Anglo-American Shipbuilding

in World War II
Anglo-American Shipbuilding
in World War II
A Geographical Perspective
Michael Lindberg and Daniel Todd

Westport, Connecticut
London
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lindberg, Michael.
Anglo-American shipbuilding in World War II : a geographical perspective / Michael
Lindberg and Daniel Todd.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0–275–97924–5 (alk. paper)
1. Shipbuilding industry—Great Britain—History—20th century. 2. Shipbuilding
industry—United States—History—20th century. 3. World War, 1939–1945—Great Britain.
4. World War, 1939–1945—United States. I. Todd, Daniel. II. Title.
VM299.7.G7L56 2004
388.4'762382'0094109044—dc22 2004042287
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available.
Copyright © 2004 by Michael Lindberg and Daniel Todd
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be
reproduced, by any process or technique, without the
express written consent of the publisher.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2004042287
ISBN: 0–275–97924–5
First published in 2004
Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881
An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc.
www.praeger.com
Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this book complies with the

Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National
Information Standards Organization (Z39.48–1984).
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Laddie Jares (who worked at Chicago Bridge and Iron Company’s Seneca,
Illinois yard building LSTs during World War II) and all the other shipyard
workers, in Britain, Canada, and the United States, who built the ships that
helped keep the world free in those dark days.
 Contents
Preface ix
Acknowledgments xv
Ship Type Designations xvii
1. The Academic Bedrock 1
2. World War I: The First Great Test 37
3. The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 67
4. World War II: The Ultimate Test 95
5. Aftermath: The Legacy of British and American Wartime Shipbuilding
Industries 189
Selected Bibliography 209
Index 219
 Preface
The twentieth century witnessed two of the greatest conflicts in human history,
the First and Second World Wars. In each conflict, although on a grander scale
in World War II, global war was waged on the land, in the air, and at sea. Entire
nations waged war, their citizenry, governments, militaries, and industries. In
fact, these wars could not have been waged at all had it not been for the
industrial might of the participants to field the massive armies, navies, and air
forces involved. Arguably, victory in these two wars was also dependent and
perhaps largely the result of one side’s ability to outproduce the other. In this
regard, Anglo-American industrial strength was of unquestionable importance
and was key to the outcome of each conflict. No more so was this evident than
in the ability of Great Britain and the United States to build both the sizable
naval forces with which each was able to project power on a global basis and the
merchant marine fleets necessary to sustain their joint war effort. It is with this
accomplishment that this book is most concerned; that is, the Anglo-American
shipbuilding industry of World War I and especially World War II, when it
flourished as never before. We examine the shipbuilding efforts of the first,
principally in order to shed light on how they led up to the grander achievements
involved in the second. Although there is a heavy dose of historical review and
reflection presented in this work, we actually approach the subject chiefly from
a geographical perspective. In other words, our primary focus is examining the
spatial distribution (and concentration) of shipbuilding activities in both
countries. This, however, is not simply a geographical description or inventory
of the locations of shipyards, but a more in-depth analysis of how geography
influenced this industry and its spatial distribution. Consideration is given to the
various geographical factors that not only impinged upon shipyard locations, but
also on the shipbuilding programs of Britain and America during World War II.
Of central concern to us, and as a means of effectively dealing with the
influence of geography on the Anglo-American shipbuilding industries in that
conflict, we apply aspects of the subdiscipline of economic geography to the
x Preface

subject. More specifically, we consider the applicability of classic geographic

location theory and its related idea of agglomeration to the topic at hand. The
very idea that industrial firms (both primary and secondary) associated with a
specific economic activity group themselves into “clusters,” usually in urban
areas, has long held the interest of economic geographers. The rationale for this
occurrence is that there is not only strength in numbers, but concrete economic
benefits to be had as a result of exercising such economies of scale. Such
perspectives and theories have been applied to various industries over the years,
but an examination of the shipbuilding industry and especially the naval
shipbuilding industries of Britain and the United States during World War II has
not been attempted before. Our efforts do not go unrewarded, in that evidence
abounds that the shipbuilding industry in both countries adhered to the concept
of clustering in agglomerations throughout the first fifty years or so of the
twentieth century. World War II only strengthened this tendency, for Anglo-
American shipbuilding agglomerations grew both in size and number as a result
of this conflict.
As the progression of chapters in this book reflects, our goal is to illuminate
for the reader the relationship between and rationale behind geographical
location, the monumental expansion of the shipbuilding industry in both
countries, and the applicability and consequences of agglomeration–cluster
theory to it all. Chapter 1 sets down the basic geographical foundation for our
examination of the subject at hand, namely, the Anglo-American naval
shipbuilding effort between 1938 and 1945. We begin with a brief description of
economic geography as a subdiscipline and how it has come to embrace at its
heart the all-important concept of location theory. The opportunity is then taken
to elaborate on the basic elements and historical trends of this theory.
Furthermore, we bring into the mix the concepts of agglomeration and
clustering, particularly as they have been spelled out by Alfred Weber, Alfred
Marshall and, more recently, Michael Porter. Of particular importance to us are
the various geographical factors (especially the availability of labor) that
influence decisions made about the location of economic activities. We continue
by relating these concepts to the ideas of social agglomeration and urbanization
economies, which have also been observed to have a bearing on the
concentration of economic activities. We also comment on the potential
drawbacks to an overly rigid application of agglomeration theory to any given
industry and note that there are exceptions to every historical and current case.
The second half of the chapter provides an overview of the shipbuilding industry
in the two countries leading up to and including the early years of the twentieth
century. Consideration is given to how the shipbuilding industry in both
countries developed along the lines of agglomeration theory and how critical the
role of individual shipbuilding firms as well as new technologies in shipbuilding
and ship design were in the process. This whole discussion provides ample
evidence of the fact that the industry was well positioned to expand along the
lines of agglomeration theory as World War I broke out.
Chapter 2 examines the Anglo-American shipbuilding effort in World War I
and expressly notes how the industry developed along the lines of agglomeration
Preface xi

theory regarding its geographic location in both countries. After a brief

description of the state of the industry in Britain and America on the eve of war
we lay out the demands on the industry brought forth by the conflict and
contemplate how each country responded to these demands. Specifically, we
examine the various strategies employed, including building new yards and
expanding existing ones, as well as adopting specialization in design and mass
production practices in production. The fruits of their labors are also chronicled,
in terms of the increased strength of their navies and their respective
shipbuilding industries. Certain patterns and characteristics associated with
wartime shipbuilding industrial expansion are identified, some of which would
be further developed in World War II, whereas others would serve as lessons of
what to avoid the second time round. Special attention is paid to the expansion
of individual shipyards and the various agglomerations that either already
existed or emerged as a result of wartime necessity.
The fact that the fever-pitch expansion of wartime, which took place in both
countries, was relatively short-lived is shown as we examine the decline of the
interwar years in Chapter 3. Brought about in part by the war’s end but
exacerbated by the implementation of a series of naval limitations treaties, the
demand for naval construction plummeted in both countries and their respective
shipbuilding industries suffered accordingly. The demise of several specific
shipyards is chronicled, as are attempts by the two governments to preserve
some vestige of emergency shipbuilding capability. Likewise, efforts on the part
of the shipbuilders themselves to avoid oblivion are discussed. The impact of
limited naval shipbuilding programs and how they served to preserve some of
the more resolute shipyards is also discussed. In addition, how the wartime
shipbuilding agglomerations fared receives special attention, especially in
comparison with their attention, and especially prior to the war. The chapter
concludes with an assessment of the circumstances of the shipbuilding industry
in each country on the eve of war.
Chapter 4 deals with the Anglo-American shipbuilding industries in World
War II, the primary focus of the book. From the prewar buildup that took place
in both countries to the dramatic expansion efforts of each after actual hostilities
erupted, we chronicle how the governments, navies, and shipbuilding industries
of Britain and the United States dealt with the demands of total war. The
planning, financing, and implementation of massive expansion programs is
discussed in detail. World War II brought about a monumental expansion of the
navies and shipbuilding industries in the two countries. The requirements
necessary for such growth are chronicled, as are the various strategies that both
governments and shipbuilding firms took to ensure that enough capacity was
available to provide for both naval and merchant construction and repair.
Furthermore, the many challenges that existed to potentially disrupt the
expansion and thus jeopardize the Allied war effort are dealt with. Of particular
importance are shortages of materials and labor that presented serious problems
for both countries, but to different degrees. Much attention is given to the
specifics of naval ship program expansion and how these specifics related to a
xii Preface

commensurate expansion in the shipbuilding capacities of both countries.

Entirely new types of naval and merchant vessels were developed over the
course of the war in order to meet specific strategic and tactical needs. The
shipbuilding industry had to adapt to these new designs and the often new and
innovative technologies involved in their production. Industrial process also
comes into play as we examine revolutions in ship-design standardization,
production methods akin to the automobile industry’s mass assembly line
techniques and the utilization of prefabrication, and especially welded versus
riveted construction. Regardless of improvements in production techniques, the
industry was dogged throughout by the tension between devoting often-limited
resources and shipbuilding facilities to the construction of merchant ships as
opposed to naval vessels and vice versa. This tension extends to the issue of
yards being occupied by new construction instead of indulging in ship repair and
maintenance requirements, which only increased as the war ground on. We do
our best to explain how these tensions were resolved. Because agglomeration
theory is a central interest of this work, we examine how the various clusters of
British and American shipbuilding firms fared during the war. We pay particular
attention to how those that had participated in the first conflict’s expansion of
the industry contrived to weather this even more demanding period. Overall
production achievements in both merchant and naval construction are assessed
for the industry as a whole in both countries and then for individual shipyards
and entire agglomerations. In this way, the reader gains insight into the “big
picture” as well as the critical role played by individual enterprises and clusters
of shipyards.
With victory in 1945 came the inevitable shrinkage of the shipbuilding
industry in both Britain and the United States, but as we reveal in the final
chapter, this expected “drawdown” degenerates into a full-fledged evisceration
of the industry in both countries. Beginning with cancellations of numerous
naval contracts in the immediate postwar period, we follow the decline of both
countries’ merchant shipbuilding industries as they faced pressure from an ever-
expanding global shipbuilding market in which neither could compete. Thus,
arose a situation, where both private and government shipyards once again vied
for naval work in order to survive. Although available, this work was vulnerable
to the strategic ups and downs of the Cold War as well as the domestic political
and economic fortunes of each country and thus was often less than guaranteed.
In the end, these harsh realities sounded the death knell for some yards
(including many government yards) and others were faced with the prospect of
consolidation, buyout or restructuring. In fact, as we conclude, the entire naval
shipbuilding industry in both countries has undergone a major rationalization
over the past half-century. Finally, this troubling course of events effected an
equally devastating impact on the wartime shipbuilding agglomerations to the
point, indeed, where they have all but vanished from the industrial landscape of
both Britain and America.
Finally, a few points of clarification for the reader are in order. In common
with all books dealing with ships, we must distinguish among them with regard
to certain terms and characteristics. First is the issue of tonnage, about which we
Preface xiii

must clarify the different interpretations associated with that measure. For our
purposes there is nothing to be gained by elaborating on why tons have acquired
different meanings—a fascinating subject in its own right—so here we will
confine ourselves to the briefest of definitions. Displacement tons, the
conventional measure for warships, represents the actual weight of the vessel
calculated (at the rate of 35 cubic feet to the ton) from the volume of water she
displaces. Light displacement refers to the warship in a condition ready for sea
but not fully fueled and stored, a state that is transformed into deep displacement
once these operations have been achieved. Standard displacement tonnage was
defined at the Washington Naval Limitations Conference in 1922 as that of a
ship complete, fully manned, engined, and equipped ready for sea, including all
armament and munitions, equipment, outfit, provisions and fresh water for crew,
miscellaneous stores and implements of every description that would be carried
in war, but without fuel or reserve feed water on board.1 Merchant ships, in
contrast, have measurements reflecting their revenue-earning capacity. Gross
tonnage is gauged from the volume contained in the ship’s hull and permanent
structure, assuming 100 cubic feet equals one ton (and there are distinctions
between gross register tonnage arrived at after empirically measuring every open
space in the ship and gross tonnage devised by applying a standard formula).
Net tonnage results from the subtraction of open spaces that do not contribute to
revenue earnings, such as those given over to crew quarters and engine rooms.
Deadweight tonnage serves as an alternative measure for cargo and bunkers that
a ship can carry when loaded down to her Plimsoll marks. We will attempt to
qualify the “ton” word throughout the text, for the various usages are by no
means interchangeable. The second issue has to do with pertinent dates
concerning the construction evolution of a vessel. Three different but related
dates are of note for our purposes, namely, keel laid, launched, and
commissioned. There is naturally an interval between each. The first term
signifies that date on which construction was actually begun and signifies that
the vessel was more than simply authorized and contracted for. The second date
refers to the fact that the vessel’s hull and basic structure was actually completed
and she was moved from the building ways into the water. The final date refers
to the time when the vessel is delivered to the operating agency (the Navy or
Merchant Marine, for example) and commences its operational life. We have
occasion to use mainly the latter two dates in this book. In general, we specify
which dates are used in the calculation of relevant statistics regarding numbers
of ships produced and delivered.
The final issue requiring some explanation is the use of ship type designation
abbreviations, a moniker common to all naval vessels. In this work we use the
system that was in practice with the U.S. Navy during World War II and the
current system employed by this same force (the two are slightly different).
These identifying letters provide a means by which all vessels are identified by
type, and when combined with a hull number can identify each individual
vessel. What follows is a combined list of these standard letter abbreviations for
U.S. naval vessels encompassing both the World War II and current systems.
xiv Preface

NOTE

1. This definition is taken from Rear Admiral R. W. King (ed.), Naval Engineering and
American Sea Power (Baltimore: Nautical and Aviation Publishing Company of
America, 1989), 464.
 Acknowledgments
Apart from the writing, which of course is the singular purview of the authors,
research, cartography, compilation, formatting, and editing are the other tasks
that contribute to the production of a work such as this. The authors do not
accomplish these chores exclusively on their own. Thus we wish to pause a
moment to recognize certain agencies and individuals that were essential in the
fulfillment of these essential tasks. First, we relied heavily on several research
archives and libraries in both Britain and the United States for making materials
available to us. Heading the list in Britain were the Public Record Office at Kew
and the National Maritime Museum (particularly its out-station at Woolwich
Arsenal). Two other London-area libraries were of service to us: the British
Library at St. Pancras and the Senate House library of the University of London.
Further afield, two county record offices proved invaluable; namely, those of
Cubria (especially the Barrow branch) and Gwent. In the United States, several
university libraries were relied upon, including those at Colorado State
University (especially its government documents section), Ft. Collins, Colorado;
the University of Colorado, Boulder, Colorado; Northern Illinois University, De
Kalb, Illinois; and Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois. Special
accolades go to the library staff (in particular Jennifer Paliatka and Kathy Willis)
of Elmhurst College, Elmhurst, Illinois, for their invaluable assistance in
acquiring often seemingly impossible to find books and documents. Of course,
the staff of these institutions bear no responsibility for errors in interpretation of
the material placed at our disposal—any culpability of that nature rests entirely
on our shoulders.
Cartographic accolades go to Douglas Fast of the University of Manitoba and
Susan Lindberg of the Elmhurst College Biology Department for providing this
work with its invaluable maps. For compilation and formatting tasks we once
again relied upon the capable computer and graphic layout skills of Susan
Lindberg. Finally, we would be grossly remiss if we did not extend a special
thanks to the Greenwood Publishing Group and especially its senior editor of the
Historical and Military Studies section, Dr. Heather Ruland Staines.
 Ship Type Designations
Major Combatant Vessels
BB Battleship
BC Battlecruiser
CV Fleet Aircraft Carrier
CVL Light Aircraft Carrier
CVE Escort Aircraft Carrier
CA Heavy Cruiser
CL Light Cruiser
CG Guided Missile Cruiser
DD Destroyer
DDG Guided Missile Destroyer

Submarines
SS Diesel-Electric Submarine
SSN Attack Submarine, Nuclear Powered
SSBN Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine, Nuclear Powered

Escort Vessels
DE Destroyer Escort
PF Frigate (World War II system)
DLG Guided Missile Frigate
DL Frigate
FFG Guided Missile Frigate (current system)

Mine Warfare Vessels

AM Minesweeper
AMc Coastal Minesweeper
CM Minelayer
xviii Ship Type Designations

Mine Warfare Vessels (continued)

DM Light Minelayer
DMS High Speed Minesweeper

Patrol Craft
PG Gunboat
PC Patrol Craft
PCE Patrol Craft, Escort
PCS Patrol Craft, Submarine Chaser
PGM Motor Gunboat
PT Motor Torpedo Boat
SC Submarine Chaser

Major and Minor Amphibious Vessels

AGC Amphibious Force Flagship (World War II system)1
LSD Landing Ship, Dock
LSM Landing Ship, Medium
LSMR Landing Ship, Medium, Rocket
LST Landing Ship, Tank
LSV Landing Ship, Vehicle
LCI Landing Craft, Infantry
LCS Landing Craft, Support
LCC Amphibious Force Flagship (current system)
LCT Landing Craft, Tank

Major and Minor Auxiliary Vessels

AD Destroyer Tender
AE Ammunition Ship
AF Store Ship
AG Auxiliary, Miscellaneous
AGP Motor Torpedo Boat Tender
AGS Surveying Ship
AH Hospital Ship
AN Netlaying Ship
AO Oiler
AOG Gasoline Tanker
APB Barracks Ship
AR Repair Ship
ARB Repair Ship, Battle Damage
ARG Repair Ship, Internal Combustion Engines
ARH Heavy-Hull Repair Ship
ARL Repair Ship, Landing Craft
ARS Salvage Vessel
Ship Type Designations xix

Major and Minor Auxiliary Vessels (continued)

ARV Aircraft Repair Ship
AS Submarine Tender
ASR Submarine Rescue Vessel
ATA Ocean Going Tug
ATF Fleet Tug
ATR Rescue Tug
AV Seaplane Tender
AVP Seaplane Tender, Small
AVS Aviation Supply Ship
AW Distilling Ship
IX Unclassified Vessel and Station Tanker

Transports and Cargo Vessels

AK Cargo Ship
AKA Attack Cargo Ship
AKN Net Cargo Ship
AKS General Stores-Issues Ship
AKV Cargo Ship, Aircraft Ferry
AP Transport
APA Attack Transport
ADP High Speed Transport
APH Evacuation Transport

NOTE

1. During World War II these ships were actually considered auxiliary vessels, but
today they are classified as amphibious warfare vessels because of their essential role in
that form of naval warfare.
 1

The Academic Bedrock

Geography comes to bear on the choice of sites of shipyards in three ways: the
preference of one country over another, the leaning toward a particular district
within a country, and the selection of a locality, or site, within that district. The
first, representing the macro level of resolution, reflects the political economy
of countries, combining the world outlook of their political elites—and
especially the attitudes struck in respect of sea power—with the capability of
their industrial assets. The second, prosecuted at the meso level of resolution,
asks why certain districts enjoy comparative advantages in shipbuilding that are
absent elsewhere. What sets apart the third way, the micro level of resolution, is
its attention to detail, for it particularizes what are often minute shades of
differences between places. These differences, in unison, conspire to grant an
edge to a place, an advantage so crucial as to induce decision makers to choose
that place rather than any other for their establishment. While geography lays a
general claim on these avenues of inquiry, it is a branch of it—economic
geography—which actually sets about resolving them. Because the purview of
economic geography is so critical for the contents of this book, it invites
consideration at some length.
Economic geography in its academic guise can trace its origins to two strands
that gained currency in the late nineteenth century. The first, often dubbed
“commercial geography,” was inspired by the growth of trade and delighted
chiefly in numbering the resources of places and the means whereby these
materials could be exchanged. It was inherently global in the worldwide sense
and had obvious relevance for the shipowning fraternity.1 As the twentieth
century wore on, however, it increasingly failed to engage the sympathies of the
practitioners of academic geography, condemned alike for its unexciting
descriptive character and, by virtue of its concern with trade routes, entry ports,
and hinterland links, its implicit association with colonialism and the
exploitation of the developing world by the developed.2 More lasting because
2 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

of its detachment from “imperialist” connotations is a strand that glories in the

name “location theory” or “locational analysis.” As its name implies, the
importance of this approach resides in the fact that it attempts to provide a
conceptual framework for placing on a proper footing the relations between
economic activities and the communities hosting them. As a theory—and, as
we shall see, a fairly loose one at that—it is open to varying interpretations,
allowing its users to justify its application to many and varied contexts, not the
least of which is shipbuilding. Its prime aim is to convey the idea that economic
activities function best in locations blessed with an optimum set of attributes,
the nature of which is divined through a core of basic principles. Three
principles, or “location factors,” as they are styled, bear the brunt of
explanation, and it will not go amiss to enlarge on each of them in turn.
Alfred Weber, the founder of location theory, saw himself as something of an
iconoclast. Conceive, if you will, the late Victorian academic environment that
molded him, an environment in which the discipline of economics was viewed
as very much an English affair; indeed, almost a bespoke activity of Cambridge
and the great Alfred Marshall. English views of economic activities,
particularly the formation of firms, were singularly indifferent to geography; in
fact, the spatial context as a serious cost factor was virtually ignored.3 Yet with
the advent of German industrialization, much of it undertaken in a systematic
manner, the need for a sound conceptual basis to location became pressing. The
pleas of Johann Heinrich von Thuenen in the early nineteenth century to
expressly incorporate a distance component into what we would now call
economics had fallen on deaf ears outside his native land.4 Distance, as
manifested through transport costs, was theoretically a vital force in
determining the viability of an economic enterprise, but these costs went
unrecognized in the neoclassical economic theory current in the 1890s and
1900s. Weber’s professors, clamoring for a theory directly relevant to German
manufacturing, inveighed against the Cambridge-inspired conventional wisdom
of the day, claiming that its aspatial character left much to be desired. Weber,
in consequence, devoted his career to setting the theory to rights, insisting that
the distance consideration could not be allowed to languish. The outcome of his
prodigious efforts, published in 1909, claimed to reveal to any party interested
in starting an industrial firm all the steps necessary for arriving at its
optimum—that is to say, most profitable—location.5
It is at this juncture that the location factors made their appearance, because
Weber maintained that the industrialist was swayed by just three considerations
when pondering where to build his plant. Chief among them was the cost
imposed by distance, the everyday transport costs first highlighted by Thuenen.
The first imperative of the industrialist would be to find a location that
minimized the aggregate costs of moving inputs from their sources to the place
of production (for example, bars, sections, and plates from various steel mills
and fabricators to a shipyard) while containing the costs of delivering the
products (for instance, ships or marine engines) to the customer. Resort to a
The Academic Bedrock 3

combination of spatial geometry and simple cost accounting would suffice to

pinpoint this optimum location, dubbed the minimum transport-cost point
(MTP). Once found, the MTP would be eagerly transformed into an industrial
site, complete with all the plant and infrastructure required to ramp up
production to the desired level. In essence, then, the first principle of location
theory, established by Thuenen and upheld by Weber, enjoined the industrialist
to seek out a site enjoying the lowest possible total transport costs, and this
principle overrode the two other factors—access to labor and presence in an
agglomeration—that had a bearing on plant location. To Weber’s way of
thinking, an industrialist would not hesitate to plump for the MTP as his
preferred site. Only later, given to second thoughts, would the industrialist
ponder the attractions of locations offering labor or agglomeration benefits.
Industrial inertia, the upshot of firms contemplating and rejecting the prospect
of steep costs accompanying relocation from the MTP (and not least the writing
off of capital plant not fully depreciated) would reinforce his predilection to
leave well alone. Nevertheless, if the industrialist were eventually convinced
that his total production costs would be significantly reduced at a different site
because of the labor or agglomeration advantages prevalent there, he might be
induced to take the plunge and transfer his operations from the MTP to this
alternative place.
The advantages accruing to such alternatives are self-evident in the case of
the labor factor but a little more obscure with respect to the factor of
agglomeration. Labor issues fire the imagination of the industrialist when he
finds himself either short of key personnel or operating from a place that causes
him an inflated payroll bill. The first contingency may loom large for specialist
firms that, for all practical purposes, cannot function without a plentiful supply
of skilled workers. Workers of this caliber are greatly valued by management
and perceived to be on a par with technology, because they enable the specialist
firm to sell its products at high prices on account of the “know-how” embodied
in them. Difficulties arising in labor recruitment could so mount as to persuade
the firm that they are only likely to be overcome in another jurisdiction, one
blessed with an environment somehow redolent of skill generation. However,
relocation in search of ample numbers of specialized workers is not the full
measure of the transfer option applying to labor, for many firms are tempted to
exercise it in order to gain access to “cheap-labor havens.” As the phrase
vividly implies, such havens spring up in regions that intentionally or otherwise
shrug off the legal and social pressures consistent with high average wages.
Practically all instances of this, the second contingency attendant on the labor
factor, occur in firms tapping workers of much more modest skills. In order to
diminish the labor portion of production costs they have the choice of reducing
the workforce by automating the production process or of retaining labor-
intensive practices at lower costs per worker. If the latter course is judged the
better option, the firm may resort to abandoning its existing site and relocating
to a place where workers are content to work for less pay. In Weber’s day, firms
4 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

