St Enoch Station Glasgow
Lime Juice 1968 and 1969 - Part 1
Arbuckle Smith did me proud on my visit to Glasgow.
I found my way into the city from the airport and presented myself at Mr Aitken's office. He was obviously delighted to see me, not because of me particularly, but because he could see, or at least hope, that my visit was going to solve a problem for him.
Hence the lunch at a famous Italian restaurant, and the warm welcome. I must admit right now that I found the whole situation and my involvement in it such a joke that I enjoyed my day rather selfishly without giving much thought as to how I was going to solve Mr. Aitken's pressing problem. So by the time I was on my way back to the airport I felt that Mr. Aitken was increasingly sounding like a man with a threat up his sleeve. I remember that I had an entrecote pizzaiola for lunch which was new for me, red wine, whisky no doubt and very little time back at the office before it was time to get back to the airport. It was also amazing to me to fly anywhere in those days.
I should mention that with me on the back seat of the taxi on the way back to the airport was a clinking cardboard box containing small bottles each one half full with a sample of lime juice. I doubt if anyone but an expert could have identified what the liquid was. The colour varied from black (quite a few) to yellow (one or two) with the majority various shades of sludgy grey. Each tidily-corked bottle came from a numbered barrel and was also labelled with the barrel number. When I got back to Golders Green later in the evening my flatmates and I had a good look at them but nobody was tempted to taste. the steward on the BEA Vanguard had been very doubtful about having them in the hat rack. he thought it might disturb the electrics - so I had them on the floor of the plane next to my seat.
When Mr Aitken and I first planned my visit to Scotland the idea had been to get rid of the stuff by dumping it and claiming the insurance. Mr Sosnow did not like this idea at all, he was mightily opposed to it, he told me to find a commercial buyer for it. I did think this was far-fetched, but then my opinion didn't count for much, even with me. Hence bringing the samples back south.
But the most amazing part of the day was the after lunch visit to the underground cavern where the barrels of lime juice themselves were stored. You would have never guessed that this vast space existed under the red brick (and derelict) edifice of St Enoch station, Glasgow's St. Pancras in style and the northern terminus of the 'alternative' route north. This was the Midland railway from St Pancras via the Settle and Carlisle and Glasgow and South western railways to Glasgow St Enoch. Beeching had had a good go at that, hence St enoch's then status as a car park with undisclosed wonders under the floor.
Mr Aitken told me when we came out of the daylight into this Victorian brick vault that this was a whisky warehouse and the bottling plant for the famous Cutty Sark whisky. Why was it being used for storing lime juice? I asked. Well it's because you (i.e. me) hadn't wanted to pay the duty on the imported juice until a buyer was found, hence the need for a bonded warehouse. And what are bonded warehouses on the Clyde mainly used for? Whisky of course. I now know, and this is knowledge of a very recent date, that the duty of whisky is not paid until it is bottled, so the operation taking place under St Enoch station was a very sensitive one indeed.
We had a brief pause to shake hands with the Cutty Sark foreman. He said he was glad to see me as my visit meant that 'that rubbish' would soon be shifted out of his way. I felt slightly offended by his suggestion that the material I had stored in the warehouse was somehow inferior to his. But it was; lime juice is inferior to whisky in every way, unless you've got the scurvy. Mr Aitken now shepherded me to the dark vault where my cargo was resting.
Stacks of oil drums lay up against the brick wall and on the floor a dark stain was spreading. the area occupied by the drums was large enough, but, as Mr. Aitken patiently explained, some of the barrels were leaking. the lime juice spreading across the floor was partly absorbed by the brick and grew an unpleasant black mould wherever it lay. This, and Mr Aitken's voice became more forceful as he spoke, was constantly encroaching on the whisky storage area and reducing the profitability of that venture. So something had to be done. What was it going to be.
A picture went through my mind of myself standing in front of Mr Sosnow's desk the following day suggesting that we would have to pay more for the storage as the leaks meant we were effectively using more than our share of the space. I turned off this in-skull movie just as Mr Sosnow stood up to address me.
Lime Juice 1968 and 1969 - Part 1
Arbuckle Smith did me proud on my visit to Glasgow.
