MY FAMILY BUILT THE TITANIC by Christine Lindsay

There are a lot of things my ancestry did, but one of the accomplishments I’m proud of is they actually built the RMS Titanic.  I admit they didn’t do it all by themselves, but my great-great grandfather and his son (my grandfather) were both riveters in the Harland and Wolff Shipyard in Belfast, N. Ireland. In fact, my paternal grandfather’s first ship when he started as a 14-year-old apprentice was that very ship that was struck by an iceberg and went down in 1912.

However…as a family we accept no responsibility for the sinking of that infamous ship. 

You can blame my family ancestry for my fascination with the building of ships, even though having a male ancestor who worked on the Titanic is not a rare thing for immigrants from N. Ireland, especially the city of Belfast. The majority of men in my grandparents’ era were employed by the world famous Harland and Wolff.

To understand why one of Britain’s largest shipbuilders, both of passenger liners and naval vessels, was located in Belfast, you have to remember that the 6 counties in the north of Ireland have been a part of Great Britain for centuries and still are to this day. The remaining 26 counties in the island make up the independent country of Ireland. 

The number of ships built in Belfast today are much less than they were in the golden years of shipbuilding, from about 1861 until the decline, around the mid-fifties when my father followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and joined the ranks of shipbuilders. In the late 1800’s there were up to 10,000 workmen, and around the time of the Titanic around 4000.

I remember as a little child (I’m 58 now) being taken to the yard and staring up at the bow of an ocean liner sitting in dry dock. To this day the sight of the huge steel bows of ships arcing upward gives me the shivers, the scary shivers.

My father’s first job at the yard was messenger boy. He was only about 16 at the time. With the yard being 300 square acres, he rode a bicycle with an attached leather saddle in which he delivered messages, blueprints, technical drawings, etc. from one point in to yard to another. Later he became a boiler maker and eventually immigrated to Canada, in the search of shipyard work as that trade began to die. An interesting note, is that might be the last great wave of Irish immigrants to the new world.

But back in the day, Belfast was where hundreds of world-known leviathans were built for countries around the globe. They built 70 ships alone for the White Star line, aside from the Titanic and her sister ships Olympia and the Britannic.

I always knew that one day I would write about the Belfast riveters who built these liners. Always a dangerous trade, 5 to 8 casualties a year in the shipyard was considered acceptable back at when Titanic was launched. Thank God things have changed. But no doubt my grandfather and great grandfather stood on the shores of the River Lagan as the Titanic sailed out for her sea trials.

Based on my research I wrote the following piece for a novel that shows the dangerous ballet of a riveter whether it be in shipbuilding or that of bridges, the two trades featured in my next release Sofi’s Bridge.

“Watching the riveter’s ballet of throwing white-hot steel always made Neil’s stomach harden to a lump.

Neil picked out his brother, Jimmy, from among the men on the bridge deck, and expelled a long sigh. Working on those meager platforms hanging over the side, one slip, one fumble from that height...and a man could die.

On the deck, Jimmy rapped his elongated tongs against the cone-shaped catcher can, waiting for the man known as the heater. The heater sent Jimmy a nod and thrust the peg of steel into the portable cast iron forge. When the peg of metal glowed to a molten white, he pitched it forward. Jimmy caught it in the catcher can and inserted the glowing rivet into a hole in the girder. With the same concentration Neil would use with a scalpel, Jimmy waited for the bucker to place his buckling tool against the head of the rivet, and for the riveter to hammer it home.”

Like most people, I’m proud of my ancestry on both my mother and my father’s side. My mother’s family military history inspired my multi-award-winning historical trilogy, Shadowed in Silk, Captured by Moonlight, and Veiled at Midnight. But it was my paternal family history in the building of ships that inspired Sofi’s Bridge which will be released May 1, 2016.   

