Memories of the New Merton Board Mills 1964-1976

MEMORIES OF THE NEW MERTON BOARD MILLS 1964-1976

Robert Parkin

MERTON HISTORICAL SOCIETY 2024

When I think back to my early teenage years when I would cycle every
third Sunday from the St Helier Estate, along the Mitcham Road to
Church Road and into Merton High Street to deliver my father’s roast
dinner, carefully packed and secured on to my carrier, it never occurred
to me I would spend the first 12 years of my working life in the same
industry at the Merton Board Mills. Or the effect those years would have
on me during the remainder of my time at work in other, more diverse
occupations.

My father spent his entire working life
at the mill at Merton, from before the
war years to the early seventies when he
retired at the age of 65. Born in Tooting,
South London, he met and married
my mother, also from Tooting. They
moved to the relatively new St Helier
Estate, Carshalton, setting up home
and remaining there for the rest of their
lives. Prior to the Second World War
my father joined the original mills at
Merton. He returned later in 1945 after
his army service in the Royal Artillery
to assist in the reconstruction of the
New Merton Board Mills.

My father on the left in 1945 during the rebuild of the mills.

An earlier mill had been established on the Merton site by the A E Reed
Company. New Merton Board Mills commenced production in 1927.
In 1945, the then owners selected Sam Grindlay as Manager. His initial
task was to effectively rebuild the original mill, which had been heavily
bombed during the Second World War causing severe damage. All
production had ceased. Sam Grindlay’s role was to oversee the rebuilding
and introduction of new machinery and equipment in a much larger,
modernised plant, ensuring a high rate of production of superior quality
to maintain profitability. Under Sam Grindlay’s guidance, New Merton
Board Mills became a highly successful organisation. The mill remained
on the site for the next 50 years, as a subsidiary of ES&A Robinson whose
management offices were in Bristol, where the Robinson family resided.
In later years it merged into the Dickinson Robinson Group, becoming

the DRG Board Mills. The new huge DRG logo was to become a familiar
feature along Merton High Street.

As manager, Sam Grindlay was keenly aware of the need for reliable and
skilled staff to take the Mills forward, especially men returning from the
war, like my father, who had experience and knowledge of the industry.
This provided sound, long-term employment with the added security
provided by the construction of a new mill.

Starting work

My introduction to the mill was gradual. I joined in 1964 at the age of
seventeen as an apprentice. I was too young to work in the main Machine
House, one huge machine which operated round the clock, seven days a
week on a shift work basis. I was offered a daytime position in what was
known as the Drumhut. This was a small, detached building situated in
the Mill grounds. The River Wandle flowed along one side and the rear
was bounded by High Path. This remains to this day as an original path in
Merton used to access other local businesses.

The mill was dependent on the Wandle to provide a constant supply of
water, allowing it to operate around the clock. The river disappeared below
the ground and into the treatment plant. Here filters ensured the water,
stored in huge cylinders within the Mill, was suitable for the preparation
of pulp for the initial stages of production.

My role in those early days in the Drumhut was preparation. It involved
packaging, pallet making, re-reeling the reels of board and the use of
a guillotine. The guillotine was manned by an experienced operator,
reducing the size of sheet material to match the orders which was then
repacked ready for collection. The area in which we worked was also
used for storage. Being dry and airy it provided a pleasant workplace
environment.

One got used to being surrounded by stacks of cut board and reels
that reached to the roofline. The sound of machinery became familiar
throughout the day. My first role was on the ‘paster’, which resembled a
mangle with two rollers. The sheet to be pasted was fed by hand between the
rollers, the lower roller having a paste tray beneath it. This sheet was then
attached to a dry board to create a firm base for the pallet. On completion
the pallets were stacked onto iron transport trays to be delivered to the

mill. There, they were used for the stacking of the newly manufactured
sheet bundles to await collection or transportation to customers.

We were a happy band of workers who got on well with each other. There
was always someone with a ready joke or put-down if things were getting
a little tense. To this day I can remember everyone, their names and
different ways of working and expressing themselves.

Dicky Coppin operated the ‘re-winder’. He worked a miniature crane,
operated by hand, to load each reel prior to rewinding and cutting to size.
Andy Anderson managed the guillotine, placing a bundle of prepared
sheets under the blade and setting the measure before releasing the
safety lever. This allowed the guard to drop into place prior to the final
cut. In those days these roles were recognised as skilled jobs. We even
had our own Hyster driver. Teddy Trimmer was a retired lorry driver
and spent his day delivering and collecting between the Mill and our
humble Drumhut. Teddy was good company with a ready smile and easy
banter, even on cold rainy days when the last place you wanted to be was
out on the Hyster. Others were Tom Andrews, Sammy Shuttel, Johnny
Young and Tony Dempsey, who, like me, helped generally wherever and
whenever we were needed. There was much laughter and general chit-
chat to carry us through the tougher times when workloads were heavy.
We were looked after or ‘overseen’ collectively and individually by the day
manager, Fred Player.

