Dock solid

Little did John Loveridge know that helping his dad at the harbour would set him on course to run a

stevedoring company. In the latest of our series on local dynasties, he tells Suzanne Heneghan about his life at the helm and the changing face of our docks industry over the last 50 years WHEN it comes to shipping magnates, John Loveridge couldn't look less like one if he tried. And that's exactly the way this Guernseyman likes it. He may run the international company, Guernsey Stevedores Ltd, and a team of dockworkers, but the White Rock-based business is an old, local family firm. And this is a man who knew what it was like to work on the docks with his dad.

Every lunchtime when John was a boy, he would ferry a flask of tea down to his father, Archie, at the quayside in Town. He would usually find him with his cousin and business partner, Maurice, at the Old Harbour, now known as the Albert Pier. The pair would be mending wicker coal baskets and dockers would be milling about enjoying a break. Some might ask Archie for a sub from their wages so they could pop to the pub for a quick beer or rum. They were very different times, but ones that John, now 66 and managing director of the company, has never forgotten.

Such memories are all part of growing up in a stevedoring family, but they are a far cry from Guernsey's docks of today. Wander down to the harbour now and you will see towering cranes rubbing shoulders with ro-ro ferries. The horse-drawn carriages of yesteryear are long gone, while those old coal baskets have become museum pieces.

Back then, the family's business was known as Loveridge Brothers and its office was at the Pier Steps (now the Candy Shop). In the early days after the war, its main business was discharging cargoes of anthracite coal, used to fire the boilers for the growing industry.

It was extremely hard, dirty work for the 'coalies' as they were known, recalls John, whose father was never slow to roll up his sleeves and work with the men. And it was a job that literally got under your skin.

'Steam coal was the worst, especially when you tried to wash it off your body,' he said. 'I've seen my dad come out of the bath looking nearly as dirty as when he went in.'

Dock work was painstaking. The men would have to negotiate the ship's hold to handle and shovel the coal into baskets as, unlike today, there were no grabs and cranes to take the cargo ashore.

A 'plankman', as he was known, would guide the baskets from the ship down a 4ft-wide hunk of wood to the quayside where it would be tipped onto carts or small lorries.

It sounds like the stuff of health and safety nightmares, I say, and John nods slowly. 'It was not unknown for plankmen to fall off and into the hold when the weather was bad and the wood was sodden,' he says.

One time at St Sampson's South Side, Archie slipped and fell. He became wedged between the ship and the quay before eventually being hoisted to safety.

Despite such dangers, there was never any doubt of Archie running the family business. And he was determined his son would take over the job when he retired. He was a committed, hard-working man who was a natural stevedore.

During the war he joined the navy and was enlisted onto minesweepers. He seemed destined to work with ships and, as time would tell, so was John.

When John left school, he began an apprenticeship at the Electric Power Station, but worked part-time as a forklift truck driver for his dad.

The year was 1955 and the docks industry was growing quickly. Permanent dockworkers numbered 160, with extra casuals employed when the Town port was at its busiest with tomato exports in summer.

At that time, a number of companies worked the docks as well as Loveridge's, each with its own army of staff. British Railways was the largest employer, while British Channel Island Shipping operated a general cargo service three times a week from London Docks. Ernest J. Henry and Stan Teed handled some of the coal imports at St Sampson's Harbour. Along with coal, Loveridge's also dealt with the timber ships at St Peter Port.

Most of the coal vessels were owned by Onesimus Dorey and Sons. All had local names, such as Rocquaine, Portelet and L'Ancresse. Another, Fermain, was to end her days loaded with coal on the rocks at St Sampson's.

As Guernsey's horticulture industry flourished, so did its shipping market. The harbour became the lifeblood of the island and cranes were soon a feature of the local skyline, built to handle the increasing volume of traffic.

By then, John was 18 and it soon became clear that his time at the power station was coming to an end. 'My father said my place was with him on the docks,' says John, who found he relished the camaraderie of the industry. 'As a young lad, I enjoyed working with the breed of men there. They were a great bunch. Yes, there were the odd ones who abused the system by not turning up for work when the weather was bad. You also used to get the odd one or two who liked a drop of rum. But they were the minority. The majority were good, hard-working lads.'The firm's foreman was Jim Masterton, a talented stevedore who soon became a mentor for the young Loveridge. 'What he didn't know about the job wasn't worth knowing,' says John.

Jim had learned a lot of his trade at Bristol Docks during the war years, when he had handled anything from armoured tanks to US fighter planes.

These were the days before bob-cats and ro-ro ferries and John had to train at handling and lifting different types of cargo without taking risks. Loads were always varied. At St Sampson's, ships could arrive bearing 1,000 tons of cement. Every bag would need to be lifted by hand. It could take up to two whole days to unload. At St Peter Port, a food ship from London Docks would take from 7am to 8pm to discharge its cargo, compared to just two hours today.

As a result, days were long and the work was demanding. Employers often had to share staff and days at the docks would regularly turn into nights. Workers could be at the quay at 6am handling cargo for British Railways and then be loading tomatoes later in the day.

'Lorries would start arriving in the early afternoon and by 6pm the line would have disappeared around the Salerie Corner,' recalls John. 'It would be midnight before they were all loaded on the various ships, the majority going to Weymouth and Southampton. On two days of the week, we also had shipments to Belfast.'

Passenger ships also spelled extra labour. Sarnia or Caesarea would arrive in Guernsey from Jersey, en route to Weymouth. At times like that, it was not unusual to get home at 1am and be back at the quayside for 6am, recalls John.