fleeing high-labor-cost locales for cheaper venues were not common—after all,
the beginning of the twentieth century coincided with the apogee of trade union
organization in Germany—and, accordingly, Weber tended to be dismissive of
the likelihood of the phenomenon occurring. Subsequently, the number of firms
abandoning original locations in favor of cheaper-labor alternatives has grown
to epic proportions.6 The tendency is especially pronounced in industries that
are not saddled with high fixed costs—footwear, clothing, consumer
electronics—but is much less prevalent in those, such as shipbuilding,
characterized by heavy capital plant requirements.
With heavy industry very much in evidence in the Kaiser’s Germany, Weber
grudgingly allowed for another relocation prospect, in this case initiated so as
to achieve agglomeration benefits. Such benefits, encapsulated in the
agglomeration factor, assume major significance in the shipbuilding industry,
and on that score alone warrant us enlarging on them. The agglomeration
factor, though, has emerged of late in new guise, the concept of clusters and
clustering, which promises to add a dynamic focus to what hitherto has been a
largely static body of theory. The dynamics of industrial change are endemic to
any account of the fortunes of industries and the locations containing them: As
industries were made to appear on the scene thick and fast, so shipbuilding in
particular was made to wax and wane. This recent addition to theory has joined
and made common cause with the original Weberian approach, affirming our
intention to give it a fair hearing. To begin with, however, it is necessary to
digest the Weberian view of agglomeration.
On the face of it, agglomeration is deceptively simple, merely denoting the
cheapening of production or marketing that occurs as a direct result of
manufacturing being confined to one place rather than being distributed among
several localities. Yet on further inquiry the apparent simplicity gives way to
complexity. For one thing, Weber was uncomfortably conscious of committing
the error of almost hoisting himself by his own petard, the upshot of a logical
inconsistency. In isolating transport cost as a distinct factor he had been forced
to exclude from the calculus of agglomeration any savings in transfer charges
that would automatically follow from linked firms engaging in business with
each other from the same center. Yet all firms rely on connections with
suppliers in cognate fields and customers in finishing trades—connections that
are susceptible to intricate detection by means of tables of interindustry
linkages—and, clearly, stand to benefit from prosecuting these linkages in close
proximity to each other. It does not defy reason to positively expect firms in
functionally tied industries to seek a common location, the outcome of their
mutual striving to avoid extra transport costs. Paradoxically in light of his
perhaps exaggerated respect for transport cost as a location factor, Weber
contrives to gloss over this motivation for geographic concentration of industry.
Further confounding the issue is the importance of plant size. Weber allows
that plant expansion is conducive to agglomeration, thus at one fell swoop
grafting on to the straightforward idea of geographical concentration a whole
The Academic Bedrock 5

family of notions associated with economies of scale. Weber concedes that this
aspect of agglomeration cannot be grasped without careful attention to
thresholds—minimum efficient sizes—pertaining to applications of technology,
the division of labor, and bulk purchases of inputs. He further contends, rightly
enough, that these thresholds inevitably combine to spawn large-scale plants,
but that the actual size of the undertaking is difficult to predict and industry
specific to boot. Adding to the confusion, indeed, the disquiet of the seeker after
enlightenment, is the unhelpful observation of Weber that economies of scale
(in the form of what we now call internal production economies) are perfectly
capable of occurring outside the agglomeration framework. To be blunt, a firm
intent on stimulating economies of scale but operating in splendid isolation
from its peers has merely to set about enlarging its plant and attendant
workforce, ignoring any and all strategies preoccupying its peers. Admittedly,
Weber regards this as an extreme case, but he nevertheless accepts that its
possibility permits firms to dispense altogether with the need to consider
relocating away from their MTPs. Returning to firmer ground, Weber offers a
second mechanism to buttress the relevance of agglomeration. He grants this a
distinct term, “social agglomeration,” and maintains that it is expressly invoked
to underpin the advantages of several plants consciously choosing to locate at a
common site. The plants propagate together a number of savings. The first
involves usage of specialized equipment that no single plant could justify (or,
for that matter, afford), but that several can fully occupy between them (and, by
the same token, keep affordable by sharing the first and upkeep costs). Second
is the insistence on a finer division of labor, the consequence of the
implementation of a system of shifting workers between plants as and when
demand arises for their specialized skills. The third is occasioned by pooling
resources in marketing, an act that permits group advantages through
centralized selling agencies. The fourth set of savings is also the broadest,
comprising reductions in general overhead costs that are forthcoming from
shared investment in, and joint tenure and usage of, utilities and other kinds of
infrastructure.
Scholars were quick to see the force of Weber’s argument with respect to
social agglomeration. Unfortunately, they also were prepared to overlook the
inadequacy of the proposals that he offered that were aimed at untangling the
mechanism promoting it. This laxity has plagued location theory ever since. It
is fair to say that Weber himself anticipated the problems, which were bound to
arise when his analytical prescriptions were put into practice. In a deprecatory
gesture he introduced the idea of “accidental agglomeration” for no good
reason other than to allow the scholar to exercise some measure of control over
the location outcomes of firms. Under this rubric, firms might find themselves
locating cheek-by-jowl with other firms because they all, quite independently,
had come to appreciate a place for its labor advantages and then, downright
indifferent to the actions of others, had proceeded to establish themselves there.
The very act of locating together triggers, albeit unintentionally, a spate of
6 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

benefits comparable to those emanating from social agglomeration. Belatedly,

firms notice their propinquity to others of their kind and avail themselves of the
latent benefits on offer. This is all very well as an expedient for after-the-fact
explanation, but it does not get to the heart of the matter, the need to specify a
means for gauging the strength of the mechanism responsible for social
agglomeration. The best that Weber could come up with on this score is
summarized in a mantra: “Industries with high coefficient of manufacture show
strong tendencies to agglomerate,” whereas “industries with low coefficient of
manufacture show weak tendencies to agglomerate.”7 Despite a convoluted
rationale, the coefficient of manufacture is no more than a ratio of the value
added by manufacturing to the total weight of materials and products that have
to be transported to and from the place of production. In sum, it compares the
value generated by in situ processing to the cost of assembling materials at that
site and distributing goods from it. Clearly, those industries with comparatively
little technological embodiment—commodity processors, such as those
employed in the direct reduction of minerals—are destined to be forthcoming
with a low coefficient and, consequently, are less liable to locate in furtherance
of agglomeration. These are the activities most disposed to operate from their
MTPs. Conversely, those manufacturers conforming to the technology-intensive
category should exhibit the opposite characteristic; namely, be far more
inclined to belittle their MTPs and seek recompense at a common site.
Establishing just where that common site is positioned is the work of a
moment, the upshot of an exercise in elementary geometry that requires the
transcribing of compass lines (“isodapanes”) around every MTP of the firms or
plants (and the terms are used interchangeably) in question. Each isodapane
joins all places of the same incremental total transport cost, where incremental
denotes a fixed sum in addition to that obtaining at the MTP. Isodapanes close
to the MTP intimate a moderate surcharge in transport costs should a plant
forfeit its MTP and relocate on them; in sharp contrast, isodapanes at some
remove from the MTP hint at a grave cost penalty. One such isodapane from
the set radiating out from each MTP is designated the critical isodapane, for
beyond its boundaries the firm will incur total transport costs that exceed the
net benefits deriving from agglomeration. So long as the common site falls
within each firm’s critical isodapane, then all firms will achieve net savings
from transferring to it. A Venn diagram serves to show whether this eventuality
arises in the first place, and, if so, pinpoints the area of the map most
susceptible to agglomeration. True to his belief in the soundness of the MTP for
the typical firm, Weber repeatedly pointed out that any straying from it is
generally antagonistic to transport efficiencies and should be contemplated only
after weighty deliberation. In essence, he was firmly of the opinion that feasible
agglomeration sites were few and widely scattered.
A few reflections on the process of economic development conclude Weber’s
seminal piece. Most of these do not lend themselves to modern interpretation,
but some have stood the test of time, especially where they anticipate the
The Academic Bedrock 7

clustering phenomenon. In brief, Weber notes that two opposing forces are at
play in the world, one fostering the appearance of industrial concentrations
expressly designed to tap agglomeration benefits, the other encouraging
industrial location for diametrically opposite reasons. The first is the corollary
of technical change, a process replete with innovations that raise the value
added through manufacturing. Countermanding this to some degree, however,
is the increasing dependence of industry on energy inputs, and none more so
than heavy, bulky thermal materials like coal. The increasing consumption of
energy minerals contrives to boost the total weight of materials that have to be
assembled at the plant—in effect expanding the denominator of the coefficient
of manufacture at a greater rate than the numerator—and this, in turn,
persuades the firm to rest content at its MTP. Thus a tension pervades
industrialization: The trend toward geographic concentration invites retaliation
in prompting unacceptably high energy costs, the result of aggravated transport
costs. The two tendencies, despite their proven occurrence, do not sit well
together, promising centralization and decentralization at the same time.
In almost equal measure, location theorists following in Weber’s wake have
either rejected the relevance of his work outright or regarded it as well-founded
apart from some blemishes in need of correcting and a few oversights in need
of attention. In the former camp were those who believed that Weber’s
obsession with costs lacked conviction; to their minds, cost reduction was
subservient to sales promotion and, in consequence, they held that firms were
preoccupied with a radically different set of priorities. From the location
standpoint, firms of this ilk wanted to find sites that exposed them to the
biggest mass of consumers regardless of the extra cost in transport or wages
that such courses of action were bound to entail. The subsequent turn of events
has harshly treated these scholars, the proponents of the Locational
Interdependence school, because the evidence distilled from manufacturing
industries to support market-oriented locations at almost any cost is patchy at
best.8 Others, far less threatening to Weber’s position, constitute the Least-Cost
school of location. They admit to different shades of opinion with respect to the
continuing validity of Weber’s original work. Some in this circle concede the
virtues of sites boasting low costs, but have taken issue with Weber’s insistence
on elevating transport to the position of chief cost constituent, preferring
instead to back labor and agglomeration. Much useful work, for example, has
been expended on refining the mechanism for agglomeration and, in particular,
in making a distinction between localization economies and urbanization
economies, the two conveniently branded as spatial-juxtaposition economies.
Irrespective of term, these refer to cost reductions that a firm achieves as a
result of the combined actions of other firms; they are thus savings beyond the
firm’s direct control. Such external economies are heightened when firms are
found in close proximity to one another. They comprise localization economies
when they are industry specific; that is, are engendered by firms belonging to a
particular industry. Conversely, they take the form of urbanization economies
8 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

when all firms, regardless of industry, mutually benefit from the activities of
local industry in general. This sharpening of the causes and consequences of
agglomeration has proved most rewarding in applied locational analysis.
Industrial complex analysis is one especially promising avenue of inquiry
which cleverly combines Weberian and post-Weberian ideas of an
agglomeration stamp. As its name implies, it is dedicated to devising industrial
complexes and therefore is replete with regional planning connotations. No
simple aggregation of disparate industrial plants, these complexes stress
functionally linked activities—those with a leaning toward petrochemicals and
plastics have been prominent exponents—that meet preconceived specifications
of internal production economies by plant, to say nothing of localization
economies by industry, and urbanization economies by virtue of the hive of
geographically concentrated activity. Pioneer work in this field was begun in
the 1950s by Walter Isard and his associates, inspired by the laudable object of
finding for a developing country both an appropriate assemblage of industry
and a suitable site to accommodate it.9 Less practical but more theoretically
satisfying has been the work of the most avid of Weber’s supporters; namely,
those who adhere to his view that transport costs remain central to site
selection. Walter Isard, not a man to do things by halves, devoted much effort
to showing that “transport inputs”—a sophisticated reinterpretation of
Weberian transport costs—could match land, labor, capital, and enterprise in
accounting for the production process.10 Differences notwithstanding, the
members of the Least-Cost school retain a profound interest in manufacturing,
especially of the heavy kind, and their practical investigations have been
weighed in the global balance and not found too wanting. It is their revisions
touching on labor and agglomeration, effectively melding them, that explicitly
command our attention today. In fact, agglomeration has been given a new
lease on life, albeit now disguised within the delineation of clusters and
clustering, terms indicative of a new concept much bruited abroad in the 1990s.
In order to adequately convey the full measure of this new concept it is
necessary to step back and consider a broader context. To begin with, a little
reflection on terminology is instructive. Clustering, after all, has a familiar ring
to it. Recourse to the dictionary reveals that the noun “cluster” has two
principal meanings: first, it embraces a number of similar things springing up
together (as in a bunch of flowers or a constellation of stars); second, it
represents a group of similar things that achieve coherence from their physical
proximity. Used as a verb, “clustering” implies the process of evolution
undergone by similar things operating in tandem. By common consent clusters
can extend into the economic domain, incorporating groups of similar
industries, such as those of a maritime bent.11 Equally uncontentious is the idea
that the advantages accruing to a cluster derive in large part from proximity; in
other words, from the individual members—separate firms or manufacturing
plants—being geographically within easy reach of each other. To resort to the
words of Michael Porter, the leading advocate of this exercise in revamped
The Academic Bedrock 9

agglomeration, clusters can be thought of as “geographic concentrations of

interconnected companies and institutions in a particular field. [They]
encompass an array of linked industries and other activities important for
competition.”12 This generality contains enough scope to admit of almost any
particular, including shipbuilding clusters.13 These can be envisioned as
something wider than a mere collection of shipyards; rather, they are an
embodiment of all activities that have more than a trifling interest in the
fortunes of shipyards. Builders of marine engines are obvious concerned parties
on the backward-linked side of the “value chain,” as are metal foundries, forges
and fabricators, and the institutes committed to ship design. Commercial
shipping enterprises and government navy departments are very much in
evidence on the forward-linked side, because they have a vested interest in the
well-being of the shipbuilders. Together, the members of the maritime cluster
have the potential to generate enormous benefits, many after the fashion of
external economies. Standing alone, individual members must reconcile
themselves to either the complete absence of external economies or to their
presence in denuded form. Although the benefits include much of what we have
come to expect from agglomeration—reductions in overhead costs, savings
through pooled purchasing arrangements, joint access to a pool of specialized
workers—they also embrace much of the unfamiliar.
By a strange twist, the ideas of Marshall, famously condemned for his off-
hand attitude to spatial aspects, can be revived to provide insight into the new
material. Referring to the beginnings of industrial society, Marshall credits
their modest origins in a locality either to the fortuitous presence of a valued
resource (partly because it is geographically scarce) or to the behavior of an
extraordinary patron with discerning tastes.14 Once established, the “localized
industry” is apt to survive, indeed prosper, on account of the development of a
workforce habituated to its requirements and therefore of the expert variety.
This specialization grants the industry a comparative advantage, enabling it to
compete effectively. It also suffices to encourage the appearance of “subsidiary”
industries, fulfilling all the input needs of the main activity. Supplier industries
of this nature “devoting themselves each to one small branch of the process of
production, and working it for a great many of their neighbours,” can justify
their existence by fully utilizing specialized machinery “to make it pay its
expenses, though its original cost may have been high, and its rate of
depreciation very rapid.”15 Similarly, kindred industry may emerge to make full
use of the local population. In a nod to shipbuilding, Marshall noted that the
overseers of the highly specialized shipbuilding complex at Barrow-in-Furness
had taken steps to initiate factories whose main purpose was to gainfully
employ the female spouses of shipyard workers. Taken together, these are
powerful endorsements of the labor and agglomeration factors, albeit not
acknowledged as such. However—and here is the vital element for clustering—
Marshall holds that the population of specialists is likely to be appreciative of
those with new ideas for conducting the industry; in a word, innovators. He
10 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

insists that innovation is an integral part of the development of localized

industry. Innovation, in fact, is the watchword of the cluster concept, the force
that takes it beyond the mechanisms of agglomeration as understood by Weber
and the Least-Cost advocates. Innovation is not only inherently dynamic and
thus capable of offering the cluster a long-term future, but is replete with
numerous economic advantages. In its modern guise, innovation is
accomplished by individual firms in response to their intimate knowledge of
group needs; it promises comprehensive benefits through each firm being able
to mine the expertise of other cluster members, information that is made
available to all.
Porter has taken these basic propositions of Marshall and embellished them.
Of special value has been his global survey of industries, singling out those that
have displayed exceptional performance. Performance and competitiveness are
judged indivisible; indeed, the locational tendencies of an industry (and its
likelihood of survival at any given location) depend entirely on its ability to
master competitive pressures. That ability, in turn, hinges on its facility with
innovation. In Porter’s words, “Competition in today’s economy is far more
dynamic,” and granted that state of affairs, “competitive advantage rests on
making more productive use of inputs, which requires continual innovation.”16
From the mass of empirical information he has gone on to distill the specific
lessons for a policy applicable to any industry seeking to improve its
performance. That policy has a constant refrain, one that urges governments
and captains of industries to adopt the trappings of clusters. Yet—and perhaps
ironically—much of the cogency of his argument resides less in the attraction
of innovation—a vague notion at best—and more in the solid evidence of
agglomeration benefits. Porter himself points to the suitability of Seattle as a
contemporary cluster hosting such seemingly strange bedfellows as shipyards,
aircraft manufacturers, and metal fabricators.17 The element common to the
first two is the transportation-equipment sector, a sector much given to the use
of external economies, as Detroit and its attendant automobile industry vividly
attest. Besides sharing good access to employees, suppliers and specialized
information after the fashion of localization economies, the denizens of the
Seattle cluster are granted privileged access to public institutions and other
infrastructure consistent with urbanization economies. In identifying metal
fabrication as the third likely constituent of the Seattle cluster, Porter
unwittingly is reaffirming the historical basis of agglomeration in the Puget
Sound area as it impinged on shipbuilding. Charles Moore has demonstrated
that the development of metal fabrication and steel shipbuilding in and about
that area were inextricably linked.18 An “iron and steel products complex”
emerged in the early twentieth century largely as a result of the flourishing (for
a time) of Robert Moran’s various initiatives in shipbuilding, general metal-
work, and the manufacture of mining equipment, all the consequence of
forward integration from his original foundry and forge venture. These later
enterprises began as “related and supporting activities” (to use Porter’s cluster
The Academic Bedrock 11

terminology), joining with Moran’s original machine shops in meeting

overhead cost and thus containing it. They also contrived to supply necessary
inputs to, and absorb significant outputs from, each other’s production lines.
Despite personal failure, Moran blazed a trail followed by William Pigott,
which, by 1918, had culminated in an empire centered on a steel mill feeding
materials to users as diverse as shipyards, marine engineers, and rail-car
manufacturers.19 That empire fared poorly in succeeding years, fading with the
depression, but it laid the foundation for the marine industries that persist to
this day.
The merits of clustering, however, do not end with agglomeration, as Porter
is at pains to point out. As conceived by Weber and his followers agglomeration
leaves something to be desired. First, the rigid assumptions regarding the
behavior of a firm’s management—in particular the belief that they invariably
will choose a MTP location before all other considerations, including the
sharing of overheads with the managers of other firms—have to be abandoned.
Second, the static nature of agglomeration has to be overturned and in its place
a process of self-sustaining growth substituted. With respect to the first change,
Porter can actually point to shipbuilding for a remedy. In a study undertaken
some time before clustering became his hobby horse, he made great play of the
system of long-established semiformal ties between yards and ship-equipment
manufacturers in Japan—the famed keiretsu framework—as a major reason
accounting for that country’s predominance in global ship markets.20 This
framework was also critical in creating the climate of technical progressiveness
that marked Japanese shipbuilders and ensured their leadership. He attempted
to show that, despite limited information initially, yard managers could
overcome their individual shortcomings by learning best-practice methods from
their colleagues in other organizations belonging to the group. This course is
open to them because they enjoy a level of mutual trust sufficient to break down
normal barriers to information exchange. That trust has arisen in consequence
of their common membership in the keiretsu group, a membership that has
accustomed them to each other’s behavior and fostered a collective outlook.
Imperfect competition, according to Porter, is implicit in this competitive edge,
and what is more, is something to be welcomed, provided that it does not lead
to complacency and runaway costs on the one hand and technical stagnation on
the other. Imperfect competition, it should be mentioned, denotes a firm’s
ability to evade market discipline, at least to some degree, and adopt high-
handed methods of price fixing. Imperfect competition is the antithesis of
perfect competition, the ideal state in which a firm’s pricing behavior is
conditioned by the watchfulness of peers, ever eager to gain market share at its
expense. The outcome of perfect competition is desirable to producer and
consumer alike, for it forces the former to be efficient and forthcoming with
goods so keenly priced as to delight the latter. Not surprisingly perfect
competition has been espoused by all the giants of economic thought, including
Marshall and Weber. In sharp contrast, imperfect competition, tolerant as it is
12 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

of cartels and monopolies and their accompaniments of “unfair” pricing,

provokes nothing but disdain from most economists.
Porter, true to the iconoclastic tradition, encourages collusion among firms,
maintaining that such behavior, far from being reprehensible, offers each
enterprise the alluring combination of security and profitability. His
justification rests on one compelling fact: Collusion is conducive to technical
innovation and technical innovation, in turn, is absolutely critical to the well-
being of every participant in a cluster. With it, clusters thrive; without it, they
wither and eventually expire. It is the set of conditions giving rise to innovation
that is held up by Porter as the chief driving force in cluster formation.
By his lights, the set of conditions for innovation, aided and abetted by
cooperation between firms, far outweighs the Weberian factors of cost reduction
in validating cluster operations.21 In combination, these conditions define the
process of clustering, the second change required to convert agglomeration into
a more convincing explanation for the sustained patterns of industrial location
discernible across the world. Not only do they provide a dynamic character
missing from the static Weberian view of agglomeration, but they absolve the
tendency of real clusters to lapse into practices of imperfect competition. They
fulfill the latter mission simply by allowing innovation to do its work; namely,
to rebound among the cluster participants, effecting cost containment as well as
market expansion. What of the conditions themselves? By Porter’s reckoning
two stand out as being particularly fruitful: the exchange of ideas and the
existence of “active rivalry” among the firms. The first is tantamount to cross-
fertilization, sharpening ideas to such a pitch as to render possible both new
production methods and new products. The second is indispensable to
efficiency, for firms are prone to sluggishness in its absence, liable to dismiss
new ideas in favor of the old way of conducting business. The two cannot
function well in isolation, but must be present in equal measure. While Porter
acknowledges that the chance of their combination is “far from assured,” he
insists that the behavior accounting for it—limited cooperation rather than the
all-out, cutthroat rivalry so beloved by the disciples of perfect competition—is
not at odds with management practice. Any cluster that succeeds in achieving
such a combination will reap rich rewards, enjoying a competitive edge in
international trade and growth prospects that know no bounds.22
There the cluster concept now rests; a halfway house between the rigid purity
of Weberian location theory and modern empirical models of decision making
that openly accommodate much latitude in management behavior. To all
appearances it offers two clear prescriptions for success. In the first place, all
firms should establish strong working relationships with other organizations to
which they are functionally (though not necessarily in ownership terms) linked.
In the second, they should reinforce these relationships by geographical
propinquity. Innovation and reduced overhead costs should follow as a matter
of course, endowing the geographical concentration of industry with all the
hallmarks of a vibrant, growing district. This optimistic outlook is not without
The Academic Bedrock 13

its pitfalls, however. Geographical concentration, as Porter warns, can also

breed insularity, or a disquieting laxity in management with respect to
remaining abreast of developments occurring elsewhere. Such indifference, the
upshot of a mistaken belief that all significant developments are confined to the
cluster, can have fatal consequences. Seemingly trivial innovations spawned
elsewhere have ultimately proved the undoing of several major industrial
concentrations, hitherto secure in their competitive dominance, as a result of
this complacency and arrogance. As we shall see, the record of shipbuilding in
Britain and America is not free of such blemishes.