Fred was a congenial and friendly manager, calm and polite – not always
the case within industry in the sixties. He had worked his way up within
the Mill, initially on the beater floors, where the pulp was produced from
raw materials: bales of wastepaper which were delivered to the Mill in
multi-ton loads and stored in huge warehouses which could be clearly
seen from the High Street.

Fred had been promoted to a Shift Foreman, the ultimate challenge for
anyone wishing to secure a semi-management role in the paper industry.
This carried with it a high level of responsibility. Paper and board mills
operated shifts on a 24- hour production schedule. With such fast- moving
machinery anything could happen at any time, and it usually did around
3am, when the Shift Foreman had to come up with the answer or resolve
the issue immediately – not everyone’s ideal.

The role and responsibility of the Shift Foreman was to always be prepared.
Fred’s career had been cut short due to a heart condition. He had to cease
shift work and returned to a daytime position in the Drumhut. I recall his
kindness, patience and the ability to deal with most issues with a simple
joke and a smile. With his health deteriorating he went on long-term sick
leave, never to return.

With Fred’s departure, one of the team, Billy Kew, was put forward to
temporarily take over his position. Another local, like my father, Billy
had spent his working life at the Mill. Always smart in blue overall, collar
and tie, he supported and guided us for the remainder of my time in the
Drumhut. A memory I have of Billy, apart from him introducing me to
Guinness beer at the Trafalgar pub in High Path, was his habit at each
lunch break to go the local newsagent for his daily paper. One day, as he
returned through double doors, he said he had just heard that something
tragic had happened to a school in Wales. The date was 21 October 1966.
The school was in the Welsh valley of Aberfan.

Where we were situated, in the Mill grounds, we noticed, throughout the
day, the management staff coming and going to their meeting room. This
was an independent timber building situated by the river. Sam Grindlay,
the Mill manager, caught my eye on a regular basis. Every morning he
would park his smart Ford Consul outside the meeting room. I was
coming up to eighteen and had my own Mini, which I was allowed to
park near the Drumhut. I have never forgotten his two tone, red and beige
Consul with the deep red seating and interior. At the time, it seemed to
me to be the perfect car.

One day, returning from the Mill for a meeting, he caught me gazing
through the side window at the interior, making me jump as I heard the
familiar Scottish burr: ‘Want to buy it, Robbie?’ Turning around, I was
relieved to see a big smile on his face. From then on, I never had any fear
of approaching him, should the need arise. This was to serve me well for
the future. A year or so later, I asked him if I could be considered for a
transfer to the Mill, to take up a shift work role.

Shift work

I had thought for some time about taking on a shift working role. I was
only nineteen and it was not something to be rushed into or taken lightly.

It meant antisocial hours, weekends and nightwork. By coincidence, it
had been made known throughout the plant that a new shift was about
to be formed. The management were looking for current staff to change
shifts as well as to employ new people. I took my chance and formally
applied to be considered.

My application was accepted. Entering shift working required a complete
change of lifestyle, not only in work times, but also one’s private life.
Nightwork required some getting used to. It was vitally important you
had sufficient rest during the day – being tired at the start of a shift made
you vulnerable, particularly when surrounded by fast moving machinery.
There was always a safety aspect, and it was necessary to cope with noise
and changing temperatures.

Becoming a shift worker in a paper and board mill required flexibility.
Various areas were required to be maintained around the clock. A skilled and
reliable workforce was essential for the preparation and finishing process.
The mill operated on a three-shift system throughout a 24-hour, seven-day
a week cycle. Weekday shifts from Monday to Sunday were identified as: ‘A’
Shift; 7am-2pm; ‘B’ Shift: 2pm-10pm; ‘C’ Shift: 10pm-7am.

The changeover day for each shift
period would be on a Sunday, with
the Monday day shift relieving the
night shift at 7am. To accommodate
the Sunday shift pattern, both night
and day shifts were longer, at eleven
hours. For the new shift, the rota
commenced each Monday at 7am.
Each worker had one rest day within
their shift period on a rota basis.
Those completing a week of night
shifts would return the following
week to commence ‘B’ Shift until the
following Saturday.

The main part of the machine was
the dryer section looming above
at a great height. The dryer section
was the most spectacular part of the

The dryer section, with gantry

visible above at first floor level

machine. High stacks of cylinders filled with steam, creating a continuous
heated surface, removed moisture from the sheet as it travelled along the
machine.

However, the paperboard, at various stages of drying, could break in an
instant while travelling through the dryers. Should this occur, all members
of the shift in the machine house were required to stop whatever they
were doing and scale the dryer stacks to remove waste and the loose board.
To correct this, new ‘tails’ were fed manually into the guide ropes which
allowed the main sheet to return on to the dryer stack. This procedure
was known as ‘cutting an end’, with one person cutting and a second
feeding the tail into the guide.

