolley
on course. On top of the trolley platform was a deep wooden well part filled with a liquid (a mixture
of waste gum and dye) sealed in with American cloth to give resilience to the block picking up
colour. Into the well was put the sieve, a rectangular wood frame bound on one side with stout
linen heavily coated with linseed oil to keep it waterproof. Into the sieve went a piece of cloth onto
which the dye was put with a brush. For the outline print this had to be a fine felt; the rest were
more coarse. On the right of the trolley platform was the conveniently placed dye-pot. In what
space was left was slotted a tall pole with a projecting arm which could be revolved. A shaded
lamp was fitted to the end of the arm and another in the angle of the arm and the pole to provide
direct light on the table.

Before printing could start the printer had to check the size of the block against the width of the
silk, and the number of ‘impressions’ worked out, as patterns varied. A blue-chalk line was then
struck as a guide a little way in from the nearside selvedge. The first colour to print was usually
a black outline, the pattern on the block being made up of copper or brass strip and pins. The blocks
needed to be handled with great care and examined to see if there was any damage, especially the
very sharp-pointed steel register pins on the sides of the block. Test impressions were made on
a sheet of plain paper or the bare end of the backing. Working to the printer’s instructions ‘more
dye’ or ‘less dye’ a constant check was kept on the amount of dye on the pad; a fine print block
required a mere touch, a bold carved wood colour block a great deal. Working from the guide
line and the tiny marks left by the register pins, and using the tail-end of a short-handled felt-
covered lead mallet, called a maul, on the block, the printer built up the pattern along the piece,
returning below the line to finish off.

All the tables in the other shops ran lengthways; those in the 1929 Shop ran across the building,
which was a handicap. Much of the work was done on long pieces, so that they had to be done
in two or even three sections. Each complete section had to be chalk-marked across the unfinished
end, the piece taken up and the process repeated from the beginning, time-consuming and the
printers were on piecework.

Of the silks themselves, shantung was probably the most used, but there were others; chiffon, crepe
de chine, georgette, ninon, satin and taffeta. There was damask, brocade and brocatelle; wools
such as cashmere and wool crepe; cottons such as chintz and cretonne; and marocain which could
be difficult to work with. On occasions it failed to stick to the backing during printing; it was heavy
and slippery and had the habit of sliding all over the place when handled on its own.

Perhaps the most splendid silk I ever assisted with was a brocade interwoven with a leafy pattern
in nine-carat gold thread. It was overprinted with a colourful flower pattern. When the finished
piece was looked at from a low angle the gold shone in the light, and from the top the flowers
glowed. I am not sure, but I believe the piece was intended for Queen Elizabeth (now the Queen
Mother).

Whilst much of the printing was done in long lengths a great deal was for scarves or ‘squares’ as
they were called. The more flimsy silks were used and in convenient lengths without a backing.
For squares the table was prepared as before, the silks laid out and carefully ironed on. The silk
was then squared off with the blue-chalk line according to the size. The printing was done either
as a through printing or with the use of a quarter-block. Through printing required the outside
border or ‘list’ of the scarf pattern to be covered up with strips of brown paper, both across and
along, and the pattern was printed through in the normal way. The paper was then taken off and
the pattern sometimes finished with an edging pattern block, the list with a padded block of wood.
With the quarter-block no paper was required, the square was simply printed in four quarter turns
of the block and finished with the list. A dyed silk needed no list. Lifting the piece was done with
a pin-ended rod of wood slotted through a hole at one end and lifted by the tierer standing on the
table, while the printer lifted the other end to hang up to dry. Occasionally the centre of a square,
now dry on the table, refused to lift and the printer had to ease it up as best he could since the list
was still wet. A square could be lost if it tore down one edge. At fifteen shillings for a complete
scarf I never got to buy one.