THE INDUSTRY’S FOUNDATION, EVOLUTION

AND LOCATIONAL TENDENCY
Our brief discourse on location theory was presented not to throw light on the
state of academic geography but with an eye to clarifying the historical baggage
accompanying shipbuilding in the years preceding World War II. Location
concepts, as those theorists would say, intervened to account for where the
shipyards were to be found and, in part, to explain why they grew up in those
places. At one level there appears to be no mystery attending the formation of
shipyards: They simply appeared in the coastal, riparian, and lakeshore
communities that had conjured up sufficient shipping demand to justify their
existence. Hence, all trading societies making appreciable use of waterborne
transport soon acquired a facility in the shipbuilding arts. At a deeper level,
however, there are hints of other factors at work. The more resilient
shipbuilding communities, for instance, were those blessed with good access to
the prime construction material—timber for most of the industry’s history—
and this fact followed directly from the cost advantage that they gained in
consequence; namely, sharply curtailed transport costs on the chief input.
Combine this advantage with the strong likelihood that the customer resided
locally (thus obviating the need to incur a charge in delivering the finished
product to him), and it is evident that the typical shipyard was practically
located at its MTP. No one put it more succinctly than Wilfred Smith, a
distinguished British geographer, when he remarked in general on the industry,
insisting that its past location “has been closely related to materials, for these
are of great bulk” and therefore disproportionately expensive to move. He
continues, “In the days of wooden vessels shipbuilding was focused on estuaries
whose rivers passed through woods where oak could still be felled; the Thames,
whose right bank tributaries led from the Weald, was the pre-eminent
example.”23
The American situation was scarcely any different. Indeed, unequalled access
to coastal stands of timber bestowed on American shipbuilders a competitive
edge for decades after the republic was created. Maine in many respects painted
the dispersed American industry in its most glowing colors. The state boasted
yards up and down its coastline and they were also thickly studded along its
14 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

inlets. Bath, currently home to one of America’s principal warship yards, is

emblematic of these locations. Situated on the Kennebec River (from whose
mouth sailed in 1607 the first seagoing vessel built in the American colonies),
it was handy for timber floated down from the interior. Besides, the locale
offered an unsurpassed site, comprising “a gently sloping foreshore with deep
water immediately off-shore.” Far from constituting a handicap, its situation
ten miles from the sea along a winding river “provided a protected anchorage
safe from savage storms which frequently sweep the coast.”24 Generously
endowed with timber and cheap labor, Maine promised production costs lower
than other districts.25 Ominously, the very success of American shipbuilding
led to the rapid depletion of wood stocks in many a coastal creek; costs rose in
proportion, and the competitive edge became much blunted after 1830. British
yards had already undergone the painful adjustments imposed by timber
shortages and the attendant steep increase in material costs. The Admiralty,
long alive to domestic limitations in material supply, had been compelled to
resort to the countries surrounding the Baltic to make good the shortfall. This
had dire consequences for fleet readiness in times of war, to say nothing of high
costs for every ton of new construction. A measure of the importance of
heightened transport costs can be gauged from the following quotation: “The
value of Baltic timber delivered in the Dockyards was twenty times the value of
the tree on the stump.”26 By contrast, the transport charges associated with
domestic timber—when it could be obtained—seldom exceeded the value of the
standing tree. Supply became so attenuated during the frequent bouts of
hostilities that the naval chiefs were forced to look further afield for their
timber. They took this course with great reluctance, for freight charges on
timber from America were three times the rates applying to material procured
from the Baltic.27 By the early years of the nineteenth century, English agents
were scouring India and Oceania, as well as the Mediterranean basin, eager to
get their hands on suitable ship timber at almost any price. Timber
accessibility, then, seemed to spell the difference between success and failure in
shipbuilding, with the cost of material procurement rivaling labor as the major
location factor influencing the builders.
Be this as it may, the beginnings of decline in the American shipbuilding
industry coincided with fundamental breakthroughs in the technology of
building ships, breakthroughs that covered a variety of processes and products
but whose most arresting aspect was their coalescence to provide Britain with
maritime mastery. Seemingly permanent methods were now called into
question. The suitability of the places long accustomed to building ships was
also queried. Technological changes giving rise to metal-hulled ships powered
by steam-driven machinery did not occur overnight but as the culmination of
many incremental improvements. Nevertheless, the whole series of changes
proved profoundly unsettling for an industry long used to low barriers to entry.
The substitution of iron structural members and engines for ship timbers and
canvas sails inevitably raised barriers to entry, compelling the would-be
The Academic Bedrock 15

practitioner of shipbuilding to tap a wider pool of capital backers on the one

hand and have at his disposal men competent in totally new skills on the other.
Much to the dismay of many traditional shipbuilders, both requirements were
not at first easy to come by, and many took the opportunity to exit the industry.
The new ways of conducting ship construction were greeted with disdain by the
shipwrights, men skilled in working with wood. As a rule, shipwrights felt it
inexpedient to meddle with the new metal crafts. In their eyes a metal trade like
that of the boilermakers bordered on the mysterious. Those electing to stay in
the industry retained an aversion to the new practices, a trait that led to strained
relations with the workers belonging to other trades. Consequently, tensions
arose that were to plague industrial harmony in the shipyards well into the next
century.
One overriding consequence of the scarcity of both capital and expertise in
the early days of the technological revolution was the elimination of many
dispersed shipbuilding locations. Instead, geographical concentrations of
shipbuilders became more prevalent, concentrations reminiscent of Weber’s
agglomerations. It is not necessary to cast about for a complicated cause for this
phenomenon; rather, it stemmed from the piecemeal origins of the new
technologies. Machine building sprang up in a few districts forever associated
with spawning the Industrial Revolution. These districts had only a limited
number of maritime extensions, the ports that became familiar with mechanical
engineering. Naturally, the pioneers of iron shipbuilding and steam propulsion
gravitated to these ports, fortunately located with respect to the new industrial
districts and jealous of the trade advantages that these circumstances granted
them. It is no accident that the first oceangoing vessel to embody the new order,
Isambard Kingdom Brunei’s Great Britain, issued from Bristol, one of the ports
gifted with a sufficiency of people well versed in the new skills. Thanks to river
and railroad links, it was also conveniently located for procurement of new
materials.28

Localization Trends
To be sure, geographical concentration of shipbuilding activity had been
discernible long before the steam-and-metal age; indeed, a dichotomy between
mighty London and a clutch of comparatively minor “outports” had been
characteristic of British shipbuilding from time immemorial. The Thames had
risen to prominence by virtue of the aggregation of mercantile interests in
London: As the merchant class consolidated its hold on London, port facilities
and the gamut of maritime infrastructure from average adjustment to
warehousing grew up in proportion. As a matter of course, shipbuilding on
Thames-side also benefited from this largesse. Besides, the merchants—the de
facto ship-owning entrepreneurs—could keep an eye on the progress of vessels
built a stone’s throw from Lloyd’s and other congregating places in the City
and satisfy themselves that the builders were not skimping on the task at hand.
16 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Thus appeared the convention, slavishly followed by the more successful

shipping organizations, of favoring Thames yards with their custom, all
because physical proximity was judged indispensable in ensuring quality
control.29 The Thames became a byword for sound ships—A1 quality—and
commanded premium prices, whereas ships built elsewhere were treated with
varying degrees of suspicion and priced accordingly. With one or two notable
exceptions, the Admiralty acceded to this practice, and it became a time-
honored custom for the Navy to turn to Thames yards when it was in need of
“surge” capacity over and above that available in government yards. Recourse
to them for naval vessels first occurred on a large scale in 1677, and their
facilities were taken up with increasing frequency in the succeeding century.30
The notable exceptions were also called upon in times of extraordinary
demands on government yards. The private yards affected were instrumental in
fostering miniagglomerations outside the Thames concentration. The
government, responding to threats posed by France and the Netherlands, had
over the years established navy yards—formally known as Royal Dockyards—
with the object of not only facing down the enemy by supporting the everyday
needs of the fleet, but also providing the ships composing the fleet. Permanent
dockyards were commissioned at Plymouth (Devonport) and Portsmouth on the
English Channel, Sheerness and Chatham on the Medway estuary (abutting on
the North Sea), and, after the Napoleonic Wars, in Milford Haven (Pembroke
Dock) leading into the Irish Sea (see Map 1.1). Each was more or less lavishly
equipped with appropriate plant and charged with shipbuilding responsibilities
as well as overhauling and refitting tasks. The dockyards were conceived with
the idea of self-sufficiency firmly in mind. “They were able to manufacture
their own cordage, finished sails, anchors, pulley blocks and numerous other
items” in the eighteenth century, and as the nineteenth century unfolded, also
acquired a full complement of “rolling mills, saw mills, paint shops and engine
factories.”31 In due course they gave rise to hives of maritime industry, centers
that were geographically and, in part, functionally distinct from the Thames.
Indeed, by the early 1800s they had grown in importance to surpass the
dockyards retained by the Admiralty in the Thames concentration itself (these,
at Deptford and Woolwich, were to become casualties of the technological
revolution convulsing shipbuilding). Beginning in the early eighteenth century
these outlying dockyards had served as magnets for local shipbuilding
enterprise, inducing private yards to take up naval standards and engage in
defense contracting, some on a monumental scale. However, consistent with
their commercial peers, government contractors insisted on paying lower prices
for vessels built in private yards in the “outports.” The practice was justified on
the grounds of lower costs—particularly labor costs—prevailing outside the
capital.32 Perhaps the most impressive of these miniagglomerations emerged in
The Academic Bedrock 17

Map 1.1
U.K. Sites of Shipbuilding Significance

Douglas Fast

Hampshire, close enough to Portsmouth Dockyard to permit regular inspection

by navy supervisors. Moreover, the Navy Board (the body vested with the job of
finding ships), convinced that rigging and arming ships was beyond the
competence of private yards, rigidly adhered to a policy of having the
dockyards complete final outfitting. Practically, this meant that a division of
labor was enforced in which the private yard built the hull but the dockyard
18 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

completed it. These circumstances dictated that the private yards must be
located within short towing distance of a government yard. The Navy
acquiesced in this arrangement because it gained from the private shipbuilders’
ability to keep construction costs low. Typically, hull costs of a warship
amounted to two-thirds of the vessel’s total first cost. The provision of
“outport” hulls at markedly lower prices than those obtaining for hulls
emanating from the Thames or the Dockyards delighted penny-pinching Navy
Board officials. Hampshire builders excelled like few others in the kingdom in
furnishing low-priced hulls. Their success was imputed to their adeptness at
employing people for low wages while enjoying readily available and tolerably
cheap sites. Furthermore, they could make use of the government hoys plying
the coast routes with timber.33
These instances of partial concentration of shipbuilding activity were to be
severely disturbed by the technical changes in the offing. Metal hulls not only
endowed ships with much greater strength, giving them the capacity to
withstand the stresses and vibrations incidental to mechanical propulsion, but
they admitted of much enlargement over their wooden predecessors. In short,
ship size escaped from the limits imposed by the natural lengths of great
timbers and appeared to know no bounds.34 This had far-reaching consequences
for the shipyards, some glimmer of which was already evident in the United
States even before the technological revolution had taken firm hold. As early as
the 1820s American shipowners were declaring a preference for wooden ships
heavier than 400 tons and longer than 100 feet, the previous standard for
trading vessels. Shipbuilders desirous of catering to the new demand had no
choice but to radically reorganize their yards. Gone were the primitive building
ways from which vessels could be shifted sideways on rollers into the water; in
their place were proper slipways for inclined launches. Gone, too, were yards
sparingly equipped, boasting at best a sawpit and a crude lifting device like an
A-frame or sheer-legs. Replacing them were sites resplendent with suites of
workshops and jib cranage. A select number of yards, benefiting from
substantial investment, shook off the transient look so characteristic of earlier
shipbuilding and now assumed an air of permanence. Of course, only the more
perspicacious entrepreneurs—those either with a record of success or an
adroitness at swaying capitalist backers—followed this course, leaving their
less fortunate peers little option but to retire from the industry. Only one branch
of shipbuilding was allowed to pass through the transition relatively unruffled,
and that was the collection of government facilities. These, the Navy Yards,
marched to a different drummer, partly insulated by political fiat from the
rigors of the market. They had been dispersed intentionally along the coast on
their foundation shortly after 1800, sharing the burden of naval defense among
the states. The original six—Portsmouth (New Hampshire), Boston, New York,
Philadelphia, Norfolk, and Washington, DC—were supplemented in a
piecemeal fashion, first with Pensacola (1826), then with Mare Island near
Vallejo (1854), and, finally, for the nineteenth century, with Puget Sound at
The Academic Bedrock 19

Bremerton (1891). Like their British equivalents, they were conceived with the
idea of self-sufficiency. However, the lack of a consistent naval program prior
to the 1880s meant that this aspiration was honored more in the breach than the
observance.
Navy Yards aside, the pressures of restructuring with which the shipbuilders
had to contend had the effect of concentrating the industry in a limited number
of centers. Bauer credits the emergence of the world-renowned clipper builders
of Boston (notably Donald Mackay) and New York (especially William Webb)
to this sound preliminary of steering investment into larger yards.35 Spatial
concentration received another boost when timber supply became pressing. The
Delaware River yards were among the first to feel the pinch imposed by timber
shortages and as a result were prepared to contemplate building iron and steam-
powered vessels before most of their northern counterparts. Betts, Harlan &
Hollingsworth of Wilmington began building in iron in 1844 and soon (minus
the Betts appellation) acquired a reputation for turning out quality small
steamers. Another pioneer, William Cramp, began shipbuilding in Philadelphia
in 1830 and, in short order, started building steamers. Between them, they were
chiefly responsible for the Delaware River being awarded the soubriquet
“American Clyde” for by 1860 the district was easily the leading practitioner of
the “new” shipbuilding, replete, like the Scottish region to which it bore
comparison, with all the appurtenances of a maritime agglomeration.36 In
marked contrast to other American districts that found the transition to steel
shipbuilding troublesome, the Delaware River contrived to adjust to the
material. It was not by mere chance that this district garnered the first flush of
contracts when the United States declared its wish to possess modern steel
warships in 1883. Navy Secretary William Chandler contemptuously spurned
the Navy Yards, awarding the first four orders to the Chester yard of John
Roach (officially styled the Delaware River Iron Shipbuilding and Engine
Works), arguably America’s most advanced shipbuilder at the time.37

New Technology and Agglomeration

The advent of steam propulsion and metal materials was both an effect of,
and a cause for, agglomeration. Industrialization was spatially very selective,
occurring in only a few districts blessed with a happy combination of
appropriate human and natural resources, not to mention the wherewithal for
bringing them together and trading the products of their manipulation.
Naturally, the “new” shipbuilding was apt to spring up in these districts, a
legacy of the enterprise endemic to them. Yet in addition to the human capital
so critical for sparking innovation and bringing it to fruition, geographical
advantage was implicit in these districts through significant cost reduction.
Many commentators have come at length to the conclusion that containment of
transport costs contributed hugely to the geographical concentration of the
industry. Considerable reflection convinced Wilfred Smith that it was “the
20 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

expense of moving heavy materials that helps to fix shipbuilding yards in those
heavy iron and steel districts which are coastal in location.”38 Sidney Pollard
and Paul Robertson, more recent students of the industry, concede that
minimizing transport cost was a key factor in explaining the growth of
specialized shipbuilding concentrations, but do not rest there. They aver, “It
was not only the cost of transport that made the supply (of materials) from a
distant area less favorable, though that alone would account for the relative
advantages of the Clyde and the North-East Coast. The certainty of delivery,
the chance to prod a laggard supplier, to know at once of any windfall bargains
or improved processes, and ultimately to branch out, if necessary, into coal
mining or iron smelting and steel manufacture,” all contrived to shower
benefits on enterprises locating in an agglomeration.39 The Clyde in Scotland
and the English North-East Coast not only were the source of a big fraction of
the world’s ships, but came to symbolize the specialized shipbuilding
agglomeration. Pollard and Robertson, to all intents, are underscoring the
importance of dynamic external economies, anticipating a Porter-like process of
clustering.
Cluster formation and consolidation, it will be recalled, is ascribed to
innovation that fosters competitiveness, innovation that is expressly confined to
a limited geographical area brimming with external economies. These
conditions were conspicuous in only a handful of districts in Britain and
America in the nineteenth century (and barely visible elsewhere in the world).
The story of the innovators who featured prominently in the technological
transformation is fairly well known, the substance of which is contained in
histories of technology.40 A few instances with a shipbuilding bent will suffice
to gain a flavor of the phenomenon. Foremost among them were members of
the Napier “clan,” particularly David and his cousin Robert. The first,
operating a foundry at Glasgow on the Clyde, produced boilers in 1812 for the
Comet, one of the world’s first steamboats. He began making marine steam
engines a few years later, and by 1821 had prospered to the extent of running
an enlarged engineering shop and attached shipyard. He instigated changes in
both ship design—introducing the wedge-shaped bow in place of the less
hydrodynamic bluff bow—and marine engineering, besides investigating iron
for hull construction.41 In 1836, in a move that was to spell disaster, he decided
to forsake Scotland for London, bequeathing his Clyde works to his cousin. It
fell to Robert to leave a lasting mark on Clyde shipbuilding, initiating what was
to become the leading maritime “cluster” in the world. Robert not only
maintained the integrated shipbuilding and marine engineering tradition
inherited from David, but vastly extended it. In the 1830s he was turning out
some of the largest engines of the day, installing them in mail steamers of his
own design. In the subsequent decade he plunged into iron shipbuilding. By
mid-century his Govan yard (see Map 1.1) and attendant Parkhead Forge were
looked on as wonders of the age. All that remained was for him to enter the
lucrative business of building warships. He had already acquired a taste for
The Academic Bedrock 21

defense work through engine contracts for vessels built elsewhere, but he would
not rest content until he had Admiralty contracts for the ships themselves. A
couple of false starts in the 1840s failed to deter him, and at the end of the
1850s his patience was rewarded when the Admiralty chose his firm to build
the Black Prince, sister ship to the outstanding Warrior. Ironically, warship
work proved something of a mixed blessing for Napier, and his firm underwent
a checkered career in succeeding years.42 For good or ill, however, he set the
Clyde on course for becoming Britain’s chief source of warships.43 Not the least
of his achievements was the example he set for emulators, including several
who learned from the master by way of stints in his workshops. Both David Tod
and John MacGregor, founders of the Clyde’s first yard for iron ships in 1836,
fell into this category, as did James Thomson (instrumental in creating the
celebrated Clydebank yard), William Beardmore (ultimately responsible for the
large Dalmuir yard), and the Elder brothers (who inaugurated the Fairfield
establishment, also in Govan).
Another engineering genius, destined to affirm the importance of the Tyne
on England’s North-East Coast as a key supplier of warships, entered the
industry by way of hydraulics and ordnance. William George Armstrong set up
as a maker of harbor cranes at Newcastle in 1847, believing that he could build
a superior product because he had attended to the first principles of hydraulics.
He was soon exercising his ingenuity manufacturing artillery, again by getting
the measure of basic principles.44 By 1859, on the strength of government
contracts, he was running a plant producing rifled ordnance alongside his port-
equipment factory. This, the Elswick facility, was to grow in time into a large
armaments complex, complete with adjoining shipyard. The link to
shipbuilding, initially conducted by means of subcontracting gunboat hulls to
Charles Mitchell, was cemented in 1882 (the Staunch of 1867 was the first
vessel to combine an Armstrong gun with a Mitchell hull). The resultant
Armstrong Mitchell gradually implemented a two-yard policy, retaining
Mitchell’s Low Walker yard (with its complement of 2,500 workers) for
merchant vessels while reserving naval work for Elswick. The marriage proved
highly successful: Mitchell’s yard had a solid reputation as an innovative
builder; indeed, Charles Sheriton Swan, brother-in-law of Mitchell and a
trainee at his yard, went on in 1871 to found, in collaboration with his more
distinguished relative, the Wallsend Slipway Company, the modest precursor of
Swan Hunter, an enormously prolific shipbuilder in the twentieth century.45
Among the first fruits of the merger from the civil standpoint was the
Gluckhauf of 1886, the first bulk oil tankship. Her designer was Henry
Frederick Swan, the brother of Charles. An immediate expression of the
stimulus afforded naval construction was the Esmeralda, a protected “Elswick”
cruiser designed by George Rendel, managing director of the armaments side of
the business. Activity at Elswick became so hectic that by 1895 the complex
was employing in excess of 11,000 workers on a site consisting of a 16-acre
shipyard with 2,000 feet of river frontage, an ordnance plant covering over 40
22 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

acres, an engineering works of nine acres, a battery of blast furnaces capable of

reducing imported iron ore into pig iron, and a batch of open-hearth furnaces
necessary for providing the steel used in gun forgings. Expansion received an
added boost in 1897 when the firm merged with Whitworth’s, a Manchester-
based armaments maker. By 1905 Elswick was prospering from naval orders as
never before, employing almost 16,000 workers.46 A sizable jump in battleship
size following the inception of the Dreadnought led to the decision in 1910 to
relocate naval work to a spacious 70-acre “greenfield” site downriver at High
Walker (although the rundown of the yard at Elswick was thwarted by the
outbreak of World War I), and the geographical integrity of the industrial
complex was, to a degree, compromised. By then, however, Armstrong
Whitworth was just one of a clutch of giant steel–armaments–shipbuilding
concerns dominating warship markets. Three of these deserve some comments
in elaboration.
Cammell Laird, like Armstrong Whitworth, resulted from the amalgamation
of industrial ingenuity and shipbuilding expertise. Unlike its Tyneside
counterpart, however, it did not take root in an existing engineering and
shipbuilding-agglomeration; rather, it grew up as two distinct entities: an
inland iron and steel-making Cammell that was part of a metallurgical cluster,
and a detached shipbuilder Laird that, virtually alone, came to stand for marine
engineering on the Mersey. Not surprising, their common interest was steel, the
structural material increasingly viewed as vital to shipbuilding as the
nineteenth century wore on.47 What Laird lost in location remote from other
builders in metal it fully made up in innovative daring. William Laird began
manufacturing boilers at Birkenhead, opposite Liverpool, in 1824, presaging
entry into shipbuilding by four years. From the outset he displayed both a flair
for ship design and a disposition never to shrink from putting his ideas into
practice. In the 1830s, for instance, he was dabbling in paddle-steamer
construction, pioneering the use of bulkhead compartmentalization (subdivision
of the hull to enhance its integrity). Significantly, he was also deeply involved
in the building of iron gunboats (for the East India Company, the de facto ruler
of India), heralding the firm’s chronic commitment to warship work. In the
fullness of time, William handed over the business to his sons and grandsons,
and by the dawn of the 1860s the firm of Laird Brothers boasted a new yard and
an enlarged engine factory. It soon earned notoriety in the American Civil War,
surreptitiously supplying the Confederate Navy with its most audacious raider,
the Alabama. That era also saw the introduction of both the ironclad battleship
and the turret ship into the Royal Navy, and Laird’s was called on to supply
early examples of the new types. By 1877 it was building ships in steel and,
after 1889 and the passage of the Britain’s Naval Defence Act, became more
and more preoccupied with warships, constructing several fitted with steel
armor.48 Its preferred supplier of armor, Charles Cammell & Company, was a
steel producer located in Sheffield, a city that had grown in tandem with the
metallurgical trades but was far from the sea. The Sheffield firm’s eponymous
The Academic Bedrock 23

founder began making files in 1837, expanding into forgings in 1845.

Cammell’s Cyclops Works thereafter became renowned for its iron plate made
from cold-blast pig iron. By 1861 Cammell was firmly committed to Bessemer
steel, promoting its use in rolled compound armor. Naval armor complemented
steel rails for the railroad market and the firm grew by leaps and bounds. The
profits deriving from defense—by the end of the century including gun forgings
as well as armor plate—impelled the firm to strengthen its informal ties with
Laird’s, a procedure accomplished through full-fledged merger in 1903. The
new Cammell Laird was thus poised to reap massive rewards as the naval
programs of the Powers began accelerating to reach a climax in 1914. Besides a
well-appointed shipbuilding complex at Birkenhead and an armor–armaments
complex at Sheffield, it maintained effective control of the Fairfield shipyard at
Govan on the Clyde—another major warship supplier (mentioned earlier in
connection with Napier)—and claimed a half-share in the Coventry Ordnance
Works, a rising manufacturer of big naval guns. Its partner in this last venture,
John Brown, warrants a few comments in its own behalf.
To understand Brown’s importance it is necessary to review the problems
besetting the adoption of steel as a shipbuilding material. Soon after Sheffield-
based pioneer Henry Bessemer revealed mild steel to the world in the late 1850s
it was eagerly grasped by astute shipbuilders as potentially superior to wrought
iron. Mild steel had good tensile strength and ductile properties, it could be
worked easily when cold, and when hot worked did not lose its mechanical
properties (a boon when welding was adopted in the twentieth century). Also,
and important, when the industry had mastered its process technology, it could
be made comparatively cheaply.49 Yet after a brief frenzy of building in it, steel
was summarily dropped in British yards after 1866, the victim of customer
dissatisfaction. To be sure, Bessemer plate supplied to the yards cost more than
wrought iron plate (up to double the expense), but its much higher strength-to-
weight ratio was expected to more than offset the higher price. For instance, a
Bessemer steel ship, sanctioned by Lloyd’s in 1866, required one-quarter less
structural material than an iron ship of equal size. Steel, however, was sensitive
to phosphorus, a contaminant that could destroy its integrity.50 The uneven
quality of the pig iron from which the steel was constituted, together with
inadequate methods used in rolling the plate, led to repeated cases of metal
fatigue. In addition, ship steel had to be, at 0.2 percent content, almost free of
carbon (that is, “mild”) in order to avoid brittleness, but the Bessemer process
deliberately introduced carbon (through placing spiegeleisen in the steel
converter) so as to remove excess oxygen, and thus was fatally flawed. These
problems were eventually solved and usage of Bessemer steel by the yards
resumed in 1877. In the meantime, though, the industry’s preference had
shifted to Siemens’ open-hearth steel, which had emerged as a viable
alternative.51 In fact, many shipbuilders, convinced of the superiority of
Siemens’ steel, refused to contemplate a return to the Bessemer variety.52 The
Admiralty, foremost in resolving the quality-control issue, pronounced in 1887
24 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

that it would accept Bessemer steel, albeit for the less important parts of ships’
structures.
John Brown, a Sheffield ironmaster, was party to the upheaval accompanying
the advent of mild steel. He had begun in a small way in 1845, manufacturing
carbon-steel files and cutlery. Like Charles Cammell, he became a prominent
player in the heavy wrought-iron business, finding outlets for his goods in the
railroad market.53 In 1859 he erected a rolling mill to manufacture armor plate,
the product of which found ready acceptance by the Admiralty. By 1867 fully
three-quarters of the ironclads in the Royal Navy used plates from Brown’s
Atlas Works. At the start of the 1860s he took up Bessemer’s steel-making
process (to be followed in short order by Cammell), and soon he was turning
out a number of light steel forgings for guns. Times were auspicious for
Brown’s enterprise, a public company after 1864, and it underwent a meteoric
rise in employment, from just 200 in 1857 to 4,000 a decade later.
Nevertheless, the firm could not escape the tribulations attending Bessemer
steel and decided to play safe by sticking with iron armor. Its hand was forced
in the late 1870s, however, when the Admiralty grew disenchanted with the
adequacy of the plate. Brown’s retort took the form of compound armor,
combining a steel face with a wrought-iron back, and its efforts were rewarded
with a spate of new orders.54 Profits climbed, so much so that a gratified
Brown’s decided to extend its naval business into new avenues. Consequently,
in 1886 it created a large press for the manufacture of heavy forgings for naval
guns and marine shafting. This act proved providential, because the new plant
came on stream in time to secure a large share of the work inspired by the
Naval Defence Act. The seeming insatiable demand for warships, endemic in
the 1890s and after, finally brought home the conviction to Brown’s that its
future lay squarely in the defense market. To that end, it determined in 1897 to
control its own shipyard, the chief outlet for the plate and guns issuing from its
Sheffield complex. The well-equipped Clydebank yard, set up by James and
George Thomson in 1871, met its requirements to a nicety and was bought in
1899. Further affirmation of the new strategy soon followed: A half-share in the
aforementioned Coventry Ordnance Works was acquired in 1904, and three
years’ later a controlling interest was taken in Harland & Wolff with the intent
of using that Belfast shipbuilder as an outlet for steel plate and marine
engines.55
So, in order to fulfill their destiny, the enterprises formed by John Brown and
Charles Cammell felt the necessity to reach out beyond the Sheffield “cluster”
that spawned them. Brown’s, in contradistinction to Cammell’s, chose to
cement a forward link with the world’s predominant shipbuilding
agglomeration, the Clyde. Cammell’s, for its part, settled for linkage with a
ship constructor located in an outstanding shipping center that, paradoxically,
had turned its back on shipbuilding at large. Each firm clearly felt that if it
were to make any headway in the defense field it must go about establishing
itself as a multiplant organization straddling two or more clusters. In the event,
The Academic Bedrock 25

each firm embraced clusters performing two functions: on the one hand, metals
and armaments, represented by Sheffield and Coventry; on the other,
shipbuilding and marine engineering, variously represented by Birkenhead and
the Clyde (Cammell Laird) and the Clyde and Belfast (John Brown). Vickers,
another firm following a parallel path, opted for a metaphorical leap in the
dark. Rather than establish its shipbuilding presence in a location rich in
maritime connections, it chose instead to expand in an obscure location barely
holding its own against the concerted competition exerted by the bigger
agglomerations. How Vickers made this location, Barrow-in-Furness, proof
against that competition is a compelling story worth recounting.

