Thomas Andrews, Shipbuilder

by Shan F. Bullock

If in Andrews’ nature was no trace of maliciousness, neither did there lurk in it any meanness. Not once, but a thousand times, during the past black months, has his character been summed with characteristic terseness by the Island shipwrights:

“Just as a judge.... Straight as a die.... There wasn’t a crooked turn in him”: simple phrases conveying a magnificent tribute. For what better in anyone can you have than the straightness of a die, whether you regard him as man or master? And such straightness in a shipbuilder is not that the supreme quality?

At all events this quality of absolute rectitude, so indispensable in other respects, was the main quality which, in their personal relations with him, won for Andrews the admiration and esteem of the Islanders. They could trust him. He would see fair play. “If he caught you doing wrong he wasn’t afraid to tell you so.” “If he found you breaking a rule he wouldn’t fire you straight away, but would give you the rough side of his tongue and a friendly caution.” “So long as one reported a mistake honestly he had consideration, but try to hide it away and he blazed at you.” “He had a grand eye for good work and a good man, and the man who did good work, no matter who he was, got a clap on the shoulder.” So the Islanders, this man and that; and then once more comes the crowning judgment on the tongue of so many, “He was straight as a die.”

But not that one quality alone gained for Andrews his great, one might say his unique, popularity in the Yard. His vast knowledge, his mastery of detail, his assiduity, his zest: all these merits had their due effect upon the men: and effective too was the desire he showed always to get the best possible out of every worker. It was not enough to do your job, he expected you to think about it: and if from your thinking resulted a suggestion it got his best consideration. It might be worthless—never mind, better luck next time; if it were worth a cent, he would make it shine in your eyes like a dollar.

In addition, were those more personal qualities—emanations, so to speak, of the man’s character: his generosity, kindliness, patience, geniality, humour, humility, courage, that great laugh of his, the winning smile, the fine breezy presence: of those also the men had constant and intimate experience. Anyone in trouble might be sure of his sympathy. After a spell of sickness his handshake and hearty greeting stirred new life in your blood. Once he found a great fellow ill-treating a small foreman who, for sufficient reason, had docked his wages; whereupon Andrews took off his coat and hammered the bully. During labour and party troubles, he several times, at risk of his life, saved men from the mob. One day, in a gale, he climbed an eighty foot staging, rescued the terrified man who had gone up to secure the loose boards, and himself did the work. Another day, he lent a hand to a shipwright toiling across the yard under a heavy beam, and as they went Andrews asked, “How is it, M‘Ilwaine, you always like to be beside me?” “Ah, sir,” was the reply, “it is because you carry up well.”

These incidents, chosen from so many, enable us to see why, in the words of the Island poet, “though Andrews was our master we loved him to a man.” He always carried up well, “stood four-square to all the winds that blow.” Too often, those in authority rule as tyrants, using power like some Juggernaut crushing under the beasts of burden. But Andrews, following the example of his uncle, preferred to rule beneficently as a man among his fellows.

“One evening,” writes Mrs. Andrews, “my husband and I were in the vicinity of Queen’s Island, and noticing a long file of men going home from work, he turned to me and said, ‘There go my pals, Nellie.’ I can never forget the tone in his voice as he said that, it was as though the men were as dear to him as his own brothers. Afterwards, on a similar occasion, I reminded him of the words, and he said, ‘Yes, and they are real pals too.’”

You see now why a colleague, Mr. Saxon Payne, secretary to Lord Pirrie, could write, “It was not a case of liking him, we all loved him”; and why during those awful days in April, when hope of good news at last had gone, the Yard was shrouded in gloom and rough men cried like women. They had lost a pal. And not they only. On both sides of the Atlantic, wherever men resort whose business is in the great waters, owners, commanders, directors, managers, architects, engineers, ships officers, stewards, sailors, the name Tom Andrews is honoured to-day as that of one whose remarkable combination of gifts claimed not only their admiration, but their affection.

“What we are to do without Andrews,” said a Belfast ship-owner, “I don’t know. He was probably the best man in the world for his job—knew everything—was ready for anything—could manage everyone—and what a friend! It’s irreparable. Surely of all men worth saving he ought to have been saved. Yes, saved by force, for only in that way could it have been done.”

Here, too, it may be mentioned that during his business career Andrews received many acknowledgements of a gratifying description from those whom in various ways he had served—amongst others from the White Star Company, the Hamburg American Company and, what I daresay he valued as much, from the stewards of the Olympic. Following the announcement of his marriage, a Committee was organised at the Yard for the purpose of showing him in a tangible way the esteem of the Islanders, but for business reasons, or perhaps feeling a delicacy in accepting a compliment without parallel in the history of the Yard, he whilst making it plain how much the kindly thought had moved him, felt constrained to ask the Committee to desist.