This procedure was always left to the more competent staff. With the heat,
machine noise and raised voices, it was tricky and dangerous. It took time,
observation, nerve and common sense to know what should be done in
the right place and at the correct time.

A sheet breaking within the main part of the dryer section was a significant
and alarming situation. Hot sheeting could quickly pile up along the
whole machine house. ‘Broke’, as it was called, could quickly become such
a hazard that it could require a shutdown of the whole machine. Then it
would be all hands on the clearance with the priority to get the machine
restarted and in production as soon as it was safe to do so.

Wet soggy broke was difficult to shift, requiring lifting into the large
collection trollies before being transported to the beater floor for re-
pulping. During particularly severe breaks, large amounts of broke would

Left: dry end calender floor at first floor level
Right: completed dry end reel

remain discarded on the machine house floor whilst the machine was
restarted, such was the level of urgency, which one became accustomed to
in the mill environment.

The process

To experience a paper and board machine
house operating at full speed, from the
wet end to the dryer section and into the
calenders as the polished and finished
product became a reel, was unforgettable.

Preparation commenced with the pulping
of recycled wastepaper and card into a
thick liquid and culminated in the finished
product as reels and sheets for customer
usage. Stored in large warehouses the
stacked bales of raw materials could be
individually moved by crane to the beater
floor. Hundreds of tons of baled, mixed
cardboard and paper were supplied daily
from recycling companies from around the
country. Supplies had to be continuous to
feed the beater and powerful hydrofiners
to maintain a level of production to sustain
the 24-hour process.

The process of purification of the pulp was
achieved in the enclosed cylinders of the
hydrofiners, refining it to such a degree
that it would be suitable for
the addition of chemicals and
colourisation.

Finally, the graded material was
pumped along the cylinders
towards the machine’s ‘wet end’.
It is here the moulds emerged
to create the web sheet, drained
and formed by felts. These

pulper floor, at first floor level

pulp – the first stage

a pulp refiner

the pulp hydrofiners, also at first floor level

operated on either side of
the web sheet, allowing it
to emerge as the formed
sheet. It then entered the
three presses. Each press
removed a percentage of
the water until the sheet
entered the dryer section.

All this I encountered in
the very early days when
I started on ‘B’ Shift as
a general shift member.
At the beginning of
my journey, I realised
immediately I had a lot to
learn. The key was to look,
listen, and be interested
in the overall process.
I asked questions and
watched skilled members
of the team. I kept in the
background but noticed
several staff members who
were most likely to assist
me to progress.

I made myself available,
whether it was stacking
reels, ‘laying up’ sheets,
helping on the re-winder
or clearing broke from
the machine floor. I
soon became sufficiently
confident to volunteer to
work in different areas during staff shortages. After a year or so I had
already made up my mind I could get ahead in the industry, although
during those early years I was not sure how that could be achieved.

preparation floor, at first floor level

preparation floor

the wet end sheet entering the dryers

Eventually, an opportunity arose when a vacancy occurred, one that
suited me perfectly. Each shift had two people known as ‘reliefs’ for
those colleagues taking their rest day. This ensured most of the areas
of production were maintained and covered during each shift period.
Staff on relief duties would either cover the machine house dealing with
production or operate in preparation on the beater floors.

As a relief, most days I would be working in different areas throughout
the mill, learning something new, gaining experience and widening my
knowledge of the whole process. This meant I would also meet new
colleagues, which allowed me to see how other departments operated.

The relief status was to take me into the areas dealing with preparation. It
was a vital learning curve. Some of the tasks were basic drills. Others, like
sizing pulp and colourisation, were more engaging.

One of my duties involved operating the overhead crane on the hydro
pulper floor. Memories of this experience remains with me to this day.
The crane control box was high in the roof of the vast warehouse. Access
was obtained by climbing a very steep wall ladder, thankfully with safety
rails attached. From there you stepped directly into the control box. This
type of ceiling crane moved sideways as well as forward. Gradually, with
a trusted co-worker on board, I mastered the various connecting levers
and, more importantly, the brake.

During the day shifts a fellow worker stood on the stacked bales as a lookout
while lorry drivers delivered huge nets of recycled paper and board. This
arrangement required me to drive the crane beyond the edge of the stack
to the drive entrance. Suddenly you would find yourself suspended in the
ceiling, looking down at a sheer drop to where the lorry was parked.