New Agglomerations for Old

Vicker’s successful efforts to place Barrow on a firm footing illustrate how
some ambitious firms would stop at nothing to achieve their grand aims.
Vickers amply demonstrates the advantage that assertive growth in defense
production confers on an organization. Barrow, prior to the involvement of
Vickers, came perilously close to confirming the old saw that apparently well-
crafted, sound designs, calculated to bountifully repay all supporters, can easily
falter when their planners permit enthusiasm to ride roughshod over realistic
expectations. Before showing how Vickers intervened to restore Barrow’s
prospects, it is necessary to revert to the origins of both the firm and the
community. Vickers owed its formation to iron and steel; the same holds true
for Barrow. The firm sprang up in Sheffield, its beginning having a familiar
ring to it in view of what we already know about Cammell and Brown. Founded
in the 1820s by Edward Vickers, the early decades saw steady but not startling
expansion, the firm being overshadowed in the public eye by its more illustrious
neighbors.56 In later years its hopes of rapid expansion in the rail market were
dashed by severe demand downturns, and the firm cast around for a flourishing
alternative. Two moves in fairly close succession did much to restore
confidence and buttress profitability. The first was provoked by the
government’s alarm at the shortage of heavy gun-making capacity in the late
1880s, the consequence of it tolerating a duopoly of Armstrong and Whitworth.
Passage of the Naval Defence Act led to an immediate upsurge in the demand
for guns, a demand that could not be met by the incumbent suppliers. The
government looked to Sheffield for respite, and did not look in vain. Both
Cammell and Firth responded promptly to this encouragement by laying down
gun-forging plant, but Vickers—the object of our attention—regarded the
opportunity as a godsend, embarking on gun manufacture with gusto. The
second move was a logical progression from the first, because Vickers quickly
grasped the fact that warships were simply gun carriages and their construction
could constitute a useful extension to the making of guns, steel plate, and
machinery, activities with which it was already familiar. All that was required
was a bold integration strategy, drawing together all the strands. To bring it to
26 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

fruition Vickers converted its River Don Works in Sheffield to the production
of Harvey-style armor plate and, in 1897, snapped up the large but underused
Barrow shipyard belonging to the Naval Construction and Armaments
Company (NCA).57 It was now irrevocably committed to Barrow’s
transformation, making it the “final assembly” site for all the components
embodied in a warship, components manufactured by the firm itself.58
Before the 1850s Barrow could scarcely be said to exist at all. It was a port of
minor importance, to judge by the variety of cargo clearing its wharf. What
little claim it had to notice came entirely from its role as an intermediary in the
shipment of high-grade Furness hematite, mined nearby, to ironmasters in
South Wales and the English Midlands. The low phosphorus content of this
hematite made it an ideal corrective for the more tainted ores found elsewhere,
and the producers of pig iron esteemed it highly. While a sprinkling of
reduction furnaces did exist in the vicinity of Barrow, they did not signify in the
national context on account of the absence of local markets. Elsewhere,
however, markets began to stir as the nineteenth century unfolded and ore
shipments from Barrow rose in proportion. Between 1847 and 1857 exports of
ore from the Furness district registered a steep increase, climbing from 100,000
tons a year to 600,000 tons a year. In 1851 upward of 1,900 vessels cleared the
rudimentary port, and in a portent of things to come, the first vessel to be built
there took to the water in 1852. Momentous changes were in store for the iron
industry and Barrow alike, the upshot of Bessemer’s invention later in the
decade. Demand for hematite soared, for Bessemer insisted that his steel should
be made only from pig iron practically free of phosphorus.59 At this juncture
several visionaries, actively involved in running both the mines and railroads in
the district, came forward and announced plans for Barrow that were breath-
taking in their conception. Central to the group was James Ramsden, manager
of the Furness Railway well before his thirtieth birthday and possessed of an
intellect equal, if not superior, to the sharpest businessmen of that era.60
Ramsden envisioned a bright economic future for Barrow with, at its heart, a
vast iron and steel works. That works, anticipating Isard’s industrial complex
by a century, would secure the viability of the greatly enlarged community
through furnishing material inputs to a host of user activities. Railroad and port
would be automatic beneficiaries of this industrialization; the former in
delivering bigger volumes of minerals to the furnaces, the latter in gaining a
diverse portfolio of export trades as shipments of finished goods replaced ore
clearances. Everything rested on the establishment of the iron and steel
operation, but Ramsden’s powers of persuasion were equal to the task. He
induced Henry Schneider and Robert Hannay, men grown fabulously rich on
mineral proceeds, to set up a major works on railroad property (the Hindpool
Estate) adjoining the port (see Map 1.2). Soon after its inauguration in 1860
this works was frenetically turning local hematite into pig iron. By 1865 it had
The Academic Bedrock 27

Map 1.2
Barrow and Its Setting

Douglas Fast

been complemented by a Bessemer steel plant on an adjoining site. Under

Ramsden’s direction, this plant soon became the largest Bessemer producer in
the country, boasting eighteen converters (and supplemented them later with
open-hearth furnaces for Siemens’ steel).61 In the meantime Ramsden had
agitated successfully to have his railroad gain control of the harbor commission
with the object of transforming its shallow, tidal creek into an enormous system
of enclosed docks. As if that were not enough, he oversaw the formation of a
municipal government in 1867, assuming its head as mayor. Ramsden
immediately encouraged activities to locate in the new municipality so as to fill
28 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

out his industrial aggregation. Foundries, sawmills and brickworks sprang up

in the vicinity of the iron and steel works, and a corn mill arose on the
dockside, but of far greater consequence in the long term was the creation, in
1871, of the Barrow Shipbuilding Company.62 Once he was granted the
managing directorship, Ramsden soon exerted control over this enterprise.
Integral to the grand design, the shipyard was conceived in tandem with a
plan to establish a shipping line in the new docks, one that would link Barrow
with India and China via the newly opened Suez Canal. Local shipbuilders
would thus be called upon to support local shipping enterprise, and the 55-acre
yard was laid out along the most modern lines. From the outset it was given the
capacity to build five sizable vessels simultaneously, its managers foreseeing a
workforce of 6,000. At first, events seemed to vindicate the optimism
surrounding the firm’s formation, for by 1876 it had already built 25 ships.
Thereafter, though, defects began to feature significantly in the yard’s products
and losses began to mount alarmingly. One of its ships, the City of Rome, built
in 1881 and, at 8,800 tons, a giant for those days, became the infamous cause of
a widely publicized dispute with the Inman Line. Resort to naval contracting in
1877, manifested through the construction of a couple of 455-ton composite
gunboats, did little to stem the drain on finances, although it did succeed in
giving the yard a taste for what would later become its staple business.63 The
shipbuilder was not alone in undergoing trying times; it was all of a piece with
Barrow’s faltering industrial complex. A depression beginning in 1874–1875
imposed unbearable overhead costs on all the firms, driving to distraction their
financial backers. The shipbuilding company was only spared dissolution
because the chief investor, the Duke of Devonshire, saw fit to pour his private
fortune into it. The duke was relieved of the burden of sustaining the shipyard
in 1888 when a syndicate led by Thorsten Nordenfelt bought him out.
Nordenfelt, a submarine innovator, had two of his boats built at the yard and
quickly grasped that it offered him all the scope he needed for defense jobs.
Without further ado, the successor organization, NCA, embarked on a program
of extending the workshops and gearing them to warship production.64 It
availed itself of the opportunities thrown up by the Naval Defence Act, building
three small cruisers. These were followed, after due preparation in the form of
additional, longer slipways, by the construction from 1895 of three large
cruisers and a battleship. The firm’s attention to yard improvement left it in
possession of 14 building berths, all capable of accommodating vessels of 700
feet in length (a requirement well in excess of warships then current). Its efforts
addressed to implementing flow-line techniques earned it approbation from
engineers. In the words of an admiring observer,

“The small margin of profit now obtainable is often made by this minimizing of
handling and of the transit from place to place of heavy jobs. Thus when the increase of
the (NCA’s) work for the Navy necessitated several heavy machine tools, these were
arranged in series so that a heavy plate, say the 2-inch protected deck-plate, could
The Academic Bedrock 29

be straightened, punched, countersunk, planed and delivered on to the railway for the
ship without being carried about for any distance. It is swung from one hydraulic
crane to another, each serving a wide range of machines. The same remark is applicable
to the arrangement of buildings.”65

Yet, model shipyard status notwithstanding, NCA’s career was dogged by poor
profitability and, with its fortunes at low ebb, it willingly succumbed to the
overtures put out by Vickers.
The rationale advanced by Vickers in justification of its acquisition strikes a
chord with the economic geographer. Unusually for business promotions of the
day, geographical setting was seen as a mark in its favor. From the site
perspective, it “affords splendid foundations for the building of the heaviest
warships, in which armour involves concentration of weight within limited
area; there is ample waterway for launching vessels of the greatest size; and
their subsequent passage to sea is a simple matter, for the establishment is
practically on the coast of the Irish Sea.”66 The Walney Channel, within which
vessels were launched, was 1,600 feet wide and deep enough to float ships
displacing 17,000 tons. The firm even gloried in the fact that the location was
far removed from well-grounded shipbuilding agglomerations, reveling in the
internalizing of external economies that followed from the necessity of having
to perform all functions within the 82.5-acre site. For example, it began making
heavy gun mountings at Barrow in 1897, and within a decade had boosted
marine engine capabilities by adopting both turbine and diesel technologies. In
its inimitable words, “The town of Barrow being in some respects isolated, the
company has wisely decided to construct almost everything for their own ships.
There is a great advantage in this arrangement. Material sub-contracted for is
often late in delivery, thus delaying the whole construction.”67 Delays and the
annoyance of bargaining with distant suppliers were both circumvented by self-
sufficiency, the firm effectively controlling a miniagglomeration in its entirety.
Barrow’s ascendancy occurred at the same time as shipbuilding on the
Thames accelerated toward oblivion. The Thames, consistent with its long-
standing dominance, had amassed many of “new” shipbuilding’s early movers
and shakers. Indeed, it gained a lead over the thrusting, incipient
agglomerations by husbanding the incomparable skills of marine engineers of
the stature of John Penn, Henry Maudslay, and John Rennie, to say nothing of
such giants of ship design as John Scott Russell, William Fairbaira, and that
emigrant from the Clyde, David Napier. Unfortunately, these talents availed the
district little in the end, because they were overwhelmingly countermanded by
location factors detrimental to its cost structure.68 Always a high-wage area,
rate differentials between the Thames and other districts worsened, shortages
arose in certain key trades, and inflexibility stamped the strained relations
between men and management. Rising labor costs marched in tandem with
rising transport costs, for the switch from wood to metal exacerbated material-
30 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

supply difficulties. Now materials—and the coal indispensable for working

them—had to be brought from industrial regions remote from London,
imposing penalties on Thames yards that were readily avoided by competitors
emerging in those same industrial regions. Finally, the agglomeration factor,
long an agency for promoting the river, now decidedly turned against the
Thames. This was manifested in a circular causal fashion in which the high
cost of procuring materials not only discouraged supplier industries from
locating in London (thus vitiating urbanization economies), but also quashed
any enthusiasm for expansion by the shipbuilders themselves, prejudicing the
critical mass necessary for localization economies. Likely the real villain of the
piece was London’s disposition to specialize in the service side of maritime
activity—shipping, insurance, and distribution—to the exclusion of
manufacturing. The fact that the yards occupied valuable riverside property—
property that could be put to more profitable use as docks and warehouses—
compounded their rental problems. The upshot was the rapid rundown of
shipbuilding, beginning in the 1860s. Emblematic of this sea change was the
outcry—and genuine distress—occasioned by the closure of the Royal
Dockyards at Deptford and Woolwich in 1869.
A few builders, more percipient than the rest, fled to other districts.
Thornycroft and Yarrow, two builders renowned for innovating torpedo-boat
destroyers, followed this course in the early 1900s, the first choosing
Southampton and the second the Clyde.69 Alfred Yarrow, not one to shy from
controversy, was blunt about the inordinate cost of doing business in London,
including the intransigence of blinkered local officialdom in his blanket
condemnation.70 The last shipbuilder of any consequence, the Thames Iron
Works, survived until 1912 on the strength of warship contracts, closing when
the Admiralty eventually concluded that it could no longer tolerate paying
excessive prices for Thames-built battleships. The decline of the Thames
aroused discomfort in American circles, for it showed that serious trouble
would be visited on any shipbuilding district that did not foster the appendage
of heavy industry. In short, it unequivocally demonstrated that shipbuilding
clusters could regress into insignificance—in spite of occasional flashes of
innovation—once they failed to invoke the necessary external economies. Too
many American districts found themselves in this position at the close of the
nineteenth century.71 Events were to take a drastic turn for the better for a select
number of these districts soon after the beginning of the new century, and these
happenings are dealt with at length in the next chapter.

NOTES

1. The doyen of commercial geographers was George Chisholm, noted for his
Handbook of Commercial Geography, published by Longmans, Green in London in
1889, which ran through ten editions. In the words of Thomas Fik, a modern scholar;
The Academic Bedrock 31

“Chisholm’s book was essentially a catalog of information on economic activity.” The

book, while overly descriptive in many ways, had at least the merit of weighing the
value of resource distribution (a real comparative advantage) and the overwhelming
need to install infrastructure to render possible a working trading system. See Timothy
J. Fik, The Geography of Economic Development: Regional Changes, Global
Challenges (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2000), pp. 9–10.
2. By the 1950s academics were pleading for an economic geography grounded in
theory. Emblematic of the impatience with the descriptive slant is a statement extracted
from a standard text of the day. It insists that while economic geography is concerned
with the distribution of man’s production activities over the surface of the earth, the
economic geographer is no mere compiler of facts; rather, he “seeks to analyze and
explain the distribution patterns that appear, examining the factors that have influenced
them, assessing the importance of climate and soil, of transport facilities and of the
supply of labour. He examines the volume and nature of the demand for goods and
services. He watches for changes in industrial processes,” and, to cap it all, monitors
trade cycles, In short, he is something of a hybrid: a geographer imbued with the
instincts and predilections of an economist. See Norman J. G. Pounds, An Introduction
to Economic Geography, 4th ed. (London: John Murray, 1970), p. 1.
3. Yet it is necessary to be circumspect in dealing with Marshall’s views, so prolific
was his writing. There can be no doubt that he appreciated the merits of lowered
transport cost on trade, because it acted to vastly expand market areas. He was also fully
aware of the differences obtaining between modes, with freight reductions in sea
carriage impressing him much more than rate reductions on land. Nevertheless, his
cavalier attitude toward transport costs and their bearing on industrial site selection
cannot be gainsaid. See Alfred Marshall, Industry and Trade, 3d ed. (London:
Macmillan, 1920), pp. 29–31.
4. The evolution of location theory is covered in David M. Smith, Industrial
Location: An Economic Geographical Analysis (New York: John Wiley, 1981). For a
review dedicated to Thuenen, see P. Hall, Von Thuenen’s Isolated State (Oxford:
Pergamon, 1966).
5. The original, published in Tuebingen in 1909 as Ueber den Standort der
Industrien, became widely known when reissued as C. J. Friedrich, Alfred Weber’s
Theory of the Location of Industries (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1929).
6. One of the first scholars to throw light on firms migrating in search of cheaper
labor was Edgar Hoover. Intrigued as to why New England footwear companies were
prepared to forsake the Northeast, their collective MTP, and move to the Southeast, he
established that the labor factor was the prime cause. See Edgar M. Hoover, Location
Theory and the Shoe and Leather Industries (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1937). The modern mass exodus of industrial capital from old established
manufacturing heartlands to developing countries receives comprehensive treatment in
Peter Dicken, Global Shift: Industrial Change in a Turbulent World (New York: Harper
& Row, 1986).
7. Friedrich, Weber, pp. 166–168.
8. Perhaps the best exponent of the Locational Interdependence school was Melvin
Greenhut. His summary of the state of the art at its peak remains a classic, See, M. L.
Greenhut, Plant Location in Theory and Practice (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1956).
32 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

9. Walter Isard and Thomas Vietorisz, Industrial Complex Analysis and Regional
Development (New York: John Wiley, 1959).
10. The concept is pursued at length in Walter Isard, Location and Space Economy
(Cambridge: MIT Press, 1956).
11. The notion has even been extended to components within production units; for
example, effective use of computers in manufacturing design is said to depend on the
setting up of a computer cluster. A cluster in this situation is defined as a network of
computers whose linked capability far exceeds the performance any one machine could
aspire to. See Aviation Week & Space Technology, Special Advertising Section, June
24, 2002.
12. M. E. Porter, “Clusters and the New Economics of Competition,” Harvard
Business Review, 76, November–December 1998, pp. 77–90.
13. The case for (and against) applying the concept to modern shipbuilding is
considered in Daniel Todd, “Clustering for Shipbuilding: Panacea or nostrum?”
Shipyard Technology News, October–November 2001, pp. 56–59.
14. Alfred Marshall, Elements of Economics of Industry, 3d ed. (London: Macmillan,
1900), pp. 151–154.
15. Ibid., p. 153.
16. Porter, “Clusters and the New Economics of Competition,” p. 78.
17. Ibid., p. 82.
18. Charles W. Moore, “Industrial Linkage Development Paths: A Case Study of the
Development of Two Industrial Complexes in the Puget Sound Region,” Tijdschrift
voor Economische en Sociale Geografie, 64, 1973, pp. 93–107.
19. Moran began repairing ships in 1882, commencing new building in 1890 in
partnership with his brother. Insolvent in 1906, the Moran Brothers’ yard was revived
by other interests as the Seattle Construction and Dry Dock Company. After falling into
the hands of Todd Shipyards in 1916, it was closed two years later on the opening by
that firm of a more spacious site. See Robert J. Winklareth, Naval Shipbuilders of the
World: From the Age of Sail to the Present Day (London: Chatham, 2000), pp. 203–
204.
20. Dong Sung Cho and M. E. Porter, “Changing Global Industrial Leadership: The
Case of Shipbuilding,” in M. E. Porter (ed.), Competition in Global Industries (Boston:
Harvard Business School Press, 1986), pp. 539–567.
21. Porter, of course, is not the first to emphasize the importance of innovation in
economic well-being. Joseph Schumpeter was a celebrated predecessor. See J. A.
Schumpeter, The Theory of Economic Development (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1934).
22. M. E. Porter, The Competitive Advantage of Nations (New York: Free Press,
1990), p. 152.
23. Wilfred Smith, An Economic Geography of Great Britain, 2d ed. (London:
Methuen, 1953), p. 388.
24. Ralph L. Snow, Bath Iron Works: The First Hundred Years (Bath: Maine
Maritime Museum, 1987), p. 12.
25. K. J. Bauer, “The Golden Age” in Robert A. Kilmarx (ed.), America’s Maritime
Legacy: A History of the U.S. Merchant Marine and Shipbuilding Industry since
Colonial Times (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1979), pp. 27–63.
26. Robert G. Albion, Forests and Sea Power: The Timber Problem of the Royal
Navy, 1652–1862 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926), p. 103.
The Academic Bedrock 33