My finances did eventually improve. My wages went up 2/6d (12½p) a time, I got tips and I opened
a savings account. It was not all doom and gloom with the windows blacked out during the dark
hours. There was a great deal of banter, and for three days during the mid-day break uproar in the
Shop chasing and killing rats! But it was a bad winter, with rain, sleet and snow. The snow was
so bad that traffic was brought to a standstill and there were two days when I had to walk to and
from work.

Often there was more than one Alert and it was not unusual to be halfway home after the All Clear
then have to return to H.Q. when the Alert sounded again. It had a very tiring effect and I found
I could save time if I slept on top of the bed in full uniform. I eventually suffered acute eye strain,
and later was troubled with conjunctivitis.

Two buildings have not, so far, been mentioned in detail. One is the so-called Coles Shop. When
first built in the late 19th century it was then called the New Shop. The window frames are typical
of that period. Much later it acquired the name Coles Shop, the name apparently coming from a
calico printing works in Hackbridge, Arthur Coles, Ltd. It is a narrow building with cast-iron
pillars on the ground floor. As a space saver the tables were double width and allowed printing
to be done on opposing sides. It was a block printing shop on both floors. The other building is
the 1926 Shop otherwise called the Apprentice Shop, a more spacious two-storey block printing
shop with a hipped slate roof. A large air-raid shelter was built between the two buildings. Behind
was a long boundary wall with an attached toilet block.

At the request of Ted Green, and to Curly Simpson’s disgust, I transferred to The Loft. The Loft
formed part of a large, very impressive buttressed building near the entrance to the works in Station
Road. It comprised a ground floor block printing shop, an upper floor where the silks were stored
and above that a small loft reached by a wrought-iron spiral staircase. The Loft was reached from
an attached semi-enclosed stairway, and attached to that was the Manager’s Office, and later
incorporated with it the Works Office after the bomb damage in 1940. Above that was a small
residential flat. The whole of the main building was commonly referred to (in general terms) as
The Loft.

The Loft – block printing shop and silk storage/inspection 1970

Next to and north of the Steam House on the east side of the yard was the Boiler House, which
had two large marine boilers. It supplied steam to most of the works buildings. It was in the charge
of an elderly man who, to my surprise, I had seen previously as a tierer to a block printer, possibly
Bill Pawsey, at the far end of the 1929 Shop. I used to run errands for the man down Merton High
Street. He was more at home in the Boiler House which was a warm place to go to on a cold
morning. During the two weeks summer holiday the boilers had to be thoroughly cleaned and
descaled inside. The men who volunteered to do it frightened the boys by saying it was their turn.

In the meantime I found myself actually involved in the war. On Saturday 28th March 1942 I had
to attend an interview under the Youth Scheme published by the Board of Education on 22nd
December 1941 under which boys born between 1st February 1925 and 28th February 1926 were
required to register. I was asked by one of the three men if I could ride a bicycle. I could. Would
I like to join the Civil Defence as a Messenger? I would get a cycle allowance and a uniform. I
reported to the Civil Defence Headquarters in Kingston Road, Merton on Wednesday 1st April,
All Fools Day, significant since it was also the full moon. My duty nights would be Thursday and
Friday between 8.00 and 10.00 p.m. and I would have to turn out during the night if the air raid
warning went; I was to start at once and was issued with a steel helmet and a proper gas respirator.
I received a metal lapel badge on 7th June and the navy blue uniform with appropriate gold lettered
cloth badges on 15th August. There were lectures on C.D. organisation, high explosive,
incendiary, and the lethal anti-personnel (butterfly) bombs, first aid and anti-gas as well as a visit
to the gas chamber.

All went well to begin with. Some duty nights were taken up with test runs between H.Q. and
a selection of wardens posts, rescue and ambulance depots scattered about the Merton and
Morden U.D.C, the dockets being timed and initialled at each point. There were invasion exercises
when everyone in Civil Defence was involved. One test run was a little embarrassing. I had kept
my new activity a shy secret from my workmates and this particular run included the warden post
WWB at the Liberty works. The duty wardens, Alf King and Curly Simpson were most surprised
to see me. Alf later gave me a non-official CD badge to wear at work – which I still have, and I
was treated with more respect after that.