Find out more about Christine Lindsay 

and her books on her website www.ChristineLindsay.org

A British Sense of Humor

When I was young I used to imagine God as being incredibly serious all the time (and, if I'm honest, a little bit scary too). As the years passed, that view has changed somewhat. I have become increasingly convinced that God must have a terrific sense of humor and loves to laugh as much as we do.

As a teenager, I became aware that I was a little bit different to most of my friends. I'm not sure if humor is handed down through our genetic heritage, or influenced by environmental factors, or if it's something God imparts through one or both of these, but I began to realize that I had what you could call a "British" sense of humor.

Perhaps it was my aunt's influence. Every Christmas she would send a big parcel of gifts from the UK to South Africa. Invariably, it included a video tape of UK programs, much of which was humor. At the time, South Africa was being boycotted by the UK media, which meant we relied heavily on the US for our television shows. My aunt supplemented this with a yearly supply of UK comedy including such classics as Not the Nine O'Clock News, Benny Hill, and Kenny Everett.

On top of this, I liked to listen to The Goon Show and Round the Horne on the radio. Later, I found all the Monty Python albums at my local supermarket (they must have smuggled them in). I loved the US and South African humor (and still do) but I felt this strange kinship with the British variety. My friends however, just did not get it.

I remember one afternoon, playing the latest tape for my friends. One particular sketch tickled me more than the others and I got a proper case of the giggles. I sat there, chuckling uncontrollably. Naturally, I assumed my friends would also appreciate the humor. I turned to look at them. Not a titter. They all sat there with this nonplussed expression on their faces, seemingly more amused by me than the TV show.

So began a somewhat lonely existence in the mirth department. Humor, like love, is meant to be shared, but I could not find anyone who enjoyed the Parrot Sketch as much as I did. On Sunday evenings I would sit alone by the radio listening to Round the Horne and The Goon Show, laughing at the jokes, painfully aware that my friends just did not get any of it.

Then, one day, something marvelous happened. I was sitting in the Religious Education class. The teacher asked us all to give a brief talk about our hopes and dreams. One kid was particularly nervous and spent about twenty seconds clearing his throat in a series of high-pitched coughs. The teacher made an odd comment. He said: "is that your theory?". It was only after the class had finished that I understood the comment. He was repeating a line from a Monty Python sketch.

That little incident made my day and gave me hope that I was not alone in my appreciation of British humor. In my final year I spotted a concert by the script-writer for the Goon Show. I mentioned this to another kid who said he was going as well. It turned out that he was something of a fan.

Later, when I met my wife-to-be, I wondered what she would think of this part of my personality. She was from an Afrikaans background and, although I knew she had a wonderful sense of humor, was worried that she would find my British tastes off-putting. At first, she did struggle to understand what I was laughing at. I persisted, however, and now she pretty much gets it. As for my kids: they love the Goons, especially my daughter. It's guaranteed that, if I am laughing at a line and I turn to look at her, she is laughing along with me.

Hopefully, God is laughing as well, because I think he must have the best sense of humor. After all, he made us to laugh and I am sure it is because he wanted us to enjoy the sensation of being left helpless by a fit of giggles. I think he is a fan of irony as well. Have you heard the joke about the Christian who prayed for a job in which he handled lots of money? He ended up working as a teller in a bank.

I prayed something similar when I started writing. I wanted God to place me in the publishing industry as a writer. Within a couple of years my prayer was answered, but not in the way I expected. I ended up working in patents, where a major part of the process is the publication of the patent. I ended up extremely close to the publication industry, but of patents. And I do work as a writer, but not of fiction. I write programs for a living.

This morning I signed my own publication contract in preparation for the release of my latest novel: Alpha Revelation. In between compiling a program that handles published patents, I read through my own publication contract. There's definitely a touch of irony in there.

God knows what is best for us and he doesn't always answer our prayers the way we had hoped. Sometimes, however, he puts us in a situation that shows us he is still there. And I'm pretty sure he's smiling when he does it.