27. Ibid., p. 240.

28. Construction of the vessel, launched in 1843, was made possible “because iron of
acceptable, if uneven, quality was available at an acceptable price by way of the rivers
Severn and Avon from the foundries of Coalbrookdale,” one of the cradles of the
Industrial Revolution. Note Basil Greenhill, “Steam before the Screw” in Robert
Gardiner (ed.), The Advent of Steam: The Merchant Steamship before 1900 (London:
Conway, 1992), p. 22.
29. P. Banbury, Shipbuilders of the Thames and Medway (Newton Abbot: David and
Charles, 1971).
30. Bernard Pool, Navy Board Contracts, 1660–1832 (London: Longmans, 1966), pp.
12–13.
31. Philip MacDougall, Royal Dockyards (Newton Abbot: David and Charles, 1982),
p. 11.
32. Pool, Navy Board Contracts, pp. 41–42.
33. A. J. Holland, Ships of British Oak: The Rise and Decline of Wooden
Shipbuilding in Hampshire (Newton Abbot: David and Charles, 1971), pp. 36–38.
34. Ship lengths had scarcely increased throughout the eighteenth century,
constrained by the size of the largest oaks used for frames. The Victory, Nelson’s
flagship at Trafalgar, measured 2,162 tons on a length of 186 feet and a beam of 51.5
feet. The pinnacle of wooden warships, the Victoria of 1857, boasted a length of 260
feet. In sharp contrast, the precursor of all modern battleships, Warrior of 1860,
displaced 9,180 tons on a length overall of 420 feet and a beam of 58 feet. Note D. K.
Brown, Before the Ironclad: Development of Ship Design, Propulsion and Armament in
the Royal Navy, 1815–1860 (London: Conway, 1990).
35. Bauer, “The Golden Age,” pp. 33–37.
36. For an appreciation of early American steamers and their builders, see W. N.
Still, G. P. Watts and B. Rogers, “Steam Navigation and the United States” in R.
Gardiner, The Advent of Steam, pp. 44–82.
37. See Walter R. Herrick, The American Naval Revolution (Baton Rouge: Louisiana
State University Press, 1966), pp. 29–30. Ironically, and reminiscent of Napier, Roach
encountered problems with the orders and, after a few years, decided to abandon
warship work.
38. Wilfred Smith, An Economic Geography of Great Britain, p. 389.
39. S. Pollard and P. Robertson, The British Shipbuilding Industry, 1870–1914
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), p. 56.
40. A thorough overview is presented in C. Singer, E. J. Holmyard, A. R. Hall and T.
I. Williams (eds.), A History of Technology, vol. 5, The Late Nineteenth Century c.1850
to c.l900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958).
41. A. Slaven, The Development of the West of Scotland: 1750–1960 (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1975), pp. 127–128.
42. The firm expired in 1900, although its Govan yard continued to operate until
1905 under the ownership of Beardmore. See Fred M. Walker, Song of the Clyde: A
History of Clyde Shipbuilding (Cambridge: Patrick Stephens, 1984).
43. Hugh B. Peebles, Warshipbuilding on the Clyde (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1987),
pp. 8–14.
44. For the importance of innovation in artillery—and Armstrong’s role in it—see
Daniel Todd, Defence Industries: A Global Perspective (New York: Routledge, 1988),
pp. 141–143. From 1884 the government turned to private contractors for all the heavy
34 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

gun forgings required by its major warships, a momentous decision that ultimately
induced specialty steel firms not only to seriously engage in armaments production but
also to begin constructing warships.
45. Norman L. Middlemiss, British Shipbuilding Yards, vol. 1, North-East Coast
(Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Shield, 1993), pp. 52–56.
46. Variously gleaned from Madelaine H. Dodds, A History of Northumberland, vol.
13 (Newcastle: Andrew Reid, 1930), pp. 253–255; R. J. Irving, “New Industries for
Old? Some Investment Decisions of Sir W. G. Armstrong, Whitworth & Co. Ltd., 1900–
1914”, Business History vol. 17, 1975, pp. 151–68; and Kenneth Warren, Armstrongs of
Elswick: Growth in Engineering and Armaments to the Merger with Vickers (London:
Macmillan, 1989).
47. A good history of the firm occurs in Kenneth Warren, Steel, Ships and Men:
Cammell Laird, 1824–1993 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1998).
48. For the significance of this statute on naval programs, refer to Michael Lindberg
and Daniel Todd, Brown-, Green- and Blue-Water Fleets: The Influence of Geography
on Naval Warfare, 1861 to the Present (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002).
49. William Muckle, Strength of Ships’ Structures (London: Edward Arnold, 1967),
p. 16.
50. The basic process in due course eliminated the taint, but British steelworks
preferred to make acid—not basic—Bessemer steel, valued because it was more
convenient (and just as cheap) to produce from British and Spanish hematite ores
containing a tiny fraction of phosphorus. Note J. C. Carr and W. Taplin, History of the
British Steel Industry (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1962), pp. 109–156.
51. The Siemens brothers, Frederick and Charles William, patented in the early
1860s the heat-regeneration process and applied it to making steel by way of the open-
hearth furnace. Pierre Martin extended its versatility by showing that the furnace could
be charged with scrap. The cost-efficiency of cheap scrap plus cheap low-grade coal
underscored the success of Siemens’ steel making and it steadily encroached on the
Bessemer process, becoming more popular soon after 1900. See H. R. Schubert, ‘The
Steel Industry’ in C. Singer et. al, History of Technology, vol. 5, pp. 53–71.
52. Technically, the Bessemer process, requiring air to be blown through molten iron,
introduced atmospheric nitrogen into the resultant steel. An impurity, nitrogen rendered
the steel prone to brittleness. Siemens’ steel, by contrast, was made in a furnace where
it could be protected from atmospheric influence. Thus it was free of nitrogen and the
attendant brittleness. See Donald N. McCloskey, Economic Maturity and
Entrepreneurial Decline: British Iron and Steel, 1870–1913 (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1973), pp. 48–50.
53. Allan Grant, Steel and Ships: The History of John Brown’s (London: Michael
Joseph, 1950).
54. Later it was to adopt face-hardened (“Harveyized”), Krupp-style nickel-chrome
steel armor in order to stay abreast of the latest developments. Refer to Ibid., pp. 35–36.
55. Brown’s were in process of taking out a license for steam turbines from Charles
Curtis of New York (effected in 1908). The engines were offered to the Navy as an
alternative to Parsons (of Newcastle) turbines.
56. The firm’s evolution is told in J. D. Scott, Vickers: A History (London:
Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1962) and Clive Trebilcock, The Vickers Brothers:
Armaments and Enterprise 1854–1914 (London: Europa, 1977).
The Academic Bedrock 35

57. Compound armor, the standard of the 1880s, had been found wanting in
comparison with nickel-steel armor, introduced in 1888. In 1891 the Harvey process of
face-hardening improved the quality of nickel-steel armor, only to be bettered in turn by
the Krupp process of 1894. See J. T. Sumida, In Defence of Naval Supremacy: Finance,
Technology and British Naval Policy, 1889–1914 (London: Unwin Hyman, 1989), pp.
12–18. All the armor manufacturers, including Vickers, were compelled to resort to
Harvey and Krupp licenses.
58. Vickers contrived a second such outlet in 1902 when it bought a half-share of the
Beardmore concern on the Clyde and thereby gained access to the impressive Naval
Construction Works at Dalmuir, to say nothing of the huge armor–making plant at
Parkhead Forge. Note Scott, Vickers, p. 49.
59. Isaac Lowthian Bell, Principles of the Manufacture of Iron and Steel (London:
George Routledge and Sons, 1884), pp. 651–652.
60. A biography of Sir James Ramsden does not exist, but an insight into his
influence on Barrow dignitaries can be gained from A. G. Banks, H. W. Schneider of
Barrow and Bowness (Kendal: Titus Wilson, 1984).
61. Charlotte Erickson, British Industrialists: Steel and Hosiery, 1850–1950
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), pp. 152–153.
62. Barrow’s development can be gauged from Michael Andrews, “The Development
of the Furness Railway”, in R. Battye and M. Peascod (eds.), Furness Railway 150: A
History of the Furness Railway, Celebrating One Hundred and Fifty Years of Railways
in Furness (Grange-over-Sands: Cumbrian Railways Association, 1996), pp. 5–16; J. D.
Marshall, Furness and the Industrial Revolution (Barrow-in-Furness: Library and
Museum Committee, 1958); and Sidney Pollard, “Barrow-in-Furness and the Seventh
Duke of Devonshire,” Economic History Review, 2d ser. 8, no. 2, 1955, pp. 213–221.
63. A composite ship is one built of timber in combination with iron (or steel)
framing (and keels and deck beams). The iron members provide maximum structural
strength, while the outer skin, planked in timber, avoids the fouling liable to afflict iron
hulls.
64. Gleaned from “80 Years of Shipbuilding at Barrow-in-Furness,” a document
produced by Vickers-Armstrongs Ltd., Barrow, February 18, 1954, and held in the
Cumbria Record Office, Barrow.
65. Found in an anonymous booklet held in the Cumbria Record Office; namely, “The
Works at Barrow-in-Furness of The Naval Construction and Armaments Co. Ltd.
Historical and Descriptive,” Offices of Engineering, 1896, p.43.
66. Alex Richardson, Vickers, Sons and Maxim Limited: Their Works and
Manufactures (London: Offices of Engineering, 1902), p. 133.
67. Ibid., p. 140.
68. There is a wealth of information on the decline of the Thames. See A. J. Arnold,
Iron Shipbuilding on the Thames, 1832–1915: An Economic and Business History
(Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2000).
69. Not all relocations were successful. Miller and Ravenhill, a firm noted for its
engines as well as its ships, recommenced shipbuilding at Walker on the Tyne in 1851,
but expired after a few years. Note J. F. Clarke, Building Ships on the North-East
Coast, Part 1, c. 1640–c. 1914 (Whitiey Bay: Bewick Press, 1997), p. 119.
70. The background to the Yarrow move is covered in Daniel Todd, The World
Shipbuilding Industry (London: Croom Helm, 1985), pp. 126–138.
36 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

71. The paucity of agglomeration economies has been singled out as a major reason
for the relative backwardness of American shipbuilding at this time. See Peter H.
Lindert, “U.S. Foreign Trade and Trade Policy in the Twentieth Century”, in S. L.
Engerman and R. E. Gallman (eds.), The Cambridge Economic History of the United
States (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 407–462, especially pp.
443–444.
 2

World War I: The First Great Test

The First World War left a profound mark on shipbuilding. It remolded the
industry, vastly extending its physical capacity (including its geographical
distribution) while thoroughly revamping its methods of operation. Indeed, the
latter proved particularly unsettling for the industry’s leaders, imposing
unprecedented oversight and direction that did not sit well with men used to far
greater latitude. However, such was the gravity of the exigency that it led, willy-
nilly, to a hitherto undreamt-of degree of government intervention. The upshot,
visible to all at war’s end, was an industry much altered from what it had been in
1914. With the benefit of hindsight, it can be seen to occupy a kind of halfway
house between the laissez-faire, unfettered business characteristic of Anglo-
American capitalism in its heyday at the turn of the century and the tightly
regulated strategic sector that became ascendant in the 1940s. To be sure, the
government controls instituted during World War I left much to be desired. Far
from forming the all-embracing planned system barely one remove from the
dirigisme of a nationalized industry, the controls fell well short of the ideal. For
one thing, they were introduced in such a gradual, piecemeal fashion as to defy
effective coordination and, for another, events intervened—namely, the
foreshortening of hostilities—to prevent the full realization of their objectives.
Above all, though, they contrived to dash the high hopes of their proponents on
account of the sheer inexperience of bureaucrats in dealing with complicated
industrial organizations. Effective oversight by government would have to await
World War II, when officials, sobered by the near implosion of market systems
in the depression years, were prepared to stop at nothing to make it work. Yet
because they afforded invaluable lessons on what mistakes to avoid, the
precedents set during the 1914–1920 period did not go entirely to waste. Other
lessons of incalculable value arose from the First World War’s hard-earned
experience in capacity addition, workforce expansion and upgrading, and
material assembly, all undertaken on a prodigious scale. Nor did the war’s stamp
on the industry end there; for a wealth of innovations spawned during its brief
38 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

duration but whose potential remained largely latent was both to have major
repercussions when revived in another war a generation later and to cut the
groove along which shipbuilding traveled for the rest of the twentieth century.
Process innovations revolving round welding, prefabrications and straight-line
shipyard layouts, all compatible with production efficiencies, first saw the light
of day during this momentous time. The war was equally noteworthy for its
record of product innovation, giving rise to standard ships. These vessels,
expressly designed not just for simplified construction but for ease of adoption
at novice yards, heralded the era of maturity for shipbuilding that, after a false
dawn, was to take hold at first hesitantly in the 1930s and then with a vengeance
after the outbreak of World War II. When appertaining to the industry lifecycle
concept, maturity denotes an industry marked by few innovations, presenting
few barriers to entry apart from those associated with economies of scale.1 Cost
considerations therefore are paramount. Because technology is virtually
standard, the products of yards are scarcely distinguishable, and so it follows
that competitive success rests on strategies of cost containment that are
conducive to low prices. Of course, cost and market competition alike received
short shrift from wartime governments obsessed with boosting output in the
shortest possible time (and endowed with ample means to pay for it), but that
did not invalidate their eagerness to vest the industry with all the physical
hallmarks of maturity. Most conspicuous of these were the standard ships, the
standard methods of building them, and the enormous plants for carrying out the
building task. Remarkably, governments laid down these appurtenances of
maturity before the industry and the shipping market were ready for them,
leaving these actors to come to terms with them in the postwar world (which
they never wholly reconciled themselves to, at least in the uncertain 1920s and
1930s). Left to its own devices, the industry would have been content to
languish in “adolescence,” the stage succeeding the formative era.
To understand why this should be so, one need only reflect on what the
formative era—or “conception” stage in lifecycle terminology—entails. It
encompasses quite simply all the efforts required to devise a useful product and
produce it at an acceptable price. Innovation, then, is very much in evidence,
both fomenting marketable products from prototypes and conceiving the special
tools and “tool-pushers” (skilled workers) necessary to make them in quantity.
Not only do innovations come thick and fast; so too do the enterprises jostling to
carve out niches for themselves. Severe attrition rates among these firms and
chronic insecurity plague the industry until it is ready to move to a higher plane,
designated as the adolescence stage. At this juncture, innovation has slowed to a
trickle and the preoccupation of management with it has diminished in
proportion. Instead, questions of production competence assume center stage.
These hinge on the ability of an enterprise to engage in quantity production
(batch or series production in the case of large capital goods like ships), and that,
in turn, depends on the enterprise’s ability to master at least some cost-efficient
production methods. Full-fledged standardization of product and process does
not arrive until maturity, and in the meantime enterprises benefit from product
differentiation and a modicum of experimentation. They can reap the benefits of
World War I: The First Great Test 39

bespoke technology without sacrificing all to cost reduction. Metaphorically

speaking, the pioneers who collectively gave us the “new shipbuilding” of the
mid-nineteenth century were steering the industry through the perilous shoals of
conception into the deeper, calmer, and hence safer waters of adolescence. Their
successors of the high Victorian age benefited from a degree of stability once
the “swarm” of innovations incidental to the adoption of steel hulls in the 1880s
had been accommodated. Practically, this was accomplished most
comprehensively by the melding of shipbuilding and metallurgical clusters, the
cross-fertilization of which bred large, multiplant, diversely located firms
inspired by the burgeoning needs of newly invigorated navies. These firms, the
industry’s champions, stood on the cusp of maturity, large enough to seek out
economies of scale but realistic enough to recognize that they were not yet ready
to grasp standardization. How they (and other, lesser lights) fared in the years
leading up to war is a preliminary that must be addressed before attention can
shift to changes induced by the war itself. To begin with, however, it is
necessary to say something about the location context, indicating the choices
confronting the enterprises and the rationale behind these choices.

CONSIDERATIONS OF LOCATION
Location, it will be recollected, requires justification because of its cost
connotations. Once having settled on a location, perhaps with the aid of Weber-
style analysis, industrialists are strongly inclined to favor inertia, resisting any
precipitate action that would require them to write off their fixed assets and
move elsewhere. By the same token, this disposition to inertia carries with it an
implication that the firm will make the best of a location regardless of
limitations incident to that location. These shortcomings in all likelihood were
not apparent at the outset and only came to light under the rigors of practical
experience. This prejudice to tolerate the firm’s original location serves to
impose an enormous restraining effect on the geographical distribution of
subsequent investment. According to one seasoned observer, fully four-fifths of
all such investment is committed to existing locations, leaving a correspondingly
reduced amount for ventures involving new locations.2 It is glaringly evident,
then, that districts already enjoying disproportionate shares of an industry—in a
word, agglomerations—are bound to see these shares decidedly reinforced.
Frequently, capacity enlargement will have no discernible impact on the pattern
of industrial sites, because it will be achieved through more effective
arrangement of the facilities contained within the existing boundaries of
premises. For shipyards, that might entail a strategy of acquiring new cranes and
plate-cutting machines to replace worn-out plant in conjunction with a program
of rearranging the production flow along straight-line principles. Expansion of
the existing sites—provided adjacent land is available—will only be
contemplated when recognition dawns on the management that the
rearrangement strategy fails to fulfill production targets. Although the area
occupied by the industry is significantly enlarged as a result of site extensions,
the number of communities playing host to it is not.
40 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Nevertheless, new locations within agglomerations may arise as viable

alternatives to expansion at existing sites, overcoming at one and the same time
the firm’s reluctance to stray far from its origins and to jeopardize both its
lumpy fixed investment and access to key external economies. New locations
appear all the more alluring when cramped space at the original site rules out
serious expansion. The need for expansion only becomes urgent in times of
buoyant demand, such as the period prevailing before World War I, and is
usually manifested not through a search for new sites in which to install plant,
but in using to the full capacity that already in existence. Only in circumstances
of exceptional demand, those triggered by a world war, is the usual recourse of
utilizing underused capacity exposed as patently inadequate. In contingencies of
this nature steps are taken to prosecute capacity-expansion strategies that extend
beyond enlargement in situ. They first explore the strategy of inaugurating
capacity elsewhere in the district containing the original site. Then, should
subsequent events so dictate, they countenance the provision of capacity in
districts far removed from the original site. The former, limited dispersal of
plant capacity refers to within-agglomeration or intraregional initiatives; the
latter, more wide-ranging dispersal relates to interregional initiatives that might
deliberately spurn agglomerations. As an extreme measure, a firm may
determine to cut loose from its original location altogether and follow a path
akin to that allowed by Weber, in which enterprises abandon their first choice
(the proverbial MTP) for one offering lower overall costs. For its pains, the firm
gains through relocation either a workforce more to its liking or an environment
replete with spatial-juxtaposition economies. At the very least it benefits from a
more spacious site that is amenable to best-practice production methods.
Because they outnumber the other instances of new locations, it is appropriate
to first focus on the local, within-agglomeration cases. Britain in particular
resorted to expansion of this kind during the period in question. Intraregional
initiatives were tantamount to the establishment of branch plants in the
neighborhoods of the main “mother” plants. Their comparative popularity is not
difficult to fathom. A firm impatient with the delays occasioned by in situ
expansion could easily convince itself of the merits of establishing a branch
plant that allows it to maintain uninterrupted output from its main plant while
implementing improved process technologies in a new facility. The new facility
is intentionally set up at a “greenfield” site so as not to interfere with the
production arrangement of the main site. The new plant can encounter and
master the challenges posed by the new methods without compromising the
firm’s mainstream activities. By this means the firm continues to earn revenues
while safeguarding its future growth through attention to process innovation. At
this point, though, it is necessary to raise a proviso, the upshot of which tends to
be prejudicial to the founding of branch plants. This proviso stems from the
assumption that firms will be compelled to abide by the conventions of financial
probity. By these lights, a firm will always take care to ensure that it does not
overextend itself in committing investment to a branch facility. It will not be
inclined to overextend itself because it is ever mindful of the risks attending
shipbuilding that derive from the cyclical nature of demand. Demand for
World War I: The First Great Test 41

merchant vessels follows, after a fashion, the business and trade cycles. In
consequence, it is highly unstable, seldom justifying major capacity expansions.
Similar patterns hold true for naval demand, albeit triggered by fluctuations in
international tensions and not by commercial concerns.3 Although the cause is
fundamentally different in naval demand cycles, the conclusion to be drawn is
the same; namely, conditions generally obtain that rarely warrant massive
additions to capacity. Shipbuilders therefore are acutely alive to the fact that the
cyclical nature of demand for shipping of any kind has grave implications for
even straightforward plant extensions, let alone programs of branch-plant
formation, because it means that much of the capacity of the “mother” plant will
be underused for a considerable fraction of the plant’s working life. In view of
their obligation to pay for the capital charges on the plant, regardless of whether
it is working at full capacity or, more likely, at less than full capacity,
shipbuilders will be loath to assume more risk by pressing ahead with branch
plants. So, it follows as a matter of course that multiyard shipbuilding
enterprises are the exception rather than the rule, for most firms tempted to
proceed with branch yards in previous spells of growth will tend to liquidate
these facilities once they are shown to be redundant in subsequent downturns.
The tendency to conservatism regarding capacity expansion among
shipbuilders can be overthrown when governments are actuated to intervene on
a large scale. Caution is then thrown to the winds and financial probity, as
gauged by attention to shareholder value, is apt to lapse. Not only do
shipbuilders minister to the wants of government by expanding beyond their
usual bounds in existing agglomerations, they go on to shed their accustomed
spatial blinkers to invest in greenfield sites much farther afield. This inclination
to depart from past practice is promoted by the government’s willingness to find
the necessary investment capital. The invariable culmination of this behavior is
the emergence of dispersed shipbuilding centers. These are linked to a greater or
lesser extent to the industrial heartlands that inspired them, while remaining
inordinately dependent on the governments that brought them to fruition. The
First World War took government involvement in shipbuilding to a new level,
and with it came the injunction to erect new plant fitted up in accordance with
the most recent developments in series production. Much of this new capacity
was placed in the long-standing shipbuilding districts, but a substantial portion
of it—especially in America—was to be encountered in districts devoid of a
meaningful shipbuilding presence. Government insistence on specific locations
accounted for the latter result, as we shall be at pains to point out. The reasoning
for this stance, seemingly at odds with the industry’s traditions, will become
clear in what follows. In the meantime, however, it is appropriate to revert to a
consideration of the circumstances besetting shipbuilding in the years preceding
the conflict.
42 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

PRELUDE TO WAR
British Urgency
An appreciation of the sheer magnitude of government influence on
shipbuilding during the war is impossible without a clear understanding of the
industry’s condition prior to its outbreak. The politics informing international
relations are well-known and need not concern us much. Suffice it to say that
German naval ambitions had long caused anxiety in Britain. Tirpitz’s expansion
schemes, cemented through the Naval Laws starting in 1898, proved to be the
last straw, leading the British to respond in kind.4 The warship race dominated
relations between the two countries thenceforth and, besides setting the tone for
naval developments the world over, greatly influenced shipbuilding. The most
celebrated British countermeasure to the German challenge was the inception of
all-big-gun, turbine-powered capital ships, collectively known as dreadnoughts.
The advent of dreadnoughts in 1906 was of the utmost importance to shipyards
as well as navies, and the type became a byword for the prestige attending naval
contracts. Some figures pertaining to the Dreadnought, the progenitor of the
breed, lay to rest any doubts about her truly revolutionary impact. Comparisons
with her immediate predecessors make stark reading, for not only did she carry
ten 12-inch guns rather than four, offering a broadside muzzle energy of 383,000
foot-tons instead of 145,000 foot-tons, but she could steam at 21 knots, a good 2
knots faster than the best of the pre-dreadnoughts. Furthermore, she could boast
a radius of action of 4,000 nautical miles at an economical speed of 16 knots,
some 1,000 nautical miles better than her predecessors. To cap it all, she
promised to be a much more cost-efficient ship, with a first cost per 12-inch gun
of 175,000 pounds as opposed to the 280,000 pounds obtaining for the
predreadnought, and an annual upkeep per 12-inch gun of 34,800 pounds, a far
cry from the 62,300 pounds required for her predecessors.5 Construction of the
Dreadnought at Portsmouth in record time did much to restore the tarnished
reputation of the Royal Dockyards, but production of dreadnoughts in the
numbers required could not have been accomplished without the participation of
a “ring” of preferred private contractors. At their head was the clutch of
integrated firms whose origins were touched on in the last chapter. Of the 45
dreadnoughts (both battleships and battle-cruisers) completed or building for the
Royal Navy at the end of 1914 (including vessels commandeered from export
customers), no more than 17 issued from government yards, with Portsmouth
accounting for nine and Devonport for the remainder.6 Of the lion’s share, those
emanating from private firms, a round dozen, came out of the Clyde
agglomeration (four from John Brown, three each from Fairfield and
Beardmore, and a pair from Scott’s Greenock yard). Another nine owed their
genesis to the North-East Coast agglomeration, specifically the Tyne (with
Armstrong Whitworth credited with six and Palmers’ Jarrow yard with three).
Even the Thames agglomeration managed to contribute, adding a super-
dreadnought in its last gasp as a shipbuilding entity. Vickers at Barrow and
Cammell Laird at Birkenhead were responsible for the balance, the former
building five as against the latter’s single ship.
World War I: The First Great Test 43

For the most part these shipbuilders had waxed fat on naval contracts since the
1890s. Yet it is difficult to determine just how much profit derived from
dreadnought construction. On the one hand, competition between the
shipbuilders grew so intense as to force down tenders to prices barely equal to
breakeven levels. The firms had no choice but to outbid their rivals, despite little
prospect of recouping their full costs, much less earn fair profits, on account of
their pressing need to cover the overhead charges on expensive plant. On the
other hand, their eagerness to invest in this plant, much of it of little use in
merchant shipbuilding, was not diminished to any discernible degree by the
likelihood of deteriorating returns. This suggests either a disquieting laxity in
management boardrooms or an appreciation by those same managers of other
means of exacting profits from naval contracts. All things considered, the chief
contractors displayed satisfying profits in the most salient period of the arms
race, implying that the second alternative held sway. In reviewing dividends for
1910–1914, Pollard contrived a distinction between warship constructors that
were integrated armaments manufacturers (Armstrong Whitworth, Beardmore,
John Brown, Cammell Laird, and Vickers) and warship builders that were not
(Hawthorn Leslie, Palmers, and Swan Hunter on the Tyne, Henderson on the
Clyde, and Thornycroft at Southampton).7 Dividends paid out by the first group
ranged on average from 6.7 percent to 8.5 percent, whereas dividends issuing
from the second group fell in the range 2.6 percent to 5.4 percent. Clearly, the
integrated firms were reaping benefits in excess of those available to the
nonintegrated firms. It will not have escaped notice that the firms composing the
integrated camp were charged with building no fewer than 19 dreadnoughts. The
sample constituting the pure warship yards, by contrast, managed to turn out just
three.8 Perhaps even more telling were the results furnished by a third group.
These, the unequivocal merchant yards (represented by Austin, Blyth, Doxford,
and Smith’s Dock, all builders of tramp cargo vessels on the North-East Coast),
returned dividends of only 4.5 percent in 1911 but 6.5 percent, 7.6 percent, and
8.4 percent in the three succeeding years. Although comparing favorably with
the pure warship group, the merchant shipbuilders fared less well when set
against the integrated warship firms. This finding not only endorses the
profitability edge enjoyed by the integrated arms producers, but it hints at the
greater uncertainty accompanying merchant work, the consequence of wider
fluctuations in nonnaval ship cycles.
Paradoxically, the period extending from 1900 to 1914 encompassed some of
the best times and some of the most anxious times for yards involved in
merchant shipbuilding. Output, which stood at 630,000 gross register tons (gross
tons) in 1880, had climbed steadily to reach an annual average of 1,021,000
gross tons in the years 1892 to 1896, almost 1.4 million gross tons in the five
years beginning in 1901, and 1.66 million gross tons in the half-decade starting
in 1910.9 All the same, the rising trend masked intermittent falls in activity and
their concomitant of vanishing profits. For example, output dropped
significantly in 1903, registering 1.31 million tons as opposed to the 1.45
million of 1902. A greater disruption followed later in the decade, with the more
than recovered level of 1.6 million tons obtaining for 1907 slipping markedly to
44 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