The first time was a breath-taking experience. I have always been
reasonably comfortable with heights, but I’ve never forgotten when, just
for a few seconds, I needed to catch my breath before lowering the hook
to the waiting driver below. Just for a moment my head spun, and my
legs trembled. Wally Charles, the co-worker who was with me in the cab,
simply grinned and whispered, ‘Thought I would save the best part to
last!’ Wally was a man of few words. Whilst at work he always wore his
military beret with various badges and regalia. He was good company
in the control box during those early days and nights. I always had the

impression he had seen a lot of life, but he never spoke of it, though there
was rumour that during the Second World War he had taken part in the
air drop at Arnhem.

As I became more confident, I had no hesitation in climbing the ladder
and entering the cab alone, enjoying every minute of travelling up and
down and across the width of the ceiling without a second thought. One
positive point of being in the crane cab on a winter’s night was that I
was equipped with a heater, making it very cosy, particularly around 3am
when everyone else on the pulper floor was shivering.

Without question, my time as a relief on ‘B’ shift served me well. Not only
did I gain vital all-round experience, but it also gave me a strong sense
of responsibility. Some of the tasks were a challenge. I soon discovered
there were more elements of the work that I could undertake. I made new
friends and liaised with staff in their individual roles, allowing me a vital
overview, which helped me appreciate how this vast 24-hr operation kept
running so smoothly.

A major turning point for me during this period was to engage with the wet
end staff, namely the machine man and his assistant, who was generally
known as the ‘wet-end boy’. The machine man was Harry Senior, another
lifetime employee with many years of service at the Mill. Walter Scott was
his assistant machine man.

the wet end at first floor level of the Machine House

Part of my role as ‘relief’ was to keep the machine man informed of any
problems that could cause any disruption to production at the wet end.

I found the machine fascinating: the huge presses, the turning moulds,
the felts running along the full length of the machine lining the web as it
formed, before finally emerging from the last press and entering the drying
stacks. The noise was constant with a distinct smell – not unpleasant, but
a sense of water, chemicals and pulp – each forming the beginnings of the
initial sheet prior to entering the dryers.

Above right: the top felt

Above left: wet end presses, from above

Right: dryer cylinders, from the gantry

Walking along the dryer gantry, the
heat and noise could be oppressive,
particularly in the summer months.
However, with time one became
used to it. I would often stand on
the gantry and watch machine man,
Harry Senior, make hand signals to
the dryer man way down at the end
of the machine. By this method he
advised changes of speed, tension of
the sheet or any initial flaws that could
cause the risk of a sheet breaking
in the dryers. To a novice like me,
these hand signals meant very little,

although I was soon to learn this was a vital part of the vigilance required
at such a crucial stage of production.

It was in those early days that I realised almost immediately that I wanted
to be at the very heart of the process, namely in the machine house on the
wet end, as an assistant machine man. Then, it seemed overwhelming but
fascinating. A commitment to learn was vital to become skilled and, more
importantly, a willingness to accept responsibility.

A SUMMARY OF THE BOARD-MAKING PROCESS

The preparation of pulp:

1 Arrival of raw materials, baled wastepaper and board.

2 Storage of raw materials in warehouses.

3 Pulping raw materials on the Beater floor, above the entrance.

4 Pulp refinement, treatments, separation of waste, colourisation
and sizing in Hydrofiner.

Production of reels and sheets:

5 Wet end: pulp continuously supplied to a large vat, where it settles
on a large revolving partly immersed mesh-covered cylinder
known as a mould. Each mould created a level web supported by
the top and lower felts. Leaving the felts and the presses (illustrated)
the newly formed sheet enters the dryers (illustrated).

6. Dryer Section: the sheet enters the Calenders to be smoothed and
glazed prior to the final reel.

7 Dry end: preparation of finished reel from main machine.

8 Reels and sheets cut to size.

9 Storage of reels and sheets; dispatch of finished product.

These locations are identified on the plan on pages 14 and 15.

A Glossary is on page 26.

Terms explained in the Glossary are marked in bold above.

REDUCED FROM ORDNANCE SURVEY 1:1250 MAPS

PLAN TQ2670SW Surveyed 1950, revised 1960, published 1960

PLAN TQ2670SE Surveyed 1950, revised 1966, published 1967

(A) From Mill Road; the rear boundaries of the houses numbers 3-41. Beyond
these are the Mill grounds, warehouses and the Machine House.

(B) The long rectangular building within the Mill grounds contained the recycled
waste warehouses and the entrance to the rear of the Machine House.

(C) Note the River Wandle flowing beneath the Mill grounds and the circular
water tower.

(D) The clear area at the end of Mill Road and the High Street was used as a car
park for the mill workers. Following along the High Street, to the right, would be
the rear entrance for vehicles to the exterior warehouse. The stacked bales could be
clearly seen from the High Street.

(E) Opposite Mill Road, in the High Street, was the Wimbledon Palais. Following
along the High Street is Abbey Road.

(F) Along the High Street the River Wandle and the small bridge to the entrance
to the Mill.

(G) On entry to the immediate left would be waste storage and, above, the beater
floor. To the right would be the entrance to the administration offices.