I found my way into the city from the airport and presented myself at Mr Aitken's office. He was obviously delighted to see me, not because of me particularly, but because he could see, or at least hope, that my visit was going to solve a problem for him.
Hence the lunch at a famous Italian restaurant, and the warm welcome. I must admit right now that I found the whole situation and my involvement in it such a joke that I enjoyed my day rather selfishly without giving much thought as to how I was going to solve Mr. Aitken's pressing problem. So by the time I was on my way back to the airport I felt that Mr. Aitken was increasingly sounding like a man with a threat up his sleeve. I remember that I had an entrecote pizzaiola for lunch which was new for me, red wine, whisky no doubt and very little time back at the office before it was time to get back to the airport. It was also amazing to me to fly anywhere in those days.
I should mention that with me on the back seat of the taxi on the way back to the airport was a clinking cardboard box containing small bottles each one half full with a sample of lime juice. I doubt if anyone but an expert could have identified what the liquid was. The colour varied from black (quite a few) to yellow (one or two) with the majority various shades of sludgy grey. Each tidily-corked bottle came from a numbered barrel and was also labelled with the barrel number. When I got back to Golders Green later in the evening my flatmates and I had a good look at them but nobody was tempted to taste. the steward on the BEA Vanguard had been very doubtful about having them in the hat rack. he thought it might disturb the electrics - so I had them on the floor of the plane next to my seat.
When Mr Aitken and I first planned my visit to Scotland the idea had been to get rid of the stuff by dumping it and claiming the insurance. Mr Sosnow did not like this idea at all, he was mightily opposed to it, he told me to find a commercial buyer for it. I did think this was far-fetched, but then my opinion didn't count for much, even with me. Hence bringing the samples back south.
But the most amazing part of the day was the after lunch visit to the underground cavern where the barrels of lime juice themselves were stored. You would have never guessed that this vast space existed under the red brick (and derelict) edifice of St Enoch station, Glasgow's St. Pancras in style and the northern terminus of the 'alternative' route north. This was the Midland railway from St Pancras via the Settle and Carlisle and Glasgow and South western railways to Glasgow St Enoch. Beeching had had a good go at that, hence St enoch's then status as a car park with undisclosed wonders under the floor.
Mr Aitken told me when we came out of the daylight into this Victorian brick vault that this was a whisky warehouse and the bottling plant for the famous Cutty Sark whisky. Why was it being used for storing lime juice? I asked. Well it's because you (i.e. me) hadn't wanted to pay the duty on the imported juice until a buyer was found, hence the need for a bonded warehouse. And what are bonded warehouses on the Clyde mainly used for? Whisky of course. I now know, and this is knowledge of a very recent date, that the duty of whisky is not paid until it is bottled, so the operation taking place under St Enoch station was a very sensitive one indeed.
We had a brief pause to shake hands with the Cutty Sark foreman. He said he was glad to see me as my visit meant that 'that rubbish' would soon be shifted out of his way. I felt slightly offended by his suggestion that the material I had stored in the warehouse was somehow inferior to his. But it was; lime juice is inferior to whisky in every way, unless you've got the scurvy. Mr Aitken now shepherded me to the dark vault where my cargo was resting.
Stacks of oil drums lay up against the brick wall and on the floor a dark stain was spreading. the area occupied by the drums was large enough, but, as Mr. Aitken patiently explained, some of the barrels were leaking. the lime juice spreading across the floor was partly absorbed by the brick and grew an unpleasant black mould wherever it lay. This, and Mr Aitken's voice became more forceful as he spoke, was constantly encroaching on the whisky storage area and reducing the profitability of that venture. So something had to be done. What was it going to be.
A picture went through my mind of myself standing in front of Mr Sosnow's desk the following day suggesting that we would have to pay more for the storage as the leaks meant we were effectively using more than our share of the space. I turned off this in-skull movie just as Mr Sosnow stood up to address me.
Mr Aitken and I then spent the next hour carefully siphoning off a sample of each barrel into the glass bottles which I would later take back to London on the plane. The colours varied but very few resembled my idea of lime juice. No wonder the airline steward had been concerned about its effect on the plane.