930,000 in 1908.10 The inferences drawn by shipbuilders from the market were
thus nothing if not contradictory, urging capacity expansion on the one hand but
investment restraint on the other. The first arose from the secular growth trend;
the second from the experience of business cycles much given to eating up
profits. Some merchant shipbuilders sought a means of evading this dilemma
and, by common consent, calculated that naval contracts offered the necessary
countercyclical security. Unable or unwilling to invest in the extensive suite of
special equipment necessary for dreadnought construction, they subscribed to
more modest goals, aspiring to win Admiralty approval as niche suppliers.
Content to remain merchant builders for the most part, they were prepared to
countenance Admiralty work not too far removed from the activity with which
they were familiar. A few, having no wish to run with the pack, tried for
something far more ambitious. In short, they attempted to emulate innovators
like Alfred Yarrow and John Isaac Thornycroft, entrepreneurs who had
conceived the torpedo-boat destroyer and whose yards had benefited
enormously in consequence. Specialization in destroyer construction offered
entry into a product line still very much in its infancy (and therefore still in need
of numerous prototypes), promising quantity production as adolescence loomed.
Moreover, destroyers were small ships whose construction was reckoned to be
well within the capabilities of any shipbuilder worthy of the name. Shortly after
their inception in the 1890s, a number of firms rushed into the business of
building them. However, several firms encountered technical problems that
quickly disabused them of thoughts of easy profits. Doxford of Sunderland on
the North-East Coast, Earle’s of Hull, and Hanna, Donald, and Wilson of Paisley
(near Glasgow) all tried their hand in this way, only to be rebuffed; indeed, the
last so overreached itself as to expire, whereas the other two were so chastened
by the experience as to renounce warship work for a generation (until, in fact,
they were compelled to relent in the world war).
At any rate, a division of labor among the shipbuilders had crystallized by
1914. The integrated arms firms, which, belying their name, also entertained the
construction of first-class passenger liners, were active in all branches of
warship work, ranging from capital ships to submarines. The pure warship
builders—equally adept at constructing passenger liners—were prepared to
tackle capital ships, but more likely to settle for cruisers and destroyers. The
rest, the vast majority of shipyards, built liners, tramps, and all other commercial
vessels to perfection, but were only inclined to stray into naval work, that of the
simpler sort, when conditions allowed. A searching look at naval construction
on the eve of war reaffirms the dominance of the agglomerations. The Clyde
was at the forefront of dreadnought construction. Those ships aside, the trio of
Beardmore, Fairfield, and John Brown were also busy with light cruisers and
destroyers, leaving Scott’s to supplement its cruiser work with submarines. Two
builders confined themselves exclusively to destroyers; namely, Denny at
Dumbarton (a renowned manufacturer of fast turbine steamers) and Yarrow at
Scotstoun (a firm celebrated for pioneering the type). Granted the Clyde’s
importance in world shipbuilding, this is but a sparse sampling of the region’s
yards. In 1913 Clyde yards had turned out shipping of the order of three-quarters
World War I: The First Great Test 45

of a million tons, fully one-third of Britain’s entire output. In that same year the
river had witnessed the production of 64,195 tons of naval vessels, a figure that
was to rise to 83,074 tons in the following year.11 Yet the Clyde’s prewar naval
work was just a portent of things to come, because it gave little indication of the
potential reposing in the cluster. The North-East Coast had also played its part in
the naval race, albeit in a more muted fashion. Embracing yards dotted along the
banks of the Tees, Wear, and Tyne, it produced just over one million tons of
shipping in 1913. Only that section of it centered on the Tyne, though, was
actively involved in naval programs on the verge of war. Armstrong Whitworth
and Palmers’ yards were committed to dreadnoughts, although the former also
found capacity for light cruisers and submarines and the latter was involved with
destroyers. Two other Tyneside firms—Hawthorn Leslie at Hebburn and Swan
Hunter at Wallsend—eschewed capital ships to concentrate on light cruisers and
destroyers.12 Together, these yards had launched 66,472 tons of warships in
1913 but had managed no more than 24,979 tons in 1914. As with the Clyde, the
war was to transform this situation virtually overnight. A handful of
miniagglomerations, comprising both government establishments and private
industrial complexes, accounted for almost all other outstanding naval work. Of
the former, Portsmouth and Devonport stood head and shoulders above the other
Royal Dockyards at Chatham and Pembroke Dock. Portsmouth was wholly
given over to dreadnoughts, but Devonport joined the other two in constructing
light cruisers. Chatham can be singled out for its submarine work, sharing with
Vickers of Barrow status as the country’s “center of excellence” for these boats.
Apart from its involvement in submarine production, Barrow was closely bound
up with dreadnoughts, blending Admiralty contracts with export orders (the
most recent of which had been a battle-cruiser for Japan). Nor did it disparage
lesser fry, finding resources to build light cruisers. Cammell Laird at
Birkenhead, having just finished a super-dreadnought, kept itself busy
constructing light cruisers and destroyers. Completing the roster were two
Hampshire yards—White’s at Cowes and Thornycroft’s at Southampton—each
taking pride in the quality of its destroyers.13

American Resurgence
How were matters standing in the United States at this time? In answering this
question we need to revisit the situation applying a few years earlier. After a
painful revival in the 1880s, American shipbuilding—or at least that part of it
connected with naval contracting—had undergone a complete change. This
revival owed next to nothing to the state of the merchant marine and almost
everything to the “rebirth” of the Navy, the process gaining increasing
momentum after the triumphs of the Spanish-American War.14 So, although
ostensibly detached from the tensions endemic to Europe that had given rise to
the Anglo-German naval race, America had resolved to become a sea power of
the first water and plunged into an orgy of new construction comparable to that
exercising the Europeans. Despite suffering teething troubles, a core of naval
contractors soon emerged, partly drawn from the ranks of existing shipbuilders
46 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

and partly composed, as in Britain, of entrants from the flourishing metallurgical

sector. A batch of yards soon picked up where John Roach left off, including
such denizens of the “American Clyde” as William Cramp and Neafie & Levy,
both of Philadelphia, and the Wilmington (Delaware) yard of Harlan &
Hollingsworth.15 Entrepreneurs from other traditional building districts also
found cause in Washington’s recent conversion to the merits of navies to invest
in the “new” shipbuilding. Bath Iron Works (BIW), for example, was
incorporated in 1884, reviving the industry’s fortunes in Maine. Farther south at
Quincy, Massachusetts, there appeared in that same year an undertaking soon to
become the famed Fore River yard (although it had to await the Spanish war to
win its first naval contract). In Virginia, railroad interests led by the enigmatic
Collis Potter Huntington were instrumental in forming a ship-repair yard in
1886, a yard that would soon assume commanding importance as the Newport
News shipbuilding venture. Over on the Pacific coast, the Union Iron Works
(UIW), created in San Francisco in 1849 as a foundry, decided to enter
shipbuilding in 1883 and was not beforehand in looking to the Navy for its
sustenance. Before the old century was out, a new crop of entrants was starting
to appear. Nothing daunted, two immediately embarked on pre-dreadnought
contracts—Moran at Seattle and New York Shipbuilding at Camden, New
Jersey—complementing the accustomed builders of Cramp, UIW, and Newport
News. We have already had reason to comment on Moran as an exemplar of
marine “cluster” formation, but its rush into naval contracting did not, in the
event, secure the firm’s future. Other firms, less thrusting, settled for cruisers
and destroyers, most notably William Trigg’s Richmond yard in Virginia. His
enterprise overreached its capabilities and collapsed, the victim of the delusion
(not unknown in contemporary Britain) that profits were bound to flow from
destroyer contracts. At the same time some neophytes, spearheaded by Isaac
Rice’s Electric Boat (formed at Groton, Connecticut, in 1899, but having its
boats assembled at Fore River), were laboring like Trojans to bring submarine
technology to fruition. The product, although about to live up to its promise
thanks to John Philip Holland’s brilliance, was still immersed in the risky
conception stage.16 Navy Yards are singularly absent from the round of
suppliers, the legacy of their chronic tardiness in adopting modern technology.
Only the government’s New York yard registered as a major builder in the pre-
dreadnought era, managing one battleship.
Initially, armaments manufacturers were hesitant about entering shipbuilding.
Preoccupied with perfecting armor plate and erecting a dedicated plant for its
manufacture, the likes of Bethlehem Iron (later restyled “Steel”) and Carnegie
Steel had their hands full throughout the 1890s. Besides, they were earning
handsome profits on their nickel-steel armor (which, as a result of Augustus
Harvey’s 1891 innovation, enjoyed an international reputation) and (in the case
of Bethlehem) gun-forgings businesses and regarded shipbuilding as a needless
distraction.17 This situation altered profoundly after 1900, however, as the major
steel firms came to see the force of the forward-integration argument.
Complicating the change was the appearance on the scene of the “trust” form of
business organization. The object of the trust, in marked contrast to the vertical
World War I: The First Great Test 47

integration favored by some steel companies, was to implement horizontal

integration, or the control of an entire market through a cartel of all the suppliers
active in it. American shipbuilding underwent such a process in 1902 when
Lewis Nixon, a distinguished naval architect and operator of the Crescent
Shipyard in Elizabethport, New Jersey, persuaded a number of like-minded
shipbuilders to join under the banner of the United States Shipbuilding
Company. Combining the assets of Crescent with those of UIW, BIW, Harlan &
Hollingsworth, Samuel Moore (of Elizabethport), and Eastern Shipbuilding (of
New London, Connecticut) served to bring together most of the leading
shipbuilders of the day, including many of the principal naval contractors. In
addition, the trust insinuated steel interests into shipbuilding. The last occurred
as a direct result of the financial backing afforded Nixon by Charles Michael
Schwab. As the man in charge of Bethlehem Steel, Schwab dangled before
Nixon the prospect of seamless control of armor, ship’s plate, and sections, the
chief inputs required by the yards. Reality intervened to scotch these dreams,
because the expected savings from reduced overhead costs failed to materialize,
and United States Shipbuilding’s finances quickly went from bad to worse.
When subjected to an official inquiry, the company was declared fraudulent,
having been woefully overcapitalized and underfunded from the outset.
Ironically, the crisis was brought to a head by Bethlehem’s refusal to sign over
some of its earnings to United States Shipbuilding, thus leaving the shipbuilder
no choice but to default on its obligations in June 1903.18 The shipyards
underwent a wrenching period of readjustment; for example, Crescent was
demolished and BIW extricated itself from Schwab’s clutches in 1905.19 Out of
the wreckage, however, came a new multiyard, multiregion venture, openly
controlled by Schwab’s reorganized Bethlehem Steel. In a strategy reminiscent
of that pursued by the Sheffield steel and armaments firms in England, it united
an inland metallurgical cluster (in this instance, that part of the Pennsylvania
heartland of American steel closest to Philadelphia) with coastal shipbuilding
locations, although, in truth, the latter embraced far more sites than the English
forerunners were willing to contemplate. Operating Harlan & Hollingsworth,
Moore, Fore River, UIW, and (from 1916) the former yard of Maryland Steel at
Sparrows Point, the steel corporation was strongly represented in the New York
region, New England and California, as well as in the Delaware River
agglomeration. Although the yards formed a pattern calculated to win sectional
support, we should not overlook the fact that they were assets whose origins
predated Bethlehem’s acquisition of them. In other words, the steel company
had not seen fit to inaugurate new facilities at greenfield sites. Its policy,
consistent with the time-honored practice of making full use of existing
capacity, would not be found wanting until faced with the extraordinary
demands of war. In the meantime, America was relishing the idea of a big fleet
and using its yards to good advantage turning out ships aplenty.
Dreadnought fever agitated the U.S. Navy shortly after it gripped the Royal
Navy. Indeed, America’s enthusiasm for a large battle-fleet, fired by an
appreciation of the threat posed by Japanese and German incursions in the
Pacific, prevailed through a series of naval programs that tended to belittle the
48 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

importance of lesser combatants such as cruisers. This shortcoming was not

formally recognized until the declaration of 1916 to build a “navy second to
none,” although it was not materially rectified until long after.20 The programs
preceding 1916, however, inspired the shipbuilding industry with a new sense of
purpose, stimulating the private contractors to new efforts and instituting
changes in the navy establishments that were intended to place them on a firmer
footing. The Navy Yards came into their own in World War I, emerging from a
restructuring process with little resemblance to their earlier manifestation. Until
that process bore fruit, it was left to the New York facility to shoulder the
burden of government shipbuilding. From 1909 to 1917 this Navy Yard laid
down no fewer than five dreadnoughts, a record equaled but not surpassed by
private contractors. Mare Island was the only other government facility to
participate in the prewar dreadnought effort, laying down a vessel in late 1916.
Not surprising, the ring of seasoned private yards bore the brunt of dreadnought
construction before America’s entry into the war. New York Shipbuilding
(confusingly, located just across the Delaware River from Philadelphia) led the
pack, accounting for five; Newport News followed close behind with four.
Cramp and Fore River were each credited with two. The comparatively
neglected destroyer type was the preserve of no monopoly supplier; rather, its
construction was apportioned to the already mentioned seasoned firms and to
BIW, a yard that delighted chiefly in building ships of this sort. The Navy
Yards, in keeping with their restructuring, were largely absent from the field,
although Mare Island and Norfolk were incipient producers. They also steered
clear of submarine construction, the domain of UIW, Moran, Lake, and Fore
River.21 This era of steady expansion, satisfactory to the participating shipyards,
was about to be upset, overturned by the urgent demands of war. Shipbuilding
upheaval was already far advanced in Britain, as we shall now relate.

WAR DEMANDS AND THE BRITISH RESPONSE

Overall Directions
The war brought unprecedented challenges to British shipbuilders, compelling
them to adhere closely to government directives. That the yards were able to
absorb these directives, turning them to good account in the form of increased
production, is an established fact, but one that came near to crippling them for
their pains. The government tried various courses of action in concert with
industry, now leaning toward one scheme and now to another, until it eventually
hit on a system in which control of all shipbuilding resided in the Admiralty.22 It
is doubtful whether comprehensive controls could have been imposed by any
other means short of a complete nationalization of the industry, and even that
ploy was partly resorted to—in the guise of National Shipyards—before the end
of the conflict. In the event, these emergency government yards counted for
nothing, for the needed extra capacity came from the private shipbuilders, albeit
fueled by government funds. A not insignificant proportion of the extra capacity
World War I: The First Great Test 49

was conceived as new shipyards, invoking considerations of location. Before

addressing such outcomes, however, it is necessary to grasp the issues at stake.
In the beginning, activity continued much as before, with the Admiralty
pressing the yards to complete the work in hand. Merchant shipping and small
warships did not loom large in its priorities. Because the Admiralty held firm to
the conviction that the main force arrayed against it was the German battle-fleet,
the need for merchantmen and small combatants was strictly subordinated to the
claims of fleet commanders for more large units. Consequently, the integrated
arms firms and the pure naval contractors received much attention, and little
thought was given either to the induction of other yards into the program of
building major warships or the conversion of merchant yards to the production
of small warships. To be sure, unforeseen contingencies emerged that required
expedient solutions. One of these arose in connection with German occupation
of the Flanders coast in late 1914 and the need to employ shallow-draft fire-
support ships, styled monitors, in countering it. Fortunately for the Admiralty,
Schwab’s Bethlehem Steel released a batch of 14-inch guns for British use, and
these were mounted on new monitor hulls hastily constructed by Harland &
Wolff. This firm, one of the world’s biggest, had spare capacity at its Belfast
and Govan yards suitable for the purpose, but the Admiralty did not on that
account alter its view that Harland’s war effort could be best accomplished by
the firm sticking to its merchant specialty.23 As for the yards accustomed to
warship work, they were soon urged to do more, aided by Admiralty attempts to
simplify the production process. Nowhere was the situation judged to be more
pressing than in submarines where the Navy was dangerously reliant on just two
suppliers: Vickers at Barrow and the Royal Dockyard at Chatham. The
Admiralty had placed high hopes on two other firms—Scott’s on the Clyde and
Armstrong Whitworth on the Tyne—that had entered the field in 1912-1913,
but its hopes remained largely unfulfilled. Accordingly, it was eager to implant
the necessary technology in a wider circle of builders. To test the waters, it
granted token orders to two destroyer specialists, White and Thornycroft.
Because it was patently obvious that the neophyte builders had much ground to
make up, the Admiralty took out additional insurance, as it were, by persuading
Schwab to entertain series production of H-class boats (a task that Bethlehem
executed by consigning final assembly to Vickers’ Montreal yard, thus neatly
sidestepping the vexed issue of American neutrality). The use of Bethlehem
served as a prelude to a legion of others. Of the 40 E-class boats ordered in
November, only 12 went to existing submarine builders, leaving the bulk to be
distributed among Beardmore, Fairfield, John Brown, Denny, and Yarrow on the
Clyde, Swan Hunter and Palmers on the Tyne, and Cammell Laird at
Birkenhead. Widening the net of suppliers was just one part of the program; the
other was the dissemination of know-how that would dispel any reluctance to
undertake the job. The technology transferred had to result in the rapid
production of identical boats. In groping toward a solution to this objective, the
Admiralty hit upon the principles of standard shipbuilding. Although its method
with respect to submarine production did not pretend to give the last word in
standardization—that was not to come close to realization until war’s end—it
50 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

did go a long way toward it. For a start, Chatham furnished hull drawings and
patterns to all firms, instructing them of production intricacies. The Admiralty
then went a step further, directly procuring the engines, periscopes, steering
gear, and hydroplane gear for all boats regardless of builder. Learning
economies were soon attained by such means; so much so, indeed, that later
boats were entering the water after only eight months on the ways, a far cry from
the thirty months taken to build the first of the batch.24
Events at sea took a turn for the worse in 1915 as the depredations of shipping
by German submarines began to tell. The Admiralty believed it could best
counter the threat by embarking on a program to build sloops and patrol boats, a
program that would grow to assume massive proportions. This took the
standardization principle to new levels, tapping the resources of a large number
of shipyards, many of which had no previous experience of naval work. Granted
the basic simplicity of these small warships, it was felt that there was nothing to
be gained by punctilious insistence on naval specifications and much to be lost
in terms of tardy construction. So, as far as practicable, the Admiralty allowed
the yards to adhere to mercantile practice, according them a free hand in hull
and machinery areas. The approach succeeded beyond measure, with vessels
completing in only 19 to 21 weeks from the date of order. Unfortunately, the
submarine menace, far from diminishing, continued to grow right through into
1917, when matters came to a head and Britain escaped blockade by the tiniest
margin. This grave condition came to outweigh all other maritime
considerations. Plans for constructing major combatants were thrown into
disarray, because even the naval contractors were enjoined to drop other work in
order to concentrate on vessels dedicated to antisubmarine warfare (ASW).
Altogether, 842 “fighting” ships of 1,602,090 displacement tons (displacement)
were completed during the war, although only 57 could be counted as major
combatants (18 dreadnoughts and 39 cruisers). The vast majority of completions
conformed to the destroyer and other ASW types.25 Supplementing these
combatants was a host of “auxiliary” warships, 571 in all (of 754,111
displacement). Again, the bulk of this force, somewhere in excess of 400
vessels, had ASW applications. Such an enormous construction effort required
contributions from a great many shipyards, perhaps 163 in total.26 Certainly,
almost all the yards up and down the Clyde were fully immersed in the effort,
and output grew by leaps and bounds: The 92,155 displacement of 1915 were
overwhelmed by the 641,755 displacement registered for 1916 through 1918.
All told, 487 naval vessels came from these yards, including nine dreadnoughts,
11 light cruisers, 33 submarines, 159 destroyers, and over 100 dedicated ASW
ships.27 The other shipbuilding centers contributed in proportion. The
miniagglomeration with perhaps the best results was Barrow. Isolated and self-
contained, this industrial complex proceeded to make a virtue out of necessity
by turning out numerous ships complete with engines and armaments (including
15-inch guns). Sixty-four submarines, to say nothing of three dreadnoughts and
five light cruisers, were finished in the 15-berth Vickers yard. Activity there
became so intense that thousands of people flocked to Barrow, no less than
16,880 in one year alone, driving up its population from just over 65,000 in
World War I: The First Great Test 51

1914 to well over 81,000 by the end of 1915.28 Even Belfast, generally
overlooked by the Admiralty as a warship source, registered a performance that
was not to be despised: Harland’s produced one battle-cruiser, one cruiser, seven
monitors, and three coastal monitors, and the neighboring Workman, Clark yard
added another pair of coastal monitors and ten ASW vessels.
Reviewing warship output without reference to shipbuilding activity in its
entirety borders on the disingenuous because it ignores the inseparable nature of
the industry. The industry, of course, was equally tasked with producing
merchant shipping, an obligation that became increasingly burdensome as the
war unfolded. At first, production of merchantmen dipped in response to the
priority given to warships: A combined total of 1.26 million gross tons for
1915–1916 as against 1.03 million gross tons built in 1914 alone vividly attests
to this phenomenon. The gravity of the decline appears even more pronounced
when the 1915–1916 record is contrasted with 1913, the last full year of peace,
when almost 2 million gross tons of shipping poured out of the yards. The
habitual leader in building cargo ships, the North-East Coast, witnessed a plunge
in output from 854,697 gross tons in 1914 to 352,825 gross tons in 1915, with
no significant improvement in 1916. The Clyde’s record was no more
heartening, dropping from 460,258 gross tons in 1914 to 215,060 gross tons in
1915. With no sign of a diminution of the U-boat menace it was clear that the
output situation was untenable and in need of vigorous increase. Measures taken
by the government to arrest the decline in merchant output—shifting priorities
away from naval work and allocating more raw labor to the yards—were seen to
be largely ineffectual on their own. It was soon appreciated that more radical
measures were required, the most controversial of which was outright
nationalization of the industry. This was viewed as a preparatory step to a huge
influx of physical capacity into the industry and the imposition of standard
shipbuilding across the board. Nationalization, drastic even to many in
government and regarded with downright abhorrence by the industry, was never
consummated, but its threat proved singularly effective in bringing about a surge
in new capacity. Standard shipbuilding, for its part, turned out to be a curious
hybrid, for it was undertaken with greatest success in private yards despite being
promoted by a government intent on practicing it in its own purpose-built yards.
These concerns, innately geographical in that they involve the location of new
facilities, deserve to be enlarged up on.

