Sheila Shaw (née Brown, born 1947) started work at Bidston in 1969 after a 4-year stint in the Royal Navy. She describes herself as a ‘meteorologist on land and sea’ (having trained in the Navy), and she looked after the met. observation section until it was taken over by Sylvia Asquith. She also worked with a team managed by Dr Jerzy (George) Graff, to digitise hourly levels from UK tide gauges to create and maintain the national database. She married Tony Shaw in 1981 (they met at Bidston). Sadly Tony died in 1995, after they had both retired (Sheila took early retirement in order to look after him).
Sheila had a knack for capturing the essence of life and work at Bidston. This selection of her Poems and Odes (there may be many more!) has been put together by her friend Jan Sutton (Sutty), who worked at Bidston from 1967-1986, initially in the tidal prediction section and latterly in Computing Services before going on to work at Littlewoods until her retirement.
Acronyms
BL – British Leyland
ICOT – Institute of Coastal Oceanography and Tides
IOS – Institute Of Oceanographic Sciences
LOTI – Liverpool Observatory and Tidal Institute
MSL – mean sea level
NCS – NERC Computing Services
NERC – Natural Environment Research Council
Abbreviations
Obs. – observations
Preds. – predictions
TAMING OF THE SHREW
Tread softly, kind sir
With those strong arms and sensitive hands
Tread softly, lest you shatter glass
With those deep brown eyes
That hold promises and dreams
Tread softly
A wild creature is watching
Curious, fascinated
Whisper as you creep near
Tread softly
Touch lightly, kind sir,
With those sensitive hands on strong arms
Touch lightly as the moments pass
With that carefree air and devilish grin
That shouts deep emotion
Touch lightly
A wild creature is easing back fear
Cautiously, – keep whispering
As you stroke an ear
Touch lightly
Hold gently, kind sir,
With those strong arms and sensitive hands
Hold gently as the heart beat slows
With the warmth of your nearness
Conveying protection
Snap a twig
Move too fast
And it’s gone
26-2-98
We went to Formby Point today
By ‘eck as like it were cold and grey
But she loved it
We noted the bench where once you sat
No cock of leg – she doesn’t do that
She loved it
Hundreds of rabbit holes were checked
And discarded sandwiches birds had pecked
She loved it
No toads were evident despite the signs
And squirrels were sleeping deep in the pines
But she loved it
Through every puddle, up and over the dunes
A white rump was spotted – then gone too soon
She loved it
(Knackered now!)
HAPPY COMPUTING
Waiting
Hoping for a *
Hoping for a prompt *
Speeding up the process
Using a computer
Waiting
We are scientific
Computing Civil Servants
Making calculations
Using a computer
BUT
WE
SPEND
OUR
TIME
Waiting
Where are all the answers?
— NOT in the computer
It is sorting “snumb numbs”
Waiting in the DOT queue
SO
WE
SPEND
OUR
TIME ……….
—–(Back to start) * *
Fraught User (6 May)
A computer is an adding machine
With a lot of extra bits
That tend to byte
People talk to it in languages
That no-one round here speaks
But learn to write
It works at best in binary
Which is lots of noughts and ones
Kept out of sight
It has a simple logic ‘brain’
So feed it every step
To get it right
MAGGIE’S ODE (TO MAGGIE DAVIES 1983)
She couldn’t give a damn about the North Sea time zone
She couldn’t give a monkey about Brent D
But she thought hard and overcame
Conwy and Tower Pier
And Lowestoft, North Sheilds and Shell B.P.
She brought us all a jollity with a measure of insanity
To cope with the monotony of hourly Obs. and Preds.,
She’s leaving us with paper tapes, amphidromes and mag. tapes
She’s off to see the Severn Bore and Offa’s Dyke instead.
With apologies to John Masefield
SMS, June 1983
DOUG LEIGHTON
1960 was the time
Doug came to Bidston in his prime.
A smart young chap in tie and suit,
The girls all thought he looked kinda cute.
After years at sea he came and tried
To settle down and predict the tide.
Who’d have thought at that time then
In a few years he’d be on the high seas again.
He sat at his desk with worried frown.
The girls sat at theirs with their heads well down.
If they looked up to have a chat,
One glance from him would end all that.
“Come on girls, get on with your work”.
This Mr. Leighton would not let them shirk.
Time went by and he was chuffed as can be
When once again he was off to sea.
The tie and suit both got stowed away.
Mr. Leighton became Doug as we know him today.
He did his job well and at the end of the day
Just a little drink before he hit the hay.
One day his teeth took a disliking to him
And suddenly decided to go for a swim
He was down in the mouth and utterly grim
Till they were handed back on a plate to him.
He’s travelled around to many lands
And left his footprints in the sand.
His wanderings over, he’s still in fine fettle,
Now on dry land he’s going to settle.
“Good luck to you, Doug, from your friends far and near.
We wish you much happiness for many a year”.
ODE TO A BARBECUE
The staff decided that one night
A fire on Hilbre they would light.