The worst part came during the night alerts when I had to race on my single-speed roadster with
shielded lights from home in Easby Crescent, Morden to the H.Q. in the blacked-out roads. The
anti-aircraft guns were no real comfort as jagged metal fragments would clink and spark all over
the place. You were fairly safe if the shell-burst was directly overhead as the fragments fell
outwards. Other than that I never, fortunately, saw active service when the bombs fell.

With no works canteen, meals were limited to sandwiches from home or fish and chips from
Merton High Street. I made toast by putting the sandwiches under a hot iron. A little slow perhaps
and they came out squashed flat with a shiny surface. I made quite sure the iron was clean
afterwards. I bought tea from Morden Woolworth stores and tins of condensed milk. One day,
with tea going on the ration, I went back in the shop for another 2 oz packet – and lost my bike!
Three days later I got two weeks summer holiday pay, 41/6d ( £2.07½p) – and lost a ten shilling
note! My mother, worried about my not getting enough to eat, brought hot meals well wrapped
up, all the way from home, which I found most embarrassing. The problem was solved by the
opening of a British Restaurant in a church near South Wimbledon Station serving meals at
reasonable cost to local workers.

Illness and short staff led me to working for other printers, Bert Tutty and Jim Jamieson among
others in the 1929 Shop, in another shop Joe Howarth and the foreman, Mr. Stewart. Mid August
1940 and the 1929 Shop got seven new tierers, two boys and five girls. Weatherwise, it became
a delight to sit on the river bank and watch the wildlife. Little dabchicks bobbing up and down in
the water, iridescent dragonflies, and the superb swans landing and taking off. I can see why it was
so attractive to the industrialists who settled there. To the west, open fields still separated the
Liberty works from the Morden Road factory estate during the time I worked there.

The war was never far away. During the summer months the Battle of Britain raged in the skies.
The attacks concentrated on airfields and Croydon was attacked on the evening of 15th August.
On Friday the 16th the air raid warning went at mid-day but nothing happened. At 5.05 p.m. the
sirens went again and we all went to the shelter at the end of the block shop. Time passed, then
the roar of engines and explosions, followed by another roar of engines and silence. The All Clear
sounded at 5.30 and we all came out to find the works office and the attached screen store badly
damaged and the end windows of the 1929 Shop blown in. Back inside the shop the end table with
a part-printed piece had on it a scatter of glass fragments, which were carefully picked off before
going home.

The mess was swept up and the piece, which sustained only slight cuts, was finished, the table
patched up, the windows repaired and work returned to normal. Apparently, German Junker 88
bombers had come up the River Thames, turned south to attack Biggin Hill aerodrome, had been
diverted and chased by RAF fighters, and dropped their load on the Merton factories.

It would be useful at this point to explain that the Block Shop was between and partly beyond the
1929 Shop and the river. It was where all the print blocks with their pattern numbers were stacked
on shelves. A two-storey building, it had later ground floor extensions at each end. That at the
north end was built as an air raid shelter, that at the south end was used, if only in part, as an air
raid wardens post manned by some of the Liberty workers. The Works Office was a small brick
building, the contents of which were subsequently transferred to the manager’s office near the main
gate. The Screen Store was a large, timber-framed, weatherboard building in which the screens
used for screen printing were stacked. This, it now appears, was a surviving relic of a large group
of such buildings dateable to at least the late 19th century, but probably much older.

With no bicycle I had to get two buses or bus and underground train each way. Fares went up from
1d to 1½d each stage, 6d (2½p) for the day’s journey. Then a local colleague discovered a single-
deck bus from Sutton garage passed through Morden and Merton on its way to route 115, but we
had to be at St. Helier Avenue (Middleton Road stop) before 6.15 a.m.