Capacity Expansion
Frustrated by the inability of the government to expeditiously expand output,
private interests announced in late 1916 that they were prepared to form
Standard Shipbuilding and Engineering and open a new shipyard at Chepstow
on the Bristol Channel, a location hitherto unremarkable in shipbuilding terms.
The firm would produce nothing but standard ships.29 This proposal spurred the
government into action, prompting the Shipping Controller in December to
outline his own plan for an enormous construction effort, one that entailed the
suspension of all existing types of merchantmen in favor of standard ships. Ten
52 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

standard designs were formulated (designated A-H, Fl, and N), covering all
functions from collier to refrigerated cargo ship and ranging in size from 2,300
gross tons (Type D) to 8,000 gross tons (Type G). Detailed design was entrusted
to a lead yard; that is to say, a shipbuilder already familiar with the building
requirements of similar vessels. For example, Henderson on the Clyde was
assigned responsibility for Types A and B, whereas Harland & Wolff was tasked
with finalizing Type N. The last was truly novel, intended for easy and rapid
assembly by dint of prefabrication of sections made from straight lines and flat
plates. Standard ships in general were conceived with simplicity in mind, for
steel and skilled labor were both in short supply. Consequently, they were
designed to strike a balance between maximizing carrying capacity and
minimizing steel usage while remaining within the capabilities of workforces
“diluted” with temporary labor (thus dispensing with as many complex frame-
bending operations as possible).30 Yards were told to concentrate on the standard
type most in tune with the experience of their workers. At the same time the
government took over the incomplete Standard Shipbuilding venture, dubbing it
National Shipyard No.l, and proclaimed that Chepstow heralded the formation
of several more like it. This act unleashed a storm of protest from the
shipbuilders, anxious to defeat a state incursion in what they fervently believed
was their preserve. They were alarmed at the prospect of a major new
competitor after the war, were suspicious that the move might portend the end of
them as independent entities and, for good measure, were skeptical of the ability
of government officials to get the job done. So what exactly did the government
have in mind for the National Shipyards? This question can best be answered by
dwelling at length on Chepstow.
As envisaged by its private backers, Chepstow was an ideal site for
undertaking the manufacture of standard ships and their engines because it was
free of the traditions of hidebound shipbuilding centers, traditions inimical to
innovative work practices. Furthermore, 40 acres of land, ample for a major
yard, were readily available.31 Because the acreage followed a bend in the River
Wye, 45-feet deep at that stretch, it was suitable for building and launching
ships of 450 feet in length (the length, that is, of the Type G, the biggest of the
subsequent classes of standard ships). Detracting in no way from the location’s
attraction was the railway that ran right through the site, connecting it with steel
mills in Newport a few miles to the west (see Map 2.1). True, Chepstow was a
small town, barely 3,000 strong, but the yard’s advocates believed that labor
supply would present no difficulties (their optimism rested on the slender hope
that government would make up any shortfall by conscripting workers into the
community). So convinced were they of the merits of their case that they set
about raising 300,000 pounds to pay for the yard and its attendant housing. This
cavalier attitude was roundly criticized by other shipbuilders, who were not slow
to point to the labor shortages endemic to the region, to say nothing of the
comparatively high wages paid out to the few shipyard workers already resident
there (presumably mandating needlessly high production costs for Chepstow).
Stung by accusations of inactivity, the government acquired the incomplete yard
in September 1917, justifying its move in part as an initiative to overcome the
Map 2.1
Bristol Channel and the National Shipyards

Douglas Fast
54 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

labor problem. Judging from the aforementioned dismay that the acquisition
caused among the shipbuilders, the industry was less interested in seeing
Chepstow solve its start-up problems than it was in witnessing its extinction.
Industry spokesmen immediately shifted their ground, complaining of a
nationwide shortage of labor that was bound to worsen now that all yards would
have to compete with Chepstow. Replying to the concern, the government
claimed that it would stop at nothing to implement a program of standard ships,
and in order to make any headway it would supplement Chepstow with yards at
Beachley (near Chepstow) and Portbury (downstream from Bristol). The
prospect of more National Shipyards—and a fourth at an undisclosed location
was mooted—added fuel to the fire, inciting further criticism from the industry.
So, as a conciliatory gesture, the government promised to make full use of
private yards before pinning its hopes on the new sites and, what is more,
insisted that the National Shipyards would not outlast the war. In return for these
assurances, though, it exacted a promise of an immense boost in capacity from
the private shipbuilders, a promise granted all the more readily because of
government willingness to underwrite the costs involved.
Save for Chepstow, the new sites were to be simple assembly operations
devoid of manufacturing plant. The intent was to have most of the structural
parts prepared at factories removed from the shipyard, using labor trained in
fabrication skills. The components would then be hauled to the yard, there to be
assembled on a site equipped with a bare minimum of lifting devices. Chepstow,
the most extravagantly furnished of the three, was laid out with 13 building
berths served by a dozen electric cranes with lifting capacities split evenly
between ten tons and four tons. In all, the government allocated 4 million
pounds to the National Shipyards. However, sizable funding is not proof against
obstruction and unforeseen circumstances, for the program was beset with
difficulties from first to last. Few of the planned 31 berths were ever made and
the labor factor was the prime cause of the program’s downfall. It found little
fault with the choice of locations, but much amiss with muddled thinking about
labor supply. Initially, the plan was to draft into the locations numbers of
servicemen and prisoners-of-war, a scheme that raised the ire of organized labor
because it threatened to seriously erode the bargaining power of the trade
unions. Besides, as ill-luck would have it, the attempt to assemble labor
coincided with a crisis on the Western Front and the seat of war had first call on
any reserves of military personnel. The alternative of recruiting civilian workers
elsewhere and transferring them to the three sites met with so many delays—for
almost the entire population of the kingdom had already been pressed into war
work—that the war was over before it stood any chance of bearing fruit.
Production totals speak volumes: Chepstow, in spite of its size, only managed to
build 6,000 tons of shipping in 1918 (and 5,839 tons in 1919), long after the U-
boat threat had disappeared.
While the National Shipyards remained mired in uncertainty and officials
despaired of them ever producing anything, the commitment of the private
shipbuilders to boost capacity fared much better. In pursuance of this pledge,
many yards had their capacity rounded out through the insertion of extra slips.
World War I: The First Great Test 55

For example, the Clyde naval contractors John Brown, Fairfield, and Beardmore
each squeezed a pair of parallel submarine-building berths into their existing
premises. Where such expedients were impracticable, some shipbuilders
resorted to acquisition of land in the immediate vicinity. The case of Harland &
Wolff at Belfast is typical. It had to look across the Musgrave Channel from the
main yard to find an 85-acre plot. There, for an investment of almost 600,000
pounds, it reared up the East Yard, a six-berth facility complete with a new
outfitting quay provided for good measure by the harbor commissioners.32 Not
only did this yard allow Harland’s to claim that it had fulfilled its promise to the
government, but it presented the company with an opportunity to adjust to
innovative practices. At a time when a premium was placed on quantity
production, it was essential that such learning should not prejudice activities at
the main Queen’s Island site. Capacity additions of this sort were really plant
extensions of the main facility, albeit slightly geographically detached. Other
firms encountered difficulties in securing adjacent land and, denied the option of
operating “detached extensions,” had no choice but to countenance the
formation of genuine branch yards farther removed from the home yard.
Consistent with the logic of location decision making, most of these were
positioned within easy reach of the main yards. In fact, they conformed to the
within-agglomeration or intraregional strategy favored by most industrialists
when compelled to look beyond expansion in situ. As can be elicited from Map
2.2, the branch yards were characteristic of the chief agglomerations.
Beardmore, for example, set up its Dalmuir East Yard just a stone’s throw away
from the main yard. A much smaller member of the Clyde agglomeration—
Ardrossan Dockyard—followed suit after a fashion with its South Yard. On the
North-East Coast, Swan Hunter looked to the Wear, 10 kilometers from
Wallsend, to find a site that was converted into its Southwick Yard. William
Gray, also hailing from that agglomeration, reached out beyond its Hartlepool
base to establish no less than two branch operations, the Pallion High Yard on
the Wear and the Graythorp-on-Tees yard, both within 20 kilometers of the main
yard.33 Palmers, striking a bolder posture, selected Amble, almost 50 kilometers
from Jarrow, as its preferred site for extra merchant capacity.34 Even more
adventurous were the shipbuilders who elected to create subsidiaries at much
greater distances from their parent establishments (in all likelihood, choosing
this autonomous organizational form rather than the branch arrangement
because it was judged more manageable for remote yards). Vickers, for
instance, was instrumental in founding Forth Shipbuilding at the eastern Scottish
port of Alloa, a location far removed from Barrow and outside the Clyde
agglomeration wherein was to be found its Beardmore affiliate. Swan Hunter,
abjuring the North-East Coast and Great Britain into the bargain, went to
Londonderry to float the North of Ireland Shipbuilding Company. Undoubtedly,
the most risky strategy of all was that of relocation, for it meant unavoidable
disruption as the main premises wound down and the new site worked up to
production. The government only acquiesced in it with reluctance, as when
Armstrong Whitworth switched dreadnought production to Walker from
56 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Map 2.2
U.K. Shipbuilding Capacity Spawned by World War I

Douglas Fast

Elswick on account of the restrictions applying to large vessels navigating

downriver from the latter.35
A final contribution to capacity—and one that was to prove almost equally
risky—came from new entries, firms created expressly to benefit from surging
wartime demand (and the anticipated demand for replacement tonnage in its
aftermath). As it happened, the contribution of these neophytes was honored
more in the breach than the observance, because many of them came on stream
after hostilities had ceased, and not a few of them failed to become operational
at all. Two of the few to make the grade, Burntisland Shipbuilding on the Forth
World War I: The First Great Test 57

and Furness Shipbuilding on the Tees, stand out from the 27 or so that crowded
into the industry at this time.36 Like the majority of its peers, Burntisland
occupied a site outside the principal shipbuilding districts, but unlike them, it
commanded respect for its attention to process innovation. Founded by two
standard-ship enthusiasts, the Ayre brothers, it was capitalized for 150,000
pounds and laid out as a four-berth yard on 6.5 acres of vacant ground in the
coal port from which it took its name. Excavation began in May 1918 and 3,000
gross tons of Type C ships were being assembled by September. The firm
abided by the semifabricated system; namely, one that relied on half the
structural material being railed to the yard (from constructional engineers in
Edinburgh) in a partially prepared state. The yard was sparingly, if intelligently,
equipped, conforming to the American pattern of using cableways over the
berths that were worked by posts and trolleys.37 In contrast, Furness
Shipbuilding sought the security of a thriving agglomeration, the North-East
Coast (and not the Furness district enclosing Barrow, as the firm’s title might
suggest). Moreover, it dwarfed Burntisland, occupying 85 acres at Haverton Hill
with a river frontage of 2,500 feet. Solidly backed (650,000 pounds), it was
granted special government permission to get under way in late 1917, and the
first keel for a standard ship (Type N) was laid within five months of work
beginning on the site. Unusually for British yards, it employed a high proportion
of women (25 percent of the 2,000 personnel). Eight large building berths for
vessels up to 700 feet in length were installed, together with four smaller ones.
They were liberally supported with infrastructure: besides a dense rail network
there were 19 electric overhead cranes, 12 electric traveling cranes, 19 steam
traveling cranes, and 20 steel revolving derrick posts. What is more, a model
village was built for the workers, hinting at a management favorably disposed
toward harmonious labor relations.
Good intentions aside, this yard, like Burntisland, Chepstow and a host of
others, was finished too late to have a material impact on wartime output. In
fact, neither Furness Shipbuilding nor Burntisland was successful in entering the
list of producers before 1919, when the first registered 32,750 tons and the
second launched 9,309 tons. To be sure, the proportion of British shipbuilding
devoted to standard designs climbed from 26 percent in September 1917 to 74
percent one year later, but virtually all of the tonnage under construction in 1918
was not completed until 1919. Indeed, only 110 of the more than 430 standard
ships ordered by the government were ready before the Armistice.38 However,
against all odds the industry had been able to find enough extra capacity to
significantly boost the output of cargo ships, albeit ships of many and varied
designs. The 1.16 million gross tons launched in 1917 not only bettered 1916s
output, but presaged the magnificent 1.6 million of 1918. Assuredly this
performance was a miracle of extemporizing, given that the yards were relieved
neither of their obligation to turn out a steady stream of naval vessels nor of
their burden of repairing overwhelming numbers of war-damaged ships. The
uphill task by then, though, was no longer the sole concern of British
shipbuilders, for America had joined the fray.
58 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

AMERICA ARRIVES
Overall Directions
As already discussed, the U.S. Navy was engaged in a steady expansion
program in the years leading up to America’s entry into the war. Secretary of the
Navy Josephus Daniels, after a considerable amount of reluctance regarding any
expansion in the early part of his tenure, recommended in October 1915 (via the
General Board) an ambitious five-year expansion program. The imputes for this
program, however, had little to do with the potential entry of the United States
into the war and much to do with Daniel’s and President Wilson’s decision to
create a navy “second to none.” Their intention was that by 1925 the U.S. Navy
would be equal to those of Britain, Germany, Austria, and Japan. This
recommendation resulted in the Naval Expansion Act of 1916. Originally it had
been a five-year plan that would have seen the expenditure of $100 million each
year and the initial authorization of two battleships and two battlecruisers in
1916. However, in the wake of the Battle of Jutland, Henry Cabot Lodge and
Claude A. Swanson (leading naval advocates in the U.S. Senate) were able to
convince their colleagues to agree in August to authorize $500 million spread
over three years instead of five and the ordering of four battleships and four
battlecruisers in 1916. In total, the Act of 1916 called for the construction of ten
battleships, six battlecruisers, ten scout (light) cruisers, 50 destroyers, nine fleet
and 58 coastal submarines, and 16 auxiliary vessels. The government would rely
primarily on private shipyards already engaged in naval work to build the
majority of these vessels. Although numerically impressive, the anticipated rate
of construction would not necessitate any significant expansion of shipbuilding
facilities, either in the private or government sectors. America’s entry into the
ranks of combatants in April 1917 would change all of these assumptions.
As the realities of the war at sea became all too apparent, the Americans came
to the same realization as had the British that their program’s emphasis on
capital ships was inappropriate and would have to be altered. With the
resumption of unrestricted U-boat warfare by the Germans on February 1, 1917,
losses of merchant ships, including American, again increased and with this
came the acknowledgment by U.S. Navy officials that emphasis should be
shifted away from capital ships to the construction of ships with ASW
capability. Construction of battleships, battlecruisers, and light cruisers was all
but suspended and the nation’s shipbuilding efforts were shifted to the
construction of increased numbers of destroyers and other ASW escorts, as well
as submarines.39 While authorizations for additional battleships, battlecruisers,
and light cruisers would continue through 1918 as part of the Act of 1916, none
would be laid down until after the war had ended. As a result of the Navy’s
change in shipbuilding priorities, from 1917 to 1918 naval shipbuilding in both
private and Naval Yards was confined only to destroyers, submarines, ASW
escorts (subchasers and Eagle boats), and a few naval auxiliary vessels.
Although the Act of 1916 called for the construction of 50 destroyers, this
number was increased ultimately to 273 by war’s end. Just prior to America’s
entry into the war, the General Board recommended an increase in the number
World War I: The First Great Test 59

of destroyers, which resulted in orders for 61 being placed by May 1917. The
Naval Emergency Fund was established by Congress in March 1917 to pay for
the additional units. Six private yards that had built destroyers before the war
were employed to build these new ships. These were BIW, Cramp, New York
Shipbuilding, Newport News, and Bethlehem’s Fore River and San Francisco
yards. Contracts were also let to the Naval Yards at Mare Island, Charleston, and
Norfolk. In order to handle the demands of the enlarged destroyer program, the
government paid Bethlehem to build a ten-slip yard at Squantum,
Massachusetts, devoted solely to the construction of destroyers. In order to meet
the pressing demand for destroyers, two standard designs of what would become
known as “flush-deck” destroyers were employed, which allowed for mass
production at multiple yards. One design—the so-called Liberty design—
emanated from BIW and constituted the 111-unit Wicks-class, whereas the 162-
unit Clemson-class design came off the drawing boards of Bethlehem.
Construction of the latter class was confined to the three Bethlehem yards, and
all other yards utilized the Bath design. Despite the proclaimed shortage of
destroyers, these programs proceeded at a relatively leisurely pace, with the first
units being laid down in June 1917 but the last not being commissioned until
August 1922. Only approximately 40 of the wartime-built destroyers were
commissioned prior to the Armistice. Table 2.1 lists the production figures for
the ten yards that built destroyers under the 1916–1918 authorizations.

Table 2.1
Charleston Naval Yard

Note: Six additional ships were ordered from Newport News SB., but were cancelled.

The number of shipyards and building ways that could be devoted to destroyer
production inherently limited both the total number of units that could be built
as well as the rate of their construction. In order to supplement the limited
number of destroyers available for ASW duty, the U.S. Navy authorized the
production of two additional standardized types of small ASW escort vessels,
the 110-foot SC-class subchaser and the 200-foot Eagle boats. Ford Motor
Company designed and built the latter type at a specially built yard at Highland
Park, Michigan, near Detroit. While a total of 112 units were authorized, only 60
were actually built, with units 61 to 112 being cancelled in November 1918. The
first unit was not delivered, however, until late October 1918, and thus none of
the Eagles saw active service in the war. The subchasers presented a different
type of challenge, in that a total of 448 were ordered, a total far exceeding the
60 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

available building capacity of the major shipbuilders, which were already

overburdened with destroyers and submarines. While five Naval Yards
(Charleston, Mare Island, New York, Norfolk, and Puget Sound) were utilized
for subchaser construction, the bulk of the work was done at 32 private yards.
Most of these were yards that specialized in the construction of yachts and other
small pleasure and commercial vessels prior to the war. The vast majority of
these yards were located on the east coast (20), two were on the Gulf Coast, four
were on inland waterways (mainly the Hudson River), and six were on the Great
Lakes system. Of the eventual 441 subchasers delivered (seven were cancelled),
the first came off the ways in early 1917 and the last did not enter service until
August 1919. Unlike the Eagle boats, however, approximately 120 subchasers
did see service in European waters during the latter part of the war.
The Act of 1916 authorized a total of 67 submarines. The General Board
requested an additional 30 boats in August 1917, bringing the total to 97, some
90 of which were completed, although the last units were not delivered until
1925.40 These boats were of nine different designs, both private and government
The 51 “S” type boats, which encompassed five separate designs, accounted for
the largest group of submarines built for the U.S. Navy until World War II. The
principal private submarine builders were Lake Torpedo Boat Corporation of
Bridgeport, Connecticut (16 units), and Bethlehem’s Fore River (33 units) and
San Francisco (18 units) yards. The Navy invested in the Portsmouth Naval
Yard (14 units) as its sole design facility, but also built submarines at the Puget
Sound Naval Yard (six units).41
Beginning with the Naval Expansion Act of 1916 and continuing with
wartime programs in 1917 and 1918, the number of naval vessels authorized
totaled 1036 of all types. Of these, only 26 were major warships (10 battleships,
six battlecruisers, and 10 light cruisers). The majority were ASW vessels,
including 273 destroyers, 88 submarines, 448 subchasers, 112 Eagle boats, and
two gunboats. Supplementing these combatants were 54 minesweepers and 33
auxiliaries of various types. Owing to the change in wartime shipbuilding
priorities, none of the major warships was completed prior to the end of 1918. In
fact, only three (one battleship and two light cruisers) were even laid down by
the end of that year. Again, the bulk of the completions between 1917 and the
end of 1918 were ASW vessels. A total of 53 destroyers, 14 submarines, 411
subchasers, and seven Eagle boats were commissioned by the end of this time
period.42 Twenty-one of the minesweepers also entered service by the end of
1918. Discounting the large number of subchasers (which generally only took a
few months to construct), less than 10 percent of all naval vessels authorized
from 1916 through 1918 was actually completed prior to the end of 1918. Thus,
what can be said about America’s World War I naval shipbuilding effort is that
it had a much greater impact on the Navy’s force structure during the interwar
years and even World War II than it did on the conflict for which it was
intended.
World War I: The First Great Test 61

Capacity Expansion
Apart from the small ASW escort programs, the bulk of naval shipbuilding
undertaken as a result of the 1916–1918 authorization programs was
accomplished by existing, experienced private and naval shipyards. Thus, there
were no entirely new naval shipbuilders that emerged as a result of the increased
wartime demands. However, many of the existing naval shipbuilders did expand
their facilities and some even acquired new yards. Accompanying these material
improvements was a significant increase in the labor force employed by the
industry as a whole and at individual shipyards. Of the Naval Yards, the largest
by far was the New York Yard in Brooklyn. It added two new ways in 1917 and
its labor force reached a peak of over 18,000 by war’s end. The Navy Yards at
Philadelphia and Norfolk witnessed the greatest expansion of facilities with the
former adding a 1,020-foot dry dock in 1918 along with a 350-ton-capacity
crane and a new foundry capable of producing ship propellers. Improvements at
the latter yard were even more impressive, with three new dry docks, a 1,000-
foot graving dock, a 50-ton-capacity electric crane, a foundry, and new
workshops being added in 1917–1918. The labor forces of these two yards
increased commensurately, with Philadelphia’s reaching approximately 12,000
in 1918 and Norfolk’s topping out around 11,000. Improvements of lesser
magnitude were carried out at the Naval Yards at Portsmouth, Mare Island, and
Puget Sound.
The facilities and labor force expansion of private naval shipbuilders was no
less impressive. By war’s end, Cramp’s facilities had expanded to encompass
175 acres and eight building ways. Its labor force grew to nearly 11,000. With
the addition of two new ways and an increase in its labor force to nearly 20,000,
New York Shipbuilding would capture the title of world’s largest shipyard by
1919. Of all the private shipbuilders engaged in naval work at this time,
Bethlehem embarked on the largest expansion program. Charged with building
capital ships, destroyers, submarines, and merchant ships, the need to acquire
new facilities quickly became a necessity. As a result, Bethlehem expanded its
holdings on both coasts. Just around the bend from its Fore River Yard, it built
the Squantum Yard specifically to increase its capacity to build destroyers.
Begun in 1917 and completed the following year, this yard and its 16 ways
would eventually turn out 35 wartime-program vessels of this type. To
supplement the destroyer building capacity of its San Francisco Yard,
Bethlehem acquired the adjoining Risdon Iron Works facility that had been
engaged in building railroad locomotives. In addition, the company began
construction in 1916 of its Alameda Yard, which upon completion in 1917
served as a supplier of engineering and propulsion equipment for the San
Francisco Yard as well as turning out cargo ships on its six ways.
Although the expanded naval programs required a modest expansion of the
country’s shipbuilding industry, it was the urgent need for large numbers of
merchant marine cargo ships, tankers, and troops transports that precipitated the
greatest increases in shipyard capacity in America. In the years prior to the war
the United States had come to rely primarily on foreign merchant vessels to
62 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

carry its cargos around the world. As a result, the construction of merchant
vessels was modest at best. With the increased demand for merchant shipping
brought on both by the necessity to transport huge amounts of men and material
to Europe and to make good U-boat depredations, the American shipbuilding
industry’s capability to produce all types of merchant vessels had to increase,
and quickly. In anticipation of America’s inevitable entry into the conflict,
Congress passed the War Shipping Act of 1916, which authorized the federal
government to “acquire, construct and operate sufficient shipping to ensure
protection of national interests.” As a direct result of this act, the government,
through the Shipping Board, contracted with more than 50 different shipbuilding
firms operating nearly 75 shipyards and employing more than 250,000 workers
nationwide to construct between 1917 and 1919 nearly 1,200 merchant ships of
all types totaling approximately 5,491,000 gross tons.43 Apart from the
expansion of existing facilities and the acquisition of new facilities by many of
these private shipbuilders, of particular note was the construction of eight
“Emergency Ship Yards” by the government-run Emergency Fleet Corporation
to build merchant ships, primarily for the Shipping Board.44 More specifically,
these Emergency Yards were intended to facilitate the construction of
government-designed, standardized cargo ships, transports, and tankers. Some of
these yards were of entirely new construction, whereas others were expansions
of small, existing yards, and still others were developments undertaken by
existing private shipbuilders at the request of, and with funding from, the
government. Combined, these yards turned out in excess of 500 ships, although
most were not delivered until after the war. The largest and most famous of
them was the Hog Island Yard, developed by the American International
Shipbuilding Corporation. This yard encompassed an astonishing 50 ways on
nearly 850 acres along the shore of the Delaware River south of Philadelphia. Its
location, like that of two other emergency yards in the Delaware River
agglomeration and the one in the New York City agglomeration, provided ready
access to the steel mills of the northeast as well as to the abundant supplies of
labor and housing of these urbanized areas. The selection of the Pacific
Northwest as the site of four of the Emergency Yards marked a departure for the
government in terms of relying primarily on the large shipbuilding
agglomerations of the northeast to meet its needs. Although most of the
Emergency Yards would close after completing their wartime construction tasks,
the ships they produced would live on to assist America in another conflict some
twenty years later.
As a result of the expansion programs visited upon the navies, merchant
marines, and shipbuilding industries of Britain and America prior to and during
the war, a momentum was established that would carry all concerned into the
early part of the 1920s. Both warships and merchantmen were still coming off
the ways in both countries up until the early to mid-1920s. However, as we shall
see in the next chapter, the production and prosperity for the shipbuilders
involved would soon thereafter come to a swift and devastating conclusion that
would plunge the Anglo-American shipbuilding industries into a decade-long
period of decline.
World War I: The First Great Test 63

NOTES

1. For a review of the industry lifecycle as it comes to bear on shipbuilding, see Daniel
Todd, Industrial Dislocation: The Case of Global Shipbuilding (New York: Routledge,
1991), pp. 36–13.
2. Note Robert C. Estall, “Some Observations on the Internal Mobility of Investment
Capital,” Area, 4, 1972, pp. 193–198.
3. A review of the cyclical nature of shipping demand, both commercial and naval, is
found in Daniel Todd, The World Shipbuilding Industry (London: Croom Helm, 1985),
pp. 205–252.
4. A succinct account of the situation obtaining in these years is presented in Paul G.
Halpern, A Naval History of World War I (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1994),
pp. 1–20, and Michael Lindberg and Daniel Todd, Brown-, Green- and Blue-Water
Fleets: The Influence of Geography on Naval Warfare, 1861 to the Present (Westport:
Praeger, 2002), pp. 85–94.
5. See of Director of Naval Construction Department, “Warship Construction During
the 1914–1918 War,” Public Record Office (PRO), File ADM. 1/8547/340, Kew, London,
p. 3.
6. The revival of the Dockyards was not without controversy, because many observers
questioned their ability to provide “value for money.” Overhead charges in particular
were seen as excessive in government establishments. Dismay at uncompetitive prices,
imputed to Dockyard inefficiencies, led the Admiralty in the late 1880s to dramatically
raise the amount of work contracted out to private shipbuilders. In all fairness, however,
the Dockyards were taken in hand in the 1890s, rendering possible major improvements
in both cost and building time after the turn of the century. Arguably, dreadnoughts built
in the Dockyards cost the taxpayer no more than their sisters coming down the ways of
private yards. Refer to I M. Haas, A Management Odyssey: The Royal Dockyards, 1714–
1914 (Lanham,MD: University Press of America, 1994), pp. 160–177.
7. See Sidney Pollard, “The Economic History of British Shipbuilding, 1870–1914”
(Ph.D. dis., University of London, 1951), p. 497. Incidentally, it is puzzling to account
for Pollard’s inclusion of Henderson among the warship builders. The firm, which
inherited the Meadowside Yard of Tod & MacGregor, was known mainly for the ships it
built for the Anchor Line. It only seriously engaged in warship work after the outbreak of
war, when it was brought into the program of constructing escort vessels.
8. Palmers’ yard, responsible for all three, had survived a salutary lesson in contracting
for battleships. Keen to profit from the flood of orders released by the Naval Defense Act
of 1889, it had resolved to win orders for two battleships at almost any price, resorting to
a policy of underbidding. The below-cost tenders, although successful in gaining the
orders in 1891, returned to haunt the company in the next few years, driving it to the
verge of bankruptcy. Refer to Lindberg and Todd, Brown-, Green- and Blue-Water
Fleets, p. 119.
9. Figures compiled by Sidney Pollard and contained in National Maritime Museum
(NMM), Shipbuilders and Repairers National Association (SRNA) File S20, Greenwich,
London.
10. The peak declines in U.K. tonnage under construction were recorded during the
second quarter of 1905 and the third quarter of 1910. See F. Cyril James, “Cyclical
Fluctuations in the Shipping and Shipbuilding Industries”, (Ph.D. dis., University of
Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 1927), p. 47.
64 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