(H) The extensive building marked ‘Board Mills’ is the extended Machine
House. The reel store would be at the far end, the alley running through could
accommodate large vehicles, to collect and transport reels and packaged sheets
from the machine.

(I) The large rectangular building, directly opposite the Kings Head Public House
and the Bus Garage, is the Box Factory which would have shown the DRG Logo.
This is marked ‘Gantry’ on the map. Directly in front of this, the Mill offices,
extended along the riverbank to the National Trust Area, which was preserved as
a green area. (The Cardboard Box Factory, to the right in the above map, formerly
the Shirley and Warbey Box Co of London, was within the Dickinson Robinson
Group in the 1960s, but was not part of NMBM, though clearly connected by the
long structure crossing the stream.)

Working within industry as a young man in the sixties and into the
seventies was, if you had ambition, a waiting game for a position or
promotion. To gain an important post requiring responsibility could take
years. Normally, such opportunity would only arise through a member of
staff retiring. During the period I spent in the relief role it was necessary
to assert and involve myself to ensure I was noticed.

As I became knowledgeable and skilled in the preparation process, I
realised I had to move on beyond the practical to the technical. I was now
being encouraged to become involved in sampling and evaluating the
finished product. However, there was a lot to learn and the place to start
was in the office of Quality Control – an ideal position to seek a change of
role and apply for promotion.

The QC staff measured, weighed and tested samples direct from the
machine, for water content, ingredient levels and the exact thickness,
measured in microns.

While working on the day shifts, especially between 7am to 2pm,
I encountered the Day Manager, George Homer, who spent much of
his time on the wet end. His knowledge was wide and far reaching.
George was another ‘Merton Lifer’, a Shift Foreman for many years who
acquired an abundance of experience in the entire process. I liked him
and, thinking back now, I admired him too, as he had made a success
of a career at Merton. I asked questions and received full and extensive
answers.

During the next two years or so I learnt a great deal from him and from
Freddie Wilson, the assistant day foreman.

Below left: setting the end reel at first floor level

Below right: the end reel

Not everyone shared my opinion of George. He had a stamp of perfection
about him, his view being there was one way of doing things: the correct
way. I knew colleagues would make a hasty exit if they saw George
heading their way. It was the kind of reputation, maybe, to be feared, but
only if you had good reason! One early mistake I made was during a chat
about the day’s events. I referred to the Mill Manager, Sam Grindlay, by
first name. George swiftly turned to me, looking straight at me, and said
quietly, ‘You mean Mister Grindlay, I think’ – a quick lesson in respect
which I never forgot.

During this period, we noticed there were new faces arriving on the
management team at New Merton, one being Francis Robinson, a member
of the Robinson family, whose name appeared in the titles of the company.
Also, importantly for us in production, came Sam Grindlay’s son, Colin
Grindlay. These two young men, university educated and qualified with
professional backgrounds, were to change everything.

Thinking back to that time, the late sixties and early seventies, although
we had not realised at the time, this was just what the company needed
– fresh, intelligent minds, thinking ahead, capable of making decisions
and implementing change which, a few years earlier, would not have been
considered. It was Colin who would bring about the most significant
change in my progress – being there at the right time and in the right place.

Whilst both Colin and Francis respected, listened and considered the
views of the older members of staff, it was obvious change was afoot,
particularly for those employed in the Machine House. Harry Senior was
still operating the wet end as machine man in his mid-sixties. It was he
who initiated me to the more technical side of the production process.

I had worked with Harry as relief wet end boy.

dry end floor reeler dry end reeler with operator

He had arrived as a young man before the Second World War and
returned in 1945 to find a new mill under construction. Now all these
men were approaching retirement or having to move to lighter duty posts.
In those days nearly everyone ‘clocked in and out’ through their shift
times. Machine man Bob Tate moved from shifts to a daytime job in the
arrival office. He found it particularly difficult to settle in this role as he
still considered himself a machine man. He always openly encouraged us
younger staff to take on the more responsible positions.

Progress was taking place; a change was in the air. There was now a new
young management encouraging significant changes, making decisions,
keen to bring the right people forward. Several of us sought to establish
ourselves as machine assistants. A new Shift Foreman and machine man
were appointed. One could not help noticing younger, keener faces,
gazing over the productive heart of this vast operation.

Promotion

I was promoted to wet end boy with Walter Scott, a newly promoted
machine man. Working with Walter presented a perfect opportunity to get
to grips with this vital section of the production process. He would allow
me to undertake various tasks such as evaluating the roll samples and,
more importantly, liaise with Quality Control. As my training progressed,
I was allowed to make alterations on the machine to progress production
and ensure quality control of the final product. Part of my role was to enter
the details in the machine log, which contained the time each sample was
tested and the results. Also recorded were any problems throughout the
shift, such as sheet breaks or problems with the felts or dryer sections.