At work we often found scattered piles of sand where the duty wardens had put out small
incendiary bombs. Night raids had been going on for some time, and we all suffered disturbed sleep
huddled in shelters in the back gardens.

The 1929 Shop, from the year it was built, was, I was given to understand, to have had three floors
but was never completed, and thus it is the only building in the works with a flat roof. The upper
floor had four screen-printing tables running the full length of the building. Each table had a fixed
metal flat-sided rail down each side. Metal blocks were slotted to run on the rail and were screw-
bolted to it. The top of each block had a hole to take the screen pegs. Two opposing blocks were
permanently fixed at the leading end of the table from which all the measurements were taken. An
adjustable metal gauge was used to space the blocks down the table according to the width of the
pattern on the screens, the process called ‘keying up’. The screens were long, rectangular wooden
frames with metal pegs bolted to angle brackets screwed to each end on the left side. All printing
was done from left to right, both block and screen. The screens were covered with a fine-gauge
copper mesh, and parts outside the pattern were blocked out and sealed off at the edges of the
screens with rubberised paint to make them waterproof.

The process of screen printing was more straight-forward than block printing. The printer and his
assistant simply placed the screen across the piece, dropping the pegs into the opposing holes. A
manageable quantity of dye was poured into the screen, held back by a wooden, rubber-bladed
squeegee, which controlled the dye across and back again. The printing was done in alternate
spaces to prevent marking off, returning to the start to fill in the gaps. With the long table it was
possible to print material of any length, and would take two short pieces though I don’t remember
it done.

There were three screen printers, Alf Pentlow, Sid Allen and Tom Gibbons. I worked for Alf
Pentlow to start with and then with Tom Gibbons at his request. Alf got as a replacement a girl
I only know as Gwen. I do not remember the name of Sid’s assistant. Tom Gibbons did a lot of
special work, sample scarves in particular, some on paper which suggests they were new patterns.
The process was very fast. In one week, two tables of a pattern (left over from the previous week)
followed by nineteen tables of wool scarves, Balloon pattern, in seven different colour combinations,
and the following week, after a day setting up, eighteen tables of Curly Pine in six colour
combinations, possibly worked on two tables together.

Though all block and screen patterns had numbers there were many with names, such as Attic
Scroll, Trefoil, New Water Stripe II, Goldfinch, Ottelo, Flora, Marigold and Daisy, Blotch
Anemone, Bell Flower, Pansy and Cornflower, Megan, Gyp, Fountain, Honesty, and the many
variations on the classic Paisley design. In addition to the scarves and dress lengths some silks went
to make men’s ties.

Tom Gibbons and I did a lot of sorting and moving screens about, setting aside those damaged by
the bombing. Repairs to minor damage brought some patterns back into service, but major damage
required screen replacement or else the pattern had to be scrapped.

Immediately to the left was a door which opened to a storage area. Beyond to the left was a
stairway to the upper floor. The wet silks were taken on a flat barrow from the Dye House to the
drying room where they were put in a large industrial spin-dryer to extract most of the water before
being hung up to dry. Curly Simpson always called it the Springer (rhyming with ginger). It had
to be very carefully balanced, failure to do so caused the revolving drum to pitch and in extreme
out of control cases the belt drive would come off. The motor was switched off hurriedly and then
began the awkward task of putting the belt back on again. The Springer was tucked away on one
side almost under the stairs and together with the drying room occupied a large part of the ground
floor. Fixed wooden frames hung side-by-side from the ceiling. Within each frame was a long line
of narrow wooden rollers. The silks were taken over the rollers to the far end and hung in long
loops to dry under controlled heating fans. Marocain was the worst, being prone to slide and run
off the rollers and had to be caught before it hit the floor and had to be rewashed.