So off they went in Rover green,
Never more to be heard or seen?
Armed with chickens, lots of ale,
Across the sand they blazed a trail.
On the shore a fire they lit
And cooked their chickens – without a spit.
They left them there till charred and black
And after eating, the bones threw back.
Now ice-cream followed, what a treat!
Then by the fire most found a seat.
Music followed sweet (and sour?)
Darkness gathered hour by hour.
The bar was busy, barman too,
He sampled every pint he drew!
Then to the barn they all did troop
In ones and twos, not in a group.
The bar was moved with much ado,
With all the effort the air turned blue.
They danced to music loud and gay
Each in their own peculiar way.
The Rover green was packed out, tight,
And they were bumped from left to right.
The morrow morn saw faces grim,
Not only that but memories dim!
The trip was a success, its true
So how about another ‘do’?
ODE TO NOGGIN
One day when we had had a rise
A car appeared before Pat’s eyes,
His roof was white, his body red
I’ll call you Noggin Tricia said
He went to live at his new home
And far and wide was seen to roam
But sometimes sadly he would stop,
So at the Docs he had an op
He was so brave he did not mind
Cos Noggin’s Doctor, he was kind
One Thursday lunchtime he felt flat
And on the ground his front was sat
He looked so sad and all forlorn,
Outside ICOT by the lawn
A new left foot was his reward
And on the roads he since has soared
Bunny Bigears is his chum
So Noggin never feels too glum
At first two wipers he did display
Then one fell off to our dismay
Now in the rain Trish cannot see
But Noggin still runs on with glee
We hope he’ll live for ever more
At least until he’s twenty four.
1.
Oh madness, where art thy sting?
What suffering thou dost bring
With screams of rage
And mass hysteria,
Give me a motive most ulterior.
Free me from this tiny cage.
Let me fly again quite free,
From work I want to be.
(A poem written in the drunken heat of an afternoon)
2.
Stagger to the bus stop
Await a tardy bus
Scramble up the hillside
Dear me, what a fuss.
Smiling faces greet you
Even when you’re late
So long as you work your tea-breaks
And slave at a killing rate
Punching at the data cards
And using gallons of ink
Answering the telephone
But never out to drink.
Not even on a birthday
Or someone takes their leave
Production MUST continue
They wonder why we grieve.
And so we take to skiving
Or hiding in the loo
And leave the work to mount up
For other mugs to do.
ODE TO ROBIN
Today’s your birthday, you are twelve
And into your life we now will delve.
This past year you’ve done a lot,
Just look at the medals you have got,
You’re only small but still you race,
Your football friends, they think you’re ace.
You joined Port Sunlight Boys Brigade
But never in step do you parade.
A chemist now we know you’re not
But other talents you have a lot.
You tend to forget the things you’re told
But think of others young and old.
You plague your Mum both day and night
And give her many an awful fright.
You tease your sister about her friend
And slowly drive her round the bend.
Same as your Dad you like to camp
And rush around dressed like a tramp.
To end this ode we want to say
Many Happy Returns to Robin ‘A’
JANET
My name is Janet Sutton.
I do the M.S.L.
Port Patrick, Belfast, Dover,
Are ports I know quite well
From hourly heights on tidal graphs
Related to gauge zero,
I list the month’s end yearly means
Of levels of the sea. Oh…
Of course you must be wondering
Just how I manage this.
There is a vital program
That’s written on a disc,
To help me sort the numbers out
I hope you understand
Although I will admit to you
It was once done by hand.
The computer spares me time for
Some other vital tasks
Punching and checking data,
Met. Obs, and lots of graphs.
I operate the switchboard too,
Can even make the coffee,
John Howarth’s current data work,
How could you not upgrade me?
[1977, 1978?]
MARCH 1986 [1]
Nineteen years!
— And what do you get?
A small NERC pension
And a smart jacket
You did mean sea level
And analysis too
You knew Leonard Rossiter
— Which must be a coup?
You’ve been an operator
Morning night and noon
Mag Tape librarian
— A Honeywell boon
At last you’re free
Of N.C.S.
Over the water
You must digress
Harmonic constants
You knew through and through
Even met Leonard Rossiter
Not to mention his brother
There’s not many here now
Saw the removal of the last telescope…
MARCH 1986 [2]
From L.O.T.I. to I.C.O.T.
Predictions and means
Through Leighton and Williams
Analysis and streams
A brief dose of Pugh
Saw I.O.S. through
To the age of computing
With Robinson – who?
Then came N.C.S.
What a chance to impress!
With mag. tapes and disc space
–An Empire, no less?
But enough is enough
Of Bidston and things
Away –cross the Mersey
See what Littlewoods brings!!
WELCOME TO A NEW CAR (30.10.82) EFY 28Y
It’s 1982
The mood is blue
I’m awfully new
And refined
I’m made by B.L.
You can call me H.L.
I’m a METRO
Fresh off the line
[OCTOBER 2009]
Viva Arriva
Carries you for free
Road or track
There and back
Now you are sixty.
[From Sheila to Sutty]