Each shift brought challenges but, as time passed, I found I could resolve
problems in an efficient and confident manner. On the 7am-2pm day
shift, management were always present.

Colin Grindlay taught me how to use a slide rule and encouraged us
to improve our maths. This was vital for assessing sheet samples for
water content, weight and the required thickness in microns. We newly
promoted young men became more confident and were allowed, under
supervision, to run the machine. By accepting further responsibility, we
established quite a team culture. This did not go unnoticed; often the new
management would consider our opinions on some of the issues, as well

as those of the older staff with many more years of experience. But there
were further bridges to be crossed on our way forward.

Rumours started to gather pace that more shift changes were being
considered. Another retirement spelled opportunities for anyone willing
to accept them. A new shift was to be assembled with Jack Maxwell as
Shift Foreman, requiring a new dryer man, machine man and a wet
end boy. During one of the 7-2 day shifts, I was completing the log and
generally keeping a watchful eye on things when I noticed Colin Grindlay
going through the log sheets. We discussed updates, how the felts were
and production in general. He then turned to me and said, ‘The new shift
under Jack Maxwell, we (the management) are considering you for the role
of Machine Man – and you can have a say in the choice of wet end boy.’

Initially, I was speechless – me a Machine Man at 23 years old! Usually,
staff would work for years to acquire such a promotion. I remember
saying something along the lines of ‘Fine, yes, I would like to take on that
opportunity’. His reply was quite brisk: ‘Fine, leave it with me.’

As he walked away towards his office he turned, looked at me directly and
said, ‘don’t let me down. I think you are more than suitable for the role.
It’s time for change for you and a few others, and I intend to encourage it’.

I clearly remember sitting down, my thoughts racing: yes, I could do that,
why not? No problem!

It was only a few days afterwards that the full impact of what had been
suggested dawned on me. I saw George Homer during my next afternoon
2-10 shift, and I could not help noticing he seemed to be paying me a
little more attention than usual. He asked challenging questions about
the day’s work and general progress, and any queries he could help with.
I came to appreciate those chats with George and Freddie Wilson. It was
encouraging to be a party to their knowledge. I took in all I could to
ensure I was ready to take on this new and significant responsibility.

Matters quickly moved forward. A new shift was formed. Initially, Jack
Maxwell became shift foreman, I became a machine man and Freddie
Swan a dryer man. Bob White joined me as machine assistant. I was
quietly pleased to be working with Bob. He was easy going and good
company but, most importantly, capable of making a decent cup of tea, a
vital skill, particularly on night shift. He was a great mimic, and we had

many laughs together, unlike Fred Swan who undertook his job as dryer
man very seriously.

A benefit of having Fred nearby was his training in First Aid. In all
industries accidents happen and the mill was no exception, even with
full training and the necessary protective clothing. During my time I
witnessed some difficult situations including injury due to misuse of acid,
used to clean pulping vats and felts.

Years before we joined, George Legge had suffered a serious hand injury.
He recovered from the accident and took on the responsibility of the
weighbridge. This was situated at the main entrance, where lorries
carrying bales of wastepaper and board were delivered. Always smartly
dressed in a suit, collar and tie, George made his voice heard – woe the
day should any driver fail to follow his instructions. He would point the
way with his false hand which, if you were new to his company, could
be a little unsettling. Many times, we saw drivers looking at his false
hand rather than the area to which he was pointing! George was always
kind and friendly to me, possibly because he had worked alongside my
father as a young man. He was respected and retained a high level of
responsibility.

Over time I witnessed several other accidents in the machine house.
Freddie Wilson lost the end of a finger feeding the ‘tail’ into the sheet
section by reaching just that fraction too far to secure the tail to the lead
rope.

Another time, during the weekly shutdown when felts were renewed and
any minor repairs undertaken, George Homer was in the pit under a
press. He was guiding a new felt into position on the roll when he caught
his arm between the two. Luckily the press was stopped on a sharp call
from him. George suffered with a very painful arm and shoulder for many
months. However, even with an arm in a sling, I noticed he could still
drive his car.

It was also not uncommon for staff to suffer the odd cut hand or bruised
back. I once placed a hand too close to a pulp channel pipe just as a staff
member was placing a large wooden plug to secure it. At 3am I found
myself at the local hospital. Although not serious, it certainly made me
more careful in the future.

I also remember a more serious incident when a young chap employed
at the dry end attempted to feed a tail into the main finishing reel at the
calender end of the machine. Looking down the gantry I suddenly noticed
him running towards me, clutching his hand in distress and calling for
the first aider. Ernie Tarrant, a First Aider, was on duty that day. He took
the situation in hand and called an ambulance. Later in the day, Ernie
told us the injury was serious and would permanently affect the use of the
young man’s hand.