One of his favourite jobs was working on the forerunners to these ships, including the former Southern Railways Isle of Sark mail steamer. It would arrive at 10am from Jersey on its way to Southampton. Shortly afterwards, mail steamer St Julian would dock on the west side of the jetty, heading for Weymouth. 'It was a hive of activity,' he recalls. 'It sometimes felt as if the whole island had turned out to see it.

'The Gould family offered a porter service to visitors and there would be masses of people congregated at the top of the jetty, waving to relatives, or meeting long-lost friends.'

For John, news that the Isle of Guernsey, of Jersey and of Sark were being taken out of service spelled the end of an era. They were removed between 1959 and 1961, while St Julian and St Helier were also recalled in 1960 and replaced with Caesarea and Sarnia in the same year.

But landmark changes were also afoot for John's own family firm. In 1963 it became Guernsey Stevedores after a merger of dockworkers from Loveridge Brothers and British Railways. Archie became a founder member and shareholder in the new company. Union agreements were drawn up, providing better job security for workers, including pension plans, sick pay and improved health and safety facilities.

Listening to John, it is clear he feels passionately about his industry and those who work in it. 'A lot has been said over the years about dockworkers and how much money they earn,' he says. 'But in Guernsey you have to take into account the men are always on standby to work ships late in the evening, even when the weather is bad. Also they are regularly at work at 2.30 in the morning to handle fresh produce due in the shops by 8. At times their social lives can be non-existent. No day or week is ever the same, including the weekends. So, yes, they may be well paid, but deservedly so.'

By the 1960s, largely due to developing technology and efficiency, John's company had reduced its workforce to 63. (Today due to further modernisation, including the advent of containers, pallets and ro-ro ramps, this figure stands at 16.)

In 1969 he was promoted to foreman and was to oversee the demolition of the sheds on one of the main discharging berths. A deep-water facility was also created and two new cranes were built, capable of lifting up to 32 tons. These old faithfuls are still in use, though John hopes not for too much longer.

Two years later, industrial action was to present more challenges for both the business and John's management career. Across the Channel, a national dock strike was in force and it was to hit at the heart of the island's horticulture industry. No exports could be shipped to the UK and valuable stock was destroyed. During the dark days of the month-long strike, 40,000 tons of tomatoes were dumped at Bordeaux Quarry.

But brighter news was just around the corner for John and his family. In 1973, his uncle, also called John, and who had chosen law as a career, became Bailiff of Guernsey. 'It was a happy time for us all,' he recalls, 'but especially for my dad. The two brothers were very close. His appointment made my dad very proud.'

Back at the docks, the period also saw the installation of the island's first ro-ro ramp, on the east side of the jetty. The move marked the start of major changes in cargo handling at St Peter Port Harbour.

In 1975 John was brought into the office to learn more of the management ropes. His father was delighted, something that today John still finds particularly poignant, as the following year Archie died suddenly.

'He had always been keen for me to take over from him,' he recalls. In his younger years John had harboured hopes of becoming a pilot and had taken lessons. He was about to start flying solo when one day Archie put his foot down. 'He had a cabin cruiser and wanted me to go out fishing with him,' says John. 'When I said I wanted to go flying, he replied ?You must make a decision. You can go flying or come with me to the harbour?. And that was that. It was a turning point, really. I knew it was time to fully get behind the family business. He was happy, so I was happy.'

John progressed to operations manager and in 1980 was appointed to the board as

deputy managing director.

But the 1980s were also to bring more industrial challenges to the docks. In 1986, Sealink British Ferries and Channel Island Ferries announced a merger resulting in the loss of 460 jobs. Guernsey's only ro-ro ramp was blockaded by the Sealink vessel, Earl William, for 19 days, causing major disruption once again for St Peter Port.

In 1987, John was asked to become managing director. It is a decision he says about which he thought long and hard. 'My immediate reaction was no, I don't want it. And anyone that knows the docks industry would understand. Eventually I accepted the job and all the pressure that goes with it. That is when the grey hairs started to form,' he laughs.

Today John remains at the wheel and has not yet made a decision about his retirement. The company, despite its modest, unassuming office, is an efficient nerve centre handling a raft of shipments from Portsmouth, Portland and Rotterdam. It also gets coal from Poland and other commodities from numerous other ports. It seems a successful business that has somehow managed to remain a down-to-earth local concern. A lot of this, you feel, is down to John, who is straight-talking and affable, but clearly knows his trade. His five decades in the shipping business are testament to that - even though his love of aircraft is still clearly with him. In fact, it's hard to miss.

A huge picture of Concorde, in which he has flown several times, adorns the wall of his office, while a scale model of the plane sits incongruously on the boardroom table. So do you have any regrets about choosing ships over planes? I ask.

'The docks is a grand place to work,' he says simply.

'After 50 years I can honestly say there have never been two days alike and I have enjoyed them all. That is what is great about it. And the people, of course, they like working for a local business.'

Is that why it's a success, then? 'Yes, I think so. And I think that's why there are so many long-standing island businesses in Guernsey. It's typical of this place, you see. People just get on with things because they can. We're a very entrepreneurial lot. We've had to be. It's a Guernsey thing.'

Sadly, the Loveridge line at Guernsey Stevedores will end with John, whose daughter will not be following in her father's footsteps. But it's something about which he is philosophical.

'I've done what I set out to do.

I would consider chairmanship if the board wanted me, but it's not my decision.'

Leaning back in his chair he smiles at the thought. 'It would be good though, wouldn't it? To have worked all the way up from a little part-timer on the dockside to the chairman of the board?'

'Yes,' I say, 'it would. And your dad would be proud of you.'