The stairway led directly into the upper room which was also used as a drying room. Through a
doorway on the left was the Steam House. There was on the east side of the Steam House a number
of tall metal cylinders. Each was hinged at the bottom and could be lowered and raised by a
winched line, and each had a hinged cap on top which could be fastened tight with clips. Attached
to each cylinder was a steam pipe and a pressure gauge. The silks collected by an assistant fresh
from the printers were prepared in their loose form or stripped from their backing in one of two
ways. One was where the silks were hung by a side selvedge on pins together with a plain sheet
as a protective spacer round and round an upright spiral carrousel frame, the other was where the
silks and plain sheet were rolled on a horizontal spindle which had a large flange plate at each end.
A cylinder would be winched down to a low angle and the silks slotted inside, the cap closed and
sealed and the cylinder raised to the vertical position. Steam was let into the cylinder and held at
a given pressure for a specified length of time to fix the dyes. After this the silks and sheets were
removed and hung separately in the next room to cool off and dry. Ted Champion was in charge
assisted by, among others, a girl named Lily Clarke, and helped by Fred ‘Pop’ Sears who also
helped in the Wheelhouse, and looked after the lawns and gardens.

After steaming the silks were taken up the yard to the Wheelhouse on the flat barrow to be washed
in the river to remove the gums and residues. As I recall a Mr. Stares had this task. The river at
this point was under control by a sluice, a barrier which had a platform and two hand-operated
wooden sluice gates in a raised position when not in use. There was a free flow of water through
the wheelrace protected by an angled metal grill on the outside to fend off rubbish and a rack-and
-pinion hatch or penstock on the inside to control the flow of water to the great undershot waterwheel.
The penstock was operated by a windlass inside the Wheelhouse. A giant geared pit-wheel
on the main axle transmitted the drive to a much smaller cog-wheel which turned a two-stage belt
drive, one across, and above, the door to the outshut, the other down to a large timber-slatted
spool. The spool was in the outshut above the wheelrace together with a railed-off platform
screened from the water-wheel. Of the precise sequence of operation I am not clear except to say
the main sluice gates would be lowered and the penstock raised and adjusted to control the speed
of the water-wheel set in motion. The silks having been taken round the spool and the ends tied
together were dropped in the wheelrace and the belt drive operated. As the spool revolved the
silks were washed in the water with a not unpleasant sound of rhythmic splashing. After washing
the whole process was reversed and the silks taken on the flat barrow down the yard to be put in
the Springer and then hung up to dry. From there they would be taken to the Long Shop for the
final process on the Stenter.

Inside, the Dye House had a long, glazed-tile bleaching tank, two dyeing vats and the backing
washing machine, with other apparatus. The bleaching tank was filled with a set level of water and
a measured amount of hydrogen peroxide taken from large glass carboys packed round with straw
in metal trellised containers. As with all his mixes ‘Curly’ Simpson used a glass hydrometer to
measure density. The silks were laid fold upon fold in the bleach, held down with wooden pallets
wedged with wood beams. They were left overnight and rinsed next morning in one of the dye
vats. Fred Bull and I usually had the task and we could get six full-length pieces of shantung
doubled up and packed side by side in one go. It was the cause of my mother remarking ‘What
have you done with your hair?’ Flicking fallen locks of hair back had resulted in a blond streak.
As it was a very wet place to work in we wore rubber aprons over a pair of rubber boots. We used
strips of backing to bind round our feet to save on socks, though we qualified for extra clothing
coupons.

The large, long backing washing machine was divided inside into a number of compartments, or
tanks, with a series of rollers top and bottom and was used to wash clean the soiled backing.
Backing came in assorted lengths all stitched carefully together but could be separated at
convenient points when used for mounting silks, and had to be fastened again for the washing
process. The backing had initially to be threaded in and out of each of the tanks and a long length
was always kept in situ overnight. The tanks were filled about three-quarters full with heated water
and the backing passed slowly from one tank to another, then over a bank of steam-heated cylinders
before being rolled up and taken to the Long Shop for reuse. Sid Allen was in charge and I think
he called the machine ‘Trixie’. He collected up the used backing from the Steam House.