Every summer the mill ceased production for two weeks for what was
known as The Shut. During these two weeks, when most of the work force
took their annual holiday, everything that required replacement, updating
or cleaning would be done. Areas were dismantled and stripped down for
cleaning and repairs. Most people working during The Shut were staff
volunteers and technicians. It was a strange feeling to enter the mill when
everything was quiet, except for the sounds of people calling down from
ladders or from inside large empty vats.

The deputy day manager, Freddie Wilson, oversaw most of the work.
Another regular member of the team was my old colleague from the
Drumhut, Billy Kew. His role was to re-stitch, by hand, the external
meshes on moulds in the wet end cylinders. Each cylinder was carefully
removed by crane and set down at the end of the machine. Here, Billy
would spend his day carefully stitching
on the new mesh. It was a slow process,
matching each stitch to the correct
place to ensure a smooth finish. Any
error or misalignment would show on
the finished sheet.

detail of mould during The Shut press and mould

During those two weeks I witnessed the classic, skilled industrial worker:
happy with his lot and the responsibility placed upon him. His patience
was rewarded by his practical knowledge and a job well done – always
dressed in a spotless white shirt, tie and blue overall.

On completion, the new mould would be craned back into the machine.
By the end of the second week all six of the moulds would be replaced
with the new mesh covers for the new felts. What had started as a rather
laborious list of tasks, people now felt the pressure to have their jobs
completed by the end of the second week. However, I can never remember
any Shut that finished late. For me, attending a Shut was, apart from hard
work, a learning curve on how this huge technical process came together:
from the initial pulping of bales of wastepaper to the clean and polished
finished product turning on the end reel.

the wet end press and mould during The Shut period

At the end of each annual Shut came the restart, new felts, clean dryers
and new equipment having replaced the old. The whole machine stood
silent, with an air of cleanliness. Slightly overshadowed by a feeling of
anxiety – no one could be entirely sure everything was well until the start
began. I remember the management, and in particular the engineering

teams gathering at 7am on the Monday morning in the machine house.
I had experienced some excellent start ups, with new tails entering the
guides as the full web emerged on the dryers, continuing through to the
calenders with the end reel turning out a spotless new sheet. No problems
this time and long sighs of relief.

There was also what was referred to as a ‘bad’ restart with endless breaking
of the sheet, with dryers and the machine house full of broke, and jammed
calenders. It was so bad on one occasion that the machine had to be
shut down to clear the debris. This was not an unexpected situation, as
commencement after the Shut was always somewhat tricky. Any number
of factors can cause delay but generally, after a day or two, everything
started to settle. Production returned to an acceptable level and normality
returned.

With the onset of the 1970s there came an unmistakeable feeling of
changing times. You could never quite put your finger on it but there was
the sense of an end of an era. The paper and board industry continued to
thrive, but the older mills and factories, like New Merton, without up-
to-date machinery and methods, were being overtaken by new, modern
approaches and procedures. I clearly remember Colin Grindlay saying to
me that if I now wanted to get on in this industry, I needed to consider
emigrating, ideally to Canada. There a strong, profitable paper and board
industry was flourishing. New companies were housing the very best in
equipment, such as the Fourdrinier process, or as it was known in the
trade,’The Endless Web’. Even the New Merton Board Mills was now
starting to show its age.

Moving on

After five years as a machine man, from 1971 to 1976, I became more
aware of changes and my position. I started to seriously consider a future
outside of industry, finally handing in my notice in June 1976. I retained
an interest in the company and the Mill, noticing the huge decline in the
fibreboard markets. Although there was significant investment into the
company in March 1982, the Mill would finally close with the loss of 200
jobs. The site was eventually sold, and the Mill buildings demolished.
The site became a Savacentre hypermarket and was later taken over by
Sainsburys, which remains to this day. All trace of the Mills, like many
other industries of that time, had vanished forever.

A return visit

Having spent much time this winter sitting at my desk, writing down these
memories from a significant period of my working life, I have realised I
was part of an era in British industry that no longer exists, surrounded by
people and a workforce where progress and achievement, to some extent,
was left to the individual.

When considering writing these memories I was tempted to return to the
area and see for myself just how much had changed over the years. An
opportunity came a year or so ago when I was at Waterloo Station to catch
my train home to Petersfield in Hampshire. Having time to spare, I took
the Northern Line on the underground to Colliers Wood, emerging less
than an hour later to a sunny afternoon into Merton High Street.

A great deal was exactly as I remembered, although the huge ‘Brown
Building’, as it was called, was now transformed into a glistening glass
tower. Across the road were Merton Bus Garage and the Kings Head pub.
The small row of shops appeared to be the same, including the newsagents
where most of the mill workers purchased their daily paper and cigarettes.
I stood on the Wandle side on the High Street and, although much the
same, it was a smarter environment. The water was now clean and clear.
Fish could be seen in the river, flanked by green grass along the banks.

