In the late-1970s I worked for a heavy engineering company called Stothert and Pitt, in Bath. I worked on computer systems which controlled such things as stock and production control, Bill of Materials Processing (BoMP) and Production Evaluation and Revue Techniques (PERT) networks. Exciting stuff, eh?

The real stars of the company were the men (they were all men, of course) who actually built the cranes and other massive pieces of equipment which were then exported all around the world. Many of these men joined the company at 15 and stayed until they retired at 65 (gaining a much-coveted “Mayor’s Medal” for 50 years’ service with one company). To the relief of the pension providers of the day, they then died of boredom two or three years later.

The company became a classic casualty of the 1980s, after I left. Along with many other proud, Victorian companies, seduced by the idea that a cumbersome management structure of accountants and, yes, IT specialists was more important than design and product expertise (and after a brief asset-stripping session by none other than Robert Maxwell) they eventually went bust leaving tracts of the banks of the River Avon free for executive luxury housing development, complete with a range of attractive bars, restaurants and Tesco Metros (just like everywhere else).

I’m rambling on about this because today we walked around Bristol docks where stand several monuments to my old employers.

Stothert and Pitt crane in Bristol docks.

Part of Stothert and Pitt crane in Bristol docks.

Stothert and Pitt crane in Bristol docks.