The south boundary of the works had a narrow culvert of water controlled by a sluice from the
river. The water passed under an outshut at the end of the covered part of the yard. It was here
a boy wearing rubber boots and apron was employed to wash the used sieves, clothes and brushes
collected up from the printers and was responsible for their distribution. Many boys had severally
had the job including one I know only as Frankie.

Across the covered part of the yard on the east side was the main entrance to a two-storey building
which had two rooms on each floor. The main entrance led directly into the drying room.

As the war progressed, aggravated by the nightly blitz and day raids, the staff situation became
acute with eligible men being ‘called up’ in the armed forces, unless they were unfit or in a reserved
occupation, which resulted in a deal of reshuffling. Some printing was done on Saturday mornings
overtime.

Tom set about training me as a screen printer. This required no protracted apprenticeship and in
a fairly short space of time, with Tom’s guidance, I had enough knowledge to go it alone. I moved
into the Long Shop and Tom went off to repair screens. Alf Pentlow went into the army.

The Long Shop, named for obvious reasons, had two long screen printing tables side by side in the
south east corner, and a washing sink at the north end. The flatirons were heated on gas rings in
a small, sunken area on one side of the side entrance. There was a Backing machine and a Stenter.

I can recall two assistants I had. One was a smallish woman who was transferred as assistant to
the machine operator, the other, a ginger-haired girl. With two tables I could print two lengths
of silk together, working down one and up the other in two circuits. I got a rise in pay, also; from
the beginning everyone in the works got a periodic cost-of-living bonus of a few pence a time. I
did some overtime. Repeated washing and gumming of the tables left accumulated congealed
deposit on the sides. I soaked the sides with strips of wet backing on Friday nights before going
home and scraped and chipped away the mess on Saturday mornings for several weeks.

The sequence of working for a printer started with orders coming in from the head office in Regent
Street. The printer would receive his instructions from the foreman; the type of silk, the number
of pieces, the pattern and the colours. The printer’s assistant then collected the prepared silk either
backing-mounted from the Long Shop or in loose form from The Loft where silks were stored.
The colours arrived on a trolley from the Colour House, the blocks from the Block Shop, the
sieves, brushes and clothes from the boy who maintained a stock of washed items and collected
up the used ones. The screen printer and his assistant collected their own screens. On completion
of the printing the pieces were gathered up and taken down to the Steam House, usually by an
assistant who worked there, sometimes by the printer’s assistant or tierer. Throughout the printer
had to keep a time-sheet record, including any delays, e.g. ‘waiting for colours’ or the silk was
not ready. Not infrequently there was no steam in the works for some reason. The spare time was
taken up with odd jobs.

The Backing machine comprised a very large revolving steam-heated cylinder, a trough of diluted
gum, a large roll of cleaned backing and a take-up roller. The rollers were slotted onto metal bars
that fitted into the machine. The backing was fed across a narrow rubber roller revolving in the
gum taken over the cylinder gum side out and down to the take-up roller geared to the machine.
How the silk was first attached to the backing is unclear, possibly with pins, and there may have
been some sort of guide, but, once attached, the machine was set in motion, the operators keeping
a careful watch to see the selvedges were flat. Passing over the heated cylinder the gum dried and
the silk was stuck to the backing. The backing would be ‘broken’ at a convenient join, the roller
then removed from the metal bar and the piece was ready for the printer.

The Stenter was part of the finishing process. It was a long machine with an endless belt of brass
clips on either side. Some way in from the leading end, which was slightly angled inwards, was
a piped steam jet running across, and down the centre a line of heated coils. As the clips rounded
the end sprockets they automatically opened and closed. The width of the machine was adjusted

to allow the selvedges of the silk to be fastened into the clips. Then the steam jet was opened and
the machine set in motion. As the clips took up the slack the width of the machine was again
adjusted to the correct tension. The silk was damped by the steam jet and dried over the coils being
released at the far end flat and free of creases. It would be carefully rolled or folded and taken to
The Loft for examination.