Crossing the bridge, which was once the original entrance to the Mill,
I paused and looked around. What I saw that afternoon was not the
Sainsbury’s entrance but, in my mind’s eye, the beater floor, lorries
waiting to unload on the weighbridge, and bales of card and paper
alongside George Legge’s cubby office. Every day, I used to climb a zig-
zag staircase that led up into the mill entrance. I could still feel the sense
of activity, people, faces and names I remembered. And the continuing,
unmistakable drone of heavy machinery, coupled with a clear sense of
urgency and activity. I moved on, following the small pathway out into
Mill Road where there were the local pubs we would pop into at the
end of our shift. There was the Nelson in the High Street which stayed
open to 11pm on weekday evenings, ideal for the 2-10 shift for a quick
beer on the way home. On to High Path to another favourite place, the
Trafalgar, referred to by everyone as ‘The Traf”, with the warm welcome
from Georgie behind the bar, and her dogs. Georgie’s WRAF medals were
proudly displayed behind her. For Billy Kew it was a favourite haunt, often

seen with his glass of Guinness, playing cribbage with the locals. Many a
problem at the mill was resolved in the private back bar in the Traf on a
Sunday evening, particularly if Sam Grindlay just happened to drop in.

Making my way back to Colliers Wood and the tube station, I felt in my
pocket for my keys. I suddenly realised, as I passed the old mill entrance,
there on my key ring was the silver miniature bottle opener and penknife.
This had been given to me by a representative of Porritts and Spencer,
the felt makers for paper mills. It must have been around 1973 when he
visited the mill, and I was working on the wet end as machine man. I have
carried this with me every day ever since, for nearly 50 years.

Within these pages I hope I have managed to outline the life I lived in
Merton, Colliers Wood and South Wimbledon during the sixties and
seventies. I experienced opportunities and challenges that became a
personal mainstay and influence for the rest of my working life. Even now,
after all these years, the memories of the people, the Mill and Merton itself
have remained with me with an element of satisfaction and affection.

Robert Parkin, May 2023

The DRG logo

‘Box Factory’
above the
administrative
offices

The Beater Floor and entrance for raw
material for storage and pulping.

Wandle west of Merton Bridge by Board Mills, Merton High Street, E N Montague, 1975

GLOSSARY

Beater Floor: Initial stage in production where the raw materials are pulped on
the first floor.

Broke: wasted board from a break in main dryer section and calenders.

Calenders: Pair of cylinders where the sheet is smoothed and glazed before
forming the end reel.

Cutting an end: Cutting a narrow tail from the moving sheet to guide a broken
sheet onto the dryers or calenders via guide ropes.

Dryer Section: The sheet travels along steam heated metal cylinders, as
illustrated on pp.6, 12, prior to entering the Calenders.

Dry End: Furthermost part of the mill where finished reels and sheets are
prepared for storage and delivery, as illustrated on pp.7, 17.

End Reel: Final, main reel after the Calenders – the completed sheet, as
illustrated on pp.7, 16, 17.

Felts: Wet End felts supporting the forming of the initial web prior to the sheet
entering the dryer section, as illustrated on pp.12.

Gantry: this enabled staff to walk along the first floor from the Wet End to the
Dry End area in the Machine House.

Hydrofiners: High-powered, sealed containers refining the pulp, as illustrated
on p.8.

Hyster: Fork lift truck, used for transporting heavy loads throughout the mill.

Laying up sheets: Ensuring the cut sheets, direct from the machine, are laid in
neat bundles prior to storage or dispatch.

Machine House: Main part of the mill where production takes place. Running
the length of the mill, its foundations were on the ground floor and its upper
sections and gantry on the first floor.

Moulds: Circular webs which form the initial sheet at the Wet End, as illustrated
on pp.21, 22.

Paster: A simple twin roller machine worked by two operators, feeding and
stacking. Pasting one side of a board sheet to connect to another to form a firm
base on which a pallet is constructed. This is then used to place the finished
sheets to order for transportation.

Tail: A narrow tail cut into the moving sheet which is then fed into the guide
rope following a break. This continues into the machine as the tail is widened
and the complete sheet returns to machine. This can occur throughout the
machine from the Wet End to the calender stacks.

Wet End: Formation area of the web at the initial stage of manufacture, as
illustrated on pp.9, 11, 12, 22.

‘With all these details, images and text we have brought back to
life part of ‘Old Merton’. Now gone forever, but maybe, within
these pages, not forgotten.’

Robert Parkin, April 2024

Cover photo: The Board Mills from Christchurch Bridge, Eric Montague, May 1968.

The photo on p.25 is also by Eric Montague.

Other photographs were given to the author personally many years ago after leaving
the mill.

ISBN 978 1 903899 86 1

Published by Merton Historical Society 2024

© Robert Parkin and Merton Historical Society 2024