Since the Colour House has been mentioned a little description would not come amiss. It is a very
old building, dateable I now know to the 18th century, built of brick with an infilling of flint and
blocks of stone salvaged from the nearby Merton Priory site, together with a pantile roof and a
small chimney. It originally had two floors and outbuildings at the back and south side. No upper
floor and outbuilding existed when I was there. I do also now know from old photographs that
the building had been used for dyeing silks using both floors. Machinery would have been used
and a surviving pulley wheel still projects from the top of the side wall. The Colour House was
in the charge of the aforementioned Alf King and Ernie Buddin. I knew them well as I often called
in for a pot of dye, and saw a little of the process in which variable measures of gum arabic, glycerine
and dyes were mixed on benches. The names of Geigy and I.G. Farben come to mind as the
suppliers of dyestuffs.

There is one interesting aspect of my time at Liberty’s. I can remember that there were RAF
bomber gun turrets on a piece of waste ground to the south just beyond the 1929 Shop, and metal
and perspex scrap in bins near the old Screen Store. A young colleague and I used to collect lumps
of metal turnings, and also collect all the dud electric light bulbs around the works. We crossed
the bridge over the river and went up the far bank where the light bulbs were thrown in. The object
was to sink the ‘convoy’ of bulbs with the metal lumps before they reached the Wheelhouse
downstream. To the east beyond the Liberty works’ boundary wall was a small factory estate in
a cul-de-sac, Littler’s Close, built shortly before the war, named after Edmund Littler who owned
the Liberty site in the late 19th century. Recent enquiry now suggests that the factory which
repaired the damaged gun turrets was called Parnell’s. Certainly there was a Mr. Parnell in charge.

My sister, who left school in December 1940, worked for The British Rototherm Co. Ltd,
thermometer manufacturers, in Station Road, and I would sometimes see her during the mid-day
break. During one such break a number of local factory workers came out to see, or at least hear
the explosions, when one of the surviving towers of Crystal Palace at Sydenham was blown up as
they were said to be an aid to German aircraft navigation. She later worked for Coxeter & Son
Ltd. who made anaesthetic apparatus, in Lombard Road.

On the 21st June 1941 I had enough money put by to buy a new bike, a Rudge Whitworth roadster,
£7 12s 11d plus 7s 6d insurance. It was to serve me well for many years. No more buses and
walking down High Path. In High Path there was a sweet shop run by Mr. & Mrs. Butterworth,
where I used my sweet ration coupons. Long-lasting Rowntree’s fruit gums were favourite.
Further down on the right was the Dean’s Rag Book factory, where there was the curious smell
that came from the waste bins; they made dolls as well. Riding to work in the morning had the
novelty of picking up the jagged anti-aircraft shell splinters lying about after the night’s raid.

After I came off screen printing I was sent down to the Dye House to work as assistant to ‘Curly’
Simpson (he had curly hair) who was in charge. There were already two other boys, Fred Bull and
Joe Frost, and I was a bit surprised to find Sid Allen working there, which suggests screen printing
had closed down. The Dye House was one of a group of ancillary buildings at the extreme south
end of the works divided by a half-open half-covered yard. It was on the west side with a small
laboratory north of it. The Laboratory was in the open part and was where Curly Simpson prepared
his dyes and other mixtures. He kept swatches of colour-dyed silks in various shades in reference
books. A pair of wide wooden doors led to the covered part of the yard and the entrance to the
Dye House. In some respects the Dye House had a similarity to the Long Shop, wide with a high-
centred roof coming down low at the sides, but whereas the Long Shop had large semi-circular
windowed ends the Dye House had large two-thirds circle windowed ends. To the west was a
pump house and two large water storage tanks, the water being taken from a lagoon itself filled
by an aqueduct from the river. The water would have been treated before use.

Engineers Workshop, Boiler House, Steam House, Dye House and Laboratory 1963