11. In 1914 the Clyde produced a reduced total of 460,000 tons of merchant shipping.
Note W. R. Scott, The Industries of the Clyde Valley during the War (Oxford: Clarendon,
1924), pp. 77–84.
12. Hawthorn Leslie’s introduction to Admiralty work, the cruiser Bellona of 1890,
had been less than auspicious, invoking severe losses. Returning to warship work in
1895, the company confined its attention for many years to destroyers, earning reasonable
profits. All but 3 of its 28 destroyer contracts were profitable; in contrast, 21 of 104
merchant vessels made losses. Swan Hunter had experimented with warship building in
the 1880s, with 3 cruisers for Russia. It was not until 1908, however, that it began
building for the Royal Navy, initially limiting its interest to destroyers. See David
Dougan, The History of North East Shipbuilding, (London: George Allen and Unwin,
1968), pp. 94–95, and J. F. Clarke, Power on Land and Sea: 160 Years of Industrial
Enterprise on Tyneside (Newcastle: Smith Print Group, 1977), p. 65.
13. John Samuel White had earned a name for himself in the 1860s, constructing steam
pinnaces for the Royal Navy. In 1881 White turned these skills to good account, building
a pinnace armed with a Whitehead torpedo, the forerunner of many Navy torpedo boats
and the ancestor of the torpedo-boat destroyer. See David L. Williams, White’s of Cowes
(Peterborough: Silver Link, 1993), pp. 35–36.
14. The first stirrings of the rebirth are examined in Benjamin F. Cooling, Benjamin
Franklin Tracy: Father of the Modern American Fighting Navy (Hamden, CT: Archon,
1973).
15. Early contractors receive an airing in Benjamin F. Cooling, Gray Steel and Blue
Water Navy: The Formative Years of America’s Military–Industrial Complex, 1881–1917
(Hamden, CT: Archon, 1979), pp. 134–135.
16. See Jacob Goodwin, Brotherhood of Arms: General Dynamics and the Business of
Defending America (New York: Times Books, 1985), pp. 37–43.
17. The profitability of armor contracts is explored in Johannes R. Lischka, “Armor
Plate: Nickel and Steel, Monopoly and Profit”, in B. F. Cooling (ed), War, Business, and
American Society: Historical Perspectives on the Military–Industrial Complex (Port
Washington, NY: Kennikat, 1977), pp. 43–58.
18. The sorry tale is recounted in William Z. Ripley (ed.), Trusts, Pools and
Corporations (Boston: Ginn, 1905), pp. 182–217, and Robert Hessen, Steel Titan: The
Life of Charles M. Schwab, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1975), pp. 145–162.
19. Ralph L. Snow, Bath Iron Works: The First Hundred Years (Bath: Maine Laritime
Museum, 1953), pp. 136–142.
20. A valuable review of the Navy before, during, and immediately after the war is
presented in Randal Gray (ed.), Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships, 1906–1921
(London: Conway, 1985), pp. 105–108.
21. Simon Lake was a contemporary of John Holland and almost his equal as a
submarine innovator. He established a yard at Bridgeport, Connecticut, in 1900. Note
Robert J. Winklareth, Naval Shipbuilders of the World: From the Age of Sale to the
Present Day (London: Chatham), pp. 179–180.
22. At the beginning of the war, the main naval contractors were taken under
Admiralty charge. With the passage of the Munitions of War Act, 1915, all other
shipyards came under government control. A Ministry of Shipping, complete with a
Shipping Controller with power over the yards, was formed in 1916 to expedite the
production of cargo ships. In May 1917 authority over the shipyards reverted to the
Admiralty in the person of the Navy Controller. Shipping controls were not finally lifted
until April 1921. For a brief overview of them, refer to Michael Davies, Belief in the Sea:
State Encouragement of British Merchant Shipping and Shipbuilding (London: Lloyd’s
of London Press, 1992), pp. 101–105.
World War I: The First Great Test 65

23. Harland & Wolff acquired the Govan yard in 1912. In its previous guise as the
London & Glasgow Engineering and Iron Shipbuilding Company, the Govan yard had
regularly indulged in naval construction. In fact, it had absorbed the celebrated Napier
yard in 1905. See Michael Moss and John R. Hume, Shipbuilders to the World: 125
Years of Harland and Wolff, Belfast 1861–1986 (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1986), pp. 175–187.
24. The Director of Naval Construction Department, ADM. 1/8547/340, pp. 210–212.
25. The numbers are compiled in D. K. Brown, A Century of Naval Construction: The
History of the Royal Corps of Naval Constructors 1883–1983 (London: Conway, 1983),
pp. 121–122.
26. Records are incomplete. That number is offered in Hugh Lyon, “The Relations
between the Admiralty and Private Industry in the Development of Warships”, in Bryan
Ranft (ed.), Technical Change and British Naval Policy 1860–1939 (London: Hodder and
Stoughton, 1977), pp. 37–64.
27. Scott, Industries of the Clyde Valley, pp. 74–77.
28. See T. H. Bainbridge, “Barrow in Furness: A Population Study,” Economic
Geography, 15, no. 3, 1939, pp. 379–383.
29. Chepstow had built barges and lighters, the products of Edward Finch’s yard
(which was incorporated into the Standard Shipbuilding venture). In 1913 Finch’s output
totaled 2,000 tons. See Shipbuilder, August 1916, pp. 52–53.
30. A description of standard ships is found in P. N. Thomas, British Ocean Tramps,
vol.1 Builders & Cargoes (Wolverhampton: Waine, 1992), pp. 54–60.
31. The National Shipyards saga can be traced through The Shipbuilder issues of
October 1917 (p. 143), November 1917 (p. 153), December 1917 (p. 212), January 1918
(p. 5), May 1918 (pp. 256–257), August 1918 (p. 38), and October 1919 (p. 203).
32. Described in Norman L. Middlemiss, British Shipbuilding Yards, vol.3, Belfast,
Merseyside, Barrow and all Other Areas (Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Shield, 1995), pp. 19–
21.
33. Gray’s naval output consisted of four monitors, four ASW vessels, and five
Admiralty tankers. It also built nineteen standard ships for the Shipping Controller. Refer
to Bert Spaldin, Shipbuilders of the Hartlepools (Hartlepool: Borough Council, 1986), p.
89.
34. Details of these yards can be found in Todd, World Shipbuilding Industry, pp. 110–
117.
35. In fact, the new yard was just south of the Low Walker yard inherited from Charles
Mitchell. See Warren, Armstrongs of Elswick: Growth in Engineering and Armaments to
the Merger with Vickers (London: Macmillian, 1989), pp. 133–136.
36. Furness Shipbuilding was the brainchild of the Furness family, who had been
shipowners and shipbuilders in Hartlepool. However, in 1917 they withdrew from
shipbuilding to concentrate on shipowning. Almost immediately, Marmaduke Furness
succumbed to second thoughts, reentering shipbuilding by courtesy of the new yard.
Refer to J. F. Clarke, Building Ships on the North-East Coast, Part 2, c.1914–c.1980
(Whitley Bay: Bewick Press, 1997), pp. 209–212.
37. A full description is provided in Shipbuilder, January 1920, pp. 6–11.
38. Thomas, British Ocean Tramps, p.59.
39. Submarines were considered a prime ASW weapon in World War I.
40. These included boats of the O, R, S, and V types.
41. Three boats, SS75–77, were laid down at the California Shipbuilding Corporation
of Los Angeles, but were completed at the Mare Island Naval Yard.
42. Of the 53 DDs, 14 entered service after the Armistice as did 3 of the SSs and 6 of
the SCs. All 7 of the Eagle boats were commissioned in late October or early November
1918.
66 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

43. See “The Shipbuilding Business in the U.S.A”, vol. I, Chapter 3, SNAME, New
York, 1948.
44. These Emergency Yards were the Submarine Boat Corporation established by
Electric Boat in Newark, New Jersey; the Hog Island Yard of the American International
Shipbuilding Corporation, and two yards operated by the Merchant Shipbuilding
Corporation, one at Chester and the other at Bristol, Pennsylvania; Skinner & Eddy and
J.F. Duthie & Company of Seattle; Northwest Steel and Columbia River Shipbuilding, of
Portland, Oregon.
 3

The Interwar Years and the Eve of War

THE DECLINE STAMPING THE INTERWAR YEARS
The years immediately following the Armistice saw Anglo-American
shipbuilders engrossed in finishing wartime naval and merchant marine
expansion programs. Work levels actually continued to grow. Capital ship
construction was resumed, new ships were laid down. The future looked bright.
However, events were soon to take a dramatic turn. Public war weariness,
Wilsonian idealism in the wake of the Versailles Treaty, and an ever increasing
concern by the Europeans and Japanese about further U.S. naval expansion set
the stage for a series of naval arms limitations conferences that would impact
not only the navies of the world, but their supporting shipbuilding industries as
well. The first of these conferences was the Washington Naval Conference of
1921, which produced the Five Powers Naval Treaty that took effect in August
1923. This was followed by the League of Nations Naval Disarmament
Conference in 1925 and the failed Geneva Naval Limitations Conference of
1927. The final round of naval limitations negotiations undertaken at the London
Naval Conference produced the London Naval Treaty of 1930.1 Thus, from 1923
until the expiration of the treaty limitations on December 31, 1936, the world’s
major navies were regulated by international treaties designed to restrain their
expansion and also keep them in balance with one another. Specifically, these
limitations regulated the tonnage (both total and that of individual ships),
weaponry, and numbers of capital ships, aircraft carriers, cruisers, destroyers,
and submarines. Furthermore, ratios of capital ships and cruisers were
established among the five major naval powers (United States, Great Britain,
France, Italy, and Japan).
As will be elaborated on in this chapter, the navies and shipbuilding industries
of Great Britain and the United States were impacted most by these limitation
treaties. Not only did they restrict the construction of new naval vessels (to the
point that in some of the interwar years no naval vessels were delivered), but
they necessitated the deletion of existing ships and the cancellation of numerous
68 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

ships that had been laid down under the wartime expansion program, especially
in the United States Shipbuilders that had experienced tremendous growth and
had made their livelihoods from naval construction prior to and during the war
would struggle to survive the interwar years. Many of them would succumb to
the dearth of naval orders, either leaving the business and turning to other
industrial endeavors or shutting their doors altogether. In fact, between 1923 and
1935, Anglo-American naval shipbuilding would reach such unprecedented low
levels of production that it would necessitate an equally unprecedented
reconstitution of both countries naval shipbuilding industries in the years
immediately preceding World War II. Among the specific aspects of the
industry that would suffer significant losses during this period were overall
building capacity (number of ways available), design capabilities as a result of
naval architects and draftsmen leaving the business, and cranage and outfitting
equipment that was sold off or dismantled. Perhaps the greatest blow suffered by
the industry was the overall loss of shipyard labor, especially skilled workers,
many of whom left the industry never to return. Employment levels in the
industry would reach record low levels by the early 1930s. Industries ancillary
to naval shipbuilding did not fare well during this period either. Producers of
marine propulsion and engineering equipment, armor producers, steel casting
and forging firms, and even steel manufactures all suffered as a result of the
downturn in the shipbuilding industry. These negative impacts were
disproportionately felt in the major and minor shipbuilding agglomerations in
both countries that had developed prior to and during the war. Most of these
agglomerations would survive, however, albeit on reduced scales, which is more
than can be said of some of the smaller, geographically independent yards that
had sprung up to support the wartime expansion programs. The combined
realities of demand instability, excess capacity, and a global economic
depression nearly crippled the naval shipbuilding industry in both countries
during the interwar years and created a situation where both the British and
American governments would have to increase their involvement in the industry
to unaccustomed levels in order to revive it. We now turn our attention to the
specifics of this period in Britain and the United States.

BRITISH WOES
British shipbuilding felt keenly the changes in the wider environment that
took hold shortly after the end of the First World War and continued through to
the outbreak of the Second World War. Two students of the industry sum up the
outcome of those changes in a memorable sentence: “Given the capacity
reductions of the 1930s, the fact that the industry could rise at all to the demands
of ‘total war’ was little short of amazing.”2 Clearly, the period occupying the
interwar years was the most trying, because “new shipbuilding” had entered the
adolescence stage. In a cruel irony, the shortfall in capacity confronting war
planners after 1939 had arisen just as the industry was emerging from a
prolonged bout of capacity suppression. Indeed, excess capacity was the most
annoying and not the least alarming feature of the entire period prior to the
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 69

emergency. It was the root of a range of problems afflicting shipbuilders. Slaven

enlarges on the connections between the problems, all the consequence of too
much capacity:

“The need to deliver orders in time, and sooner than competitors, encouraged individual
yards to retain more labour than could usefully be employed at all stages of construction,
thus leading to at least periodic overmanning. The unpredictability of orders also
persuaded yards to retain a whole range of berth sizes, keeping in existence tonnage
capacities far beyond available orders. Further, the low load factors in relation to existing
capacity meant a heavy burden of capital investment in relation to earnings.”3

In other words, the industry’s tendency to support excess capacity was self-
perpetuating. It gave rise to a situation in which shipbuilders, the retainers of too
much capacity, chased after orders at almost any cost. That, in turn, had the
inevitable outcome of fatally weakening many of them individually while
collectively impairing the structure of the industry. Demand instability,
notoriously prejudicial to the economic health of individual shipbuilders, had
almost irrevocably blighted the industry as a whole when markets belatedly
turned upward in the latter part of the 1930s. Bad as the situation had appeared
to shipbuilders in the 1920s, it was to become downright disastrous in the early
1930s, jeopardizing their very survival. As it was, attrition had sharply reduced
their numbers in the first decade after the war, yet the main yards had managed
to weather the squalls of market fluctuations. The storms that were to batter
them after markets collapsed in 1929, however, threatened to sink even the
largest firms. Against all odds, the chief players persisted in staying afloat—or
at least a hard core of them did—but they presented a sorry and most
unpromising spectacle to government officials anxious to preserve a base for
expansion in the event of hostilities. By 1935 the leading shipbuilders presided
over an industry that was just a shadow of its 1918 self, an industry in which the
links promoting integration—so vital to the naval contractors—had been
jettisoned as part of the price of survival. Because shipbuilding relies on
autonomous demand residing in the merchant and naval circles beyond its
control, it is to demand that we must look to discover how matters stood in this
environment of change.
Shipowners and the Admiralty were alike beset by unprecedented conditions
at the conclusion of the Great War and, because they paid the piper, they called
the tune with regard to shipbuilding. Let us first focus on the shipowners,
because their actions commanded the attention of most shipbuilders. Output of
merchant shipping climaxed at 2,055,000 gross tons in 1920, some 142,000 tons
higher than the previous record set in 1913. However, this prodigious production
achievement was grossly misleading, for demand had already leveled off and
was incapable of sustaining an output greater than 1.538 million tons in the
following year. Output fluctuations characterized the remainder of the 1920s.
From the highs of 1920–1921, launchings in the succeeding five years only
managed an annual average of 968,000 gross tons. Some ground was regained in
the next few years, with 1929–1930 noteworthy in seeing annual tonnages
70 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

restored to the 1.5 million mark. Output plunged, however, with the onset of the
Great Depression, the nadir occurring in 1933 when a meager 133,100 gross
tons left the ways. A revival of sorts was staged in the second half of the
1930s—as can be elicited from Table 3.1—but merchant output in 1938 still fell
far short of its 1930 level, to say nothing of its 1920 level.4 All this turmoil was
taking place in an industry that was appreciably larger than it had been on the
eve of the Great War (when combined merchant and naval capacity equaled
roughly 3 million tons). Consequently, many more yards were chasing whatever
orders were in the offing. To add insult to injury, British shipowners were now
more inclined to forsake domestic yards for foreign competitors, enticed by the
attractive prices offered by new yards in Scandinavia and Holland (and the
revived yards in Germany, desperate for hard currency). This overseas capacity,
together with additional yards in Japan and of course the United States, served
not just to “steal” British orders from British yards, but also deprived British
yards of their former export outlets in those countries. Table 3.2 sheds light on
the export market for merchant ships. In the decade preceding World War I
British yards would typically sell more than 300,000 gross tons of export
shipping in any given year, earning about 6 million pounds for their trouble.
Postwar records (unavailable before 1925) suggest a markedly different
situation. At first, export tonnages prevail that are about half the prewar level
(the monetary values of these sales are not directly comparable with pre-1914
sales owing to severe wartime inflation), but then climb dramatically in the late
1920s, peaking at 656,000 gross tons in 1930. At that level they accounted for
44 percent of all British merchant output in 1930. Thereafter, market
deterioration turns into market evaporation. In short order, export shipping
diminishes to as little as 38,000 gross tons in 1934, and its subsequent recovery
can best be described as feeble.5 The combination of demand downturn and
heightened competition at home and abroad had a doleful effect on ship prices,
and the resultant underbidding took its toll on yard profitability. To make
matters worse, a glut of emergency tonnage was released by the government
onto the market, dampening the desire for new construction on the part of the
shipowners. Replacement demand thus vanished once the immediate needs of
liner operators (who could not use standard ships) had been fulfilled. Because
the emergency tonnage was fresh off the ways it would not need replacing until
the early 1940s, effectively destroying the normal replacement cycle in which
yards could bet on a steady stream of orders to compensate for annual
retirements of time-expired ships.6
After the first flush of optimism, yards soon began to falter. Foremost among
them were those that had been founded in the war on the promise of bountiful
postwar replacement work. Finding that distance from the Tyne rendered close
supervision impossible, Swan Hunter disposed of its Londonderry subsidiary,
but then proceeded to close its Southwick branch even though this yard was
located only as far away as the Wear.7 Both Wearside yards of Hartlepool’s
William Gray were closed at the same time, as was that firm’s barely complete
Graythorp-on-Tees facility. The Leith firm of Henry Robb, operating on
Scotland’s East Coast, cut its Arbroath yard, and Vickers also abandoned
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 71

Table 3.1
U.K. Shipbuilding Output, 1929–38

Source: PRO, CAB102/441, Appendix 1, Table 5

Eastern Scotland when it withdrew from Alloa.8 The fact that the shipbuilders
felt compelled to institute cutbacks in the early 1920s after just undergoing
reorganizations based on acquisitions hints at the severity of the downturn. The
acquisitions, justified in the name of integration, had been undertaken to
reinforce the position of the chief players. Reminiscent of the steps taken by the
arms manufacturers a generation earlier, some of these involved the coalescing
of steel and shipbuilding.9 Vertical integration of this stamp was supposed to
guarantee plate supplies to the yards in an era of anticipated steel shortages. A
seemingly logical strategy, the linkage proved unworkable in practice, the victim
of shrinking markets in both sectors. The same straitened circumstances
undermined the attempts made to forge horizontally integrated shipbuilding
groups. The most ambitious of these ventures revolved round Northumberland
Shipbuilding of Howdon, an unexceptional Tyneside producer respected for its
long series of semistandard steam tramps and owned until 1918 by the Furness
family. Thereafter, though, Northumberland Shipbuilding became entangled in
the machinations of its new owners; namely, Belfast’s Workman, Clark
shipbuilder and London merchant banks. Little time elapsed before they had
contrived to join the Belfast yard with Doxford of Sunderland, Irvine’s of
Hartlepool, Fairfield and Blythswood on the Clyde, and the Monmouth
Shipbuilding Company, all under the Northumberland banner.10 The last
enterprise is more familiar to us as Chepstow’s National Shipyard.11 What befell
the Chepstow yard is worth recounting, because its fall from grace paralleled
that of Northumberland (which succumbed to receivership in 1926) and indeed
72 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Table 3.2
U.K. Ship Exports, 1905–37

1
Naval tonnage measured in gross tons to 1927, disp. tonnage thereafter.
Source: NMM, Shipbuilding Employers’ Federation, “Position of Shipbuilding Industry,” Pamphlet,
January 1937, and H. M. Hallsworth, “Shipbuilding.” In J. H. Jones (ed.), Britain in Recovery.
(London: Pitman, 1938), pp. 347, 359.

much of British shipbuilding. Chepstow, it will be recalled, had stood as a

symbol to the state’s commitment to standard ships. The existence of Chepstow
also argued in favor of industrial maturity grounded in new process technology,
and as such was judged to have a future in a privatized postwar environment. Its
worthiness was largely an act of faith, subject of course to the yard being able to
earn its keep. At any rate, the government, wishing to redeem its pledge to quit
nonnaval shipbuilding, signed over the yard to Monmouth Shipbuilding in 1920,
allowing the new entity to complete six ships for the Shipping Controller
(including one from Beachley, the sole product of that eight-berth yard).
Chepstow went on to produce a half-dozen Type N ships for foreign owners in
1921, three barges in 1922, and a single tanker in 1923, whereupon new
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 73

construction petered out. Upon its inauguration, Monmouth was taken into the
Northumberland fold. Its workforce had been inveigled into accepting wage cuts
(putting them on a par with North-East Coast workers), but this concession
availed them little, for the expected order windfall failed to materialize. Initially,
the change appeared auspicious, the new owners making good the voids in the
plant inherited from the government.12 In what seemed like the blink of an eye,
however, the yard’s prospects dissipated, mounting costs forcing its transfer to
group member Fairfield in 1924. Putting a brave face on it, Fairfield announced
that it would use Chepstow both as a shipyard and as a factory for fabricating
constructional steel and railway wagons. In practice, Fairfield was reduced to
cutting operations to the bone. For years the berths were kept in suspended
animation (Beachley was quickly abandoned) and only a skeleton workforce
was retained. By 1926 the yard’s shipbuilding potential was no longer credible,
for in that year Chepstow devoted all its resources to making railcars and steel
bridges. A portent of the de facto relinquishment of shipbuilding occurred in
1925 when Fairfield began selling off cranes, caulking hammers, and other
shipyard equipment in a forlorn attempt to generate some revenues from the
facility.13
Before 1914 the fickle behavior of shipowners held no terrors for the warship
yards. They were fully engaged pandering to the insatiable demand of
governments for more warships. All that changed in 1921 with the inception of
arms limitation accords. Gone was the steady diet of naval orders; gone, too,
was the chance to profit from all the appurtenances of those orders: the armor,
gun mountings, and guns themselves. By 1930 warship tonnage under
construction had contracted to a level barely one-seventh of what it had been in
1913.14 In fact, in the entire 1922–1931 span Vickers’ Barrow yard managed to
launch one cruiser, four destroyers, and 11 submarines for a grand total of
31,228 displaced tons, a record that paled in comparison with the ten years
1904–1913, when four dreadnoughts, four cruisers, four destroyers, and 55
submarines—aggregating to 143,804 displaced tons—were launched for the
Royal Navy. The great rival of Vickers—and partner from 1927—was
Armstrong Whitworth, and this firm performed even more dismally: the five
dreadnoughts, six cruisers, and a destroyer that came off Tyne ways in the
decade before the Great War were offset in the ten years beginning in 1922 with
the production of a solitary battleship. In other words, Armstrong’s had to rest
content with postwar activity amounting to 33,500 displaced tons instead of the
149,102 displaced tons with which it had been preoccupied in its prewar halcyon
days. These savage cuts were repeated across the warship firms. John Brown,
for example, found itself summarily deprived of Admiralty work in 1919 when
five destroyers were cancelled, and had to endure a decade in the wilderness
before Clydebank saw their like again.15 Table 3.1 shows that the dire situation
obtaining in 1930 did not improve markedly until 1934, when rearmament began
to take hold. Nor could producers look with confidence to export markets. As
Table 3.2 indicates, these could be paltry in some years and reasonably plentiful
in others, suggesting a regime of “feast or famine” for the shipbuilders. It is
important to set aside monetary earnings and concentrate on tonnage sales when
74 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

comparing exports before 1914 with those of the interwar period, although on a
ton-for-ton basis it is important not to overlook the fact that warship exports
were far more remunerative to the shipyards than exports of merchantmen.
Evidently, the latter never equaled the peak prewar level (of 31,000 gross tons in
1910) in any given year, although 1928 did prove to be a banner year, with
21,000 gross tons (gross tons) of export warships. Being deprived of a
sufficiency of warship work was nothing short of a full-scale crisis for the
warship firms. They became desperate to find something to arrest the decline of
their main business and that something included the pursuit of merchant
shipbuilding as well as a host of other diversification measures. Thus they found
themselves vying with the merchant yards, and generally coming off badly in
the contest. Some managed to win orders for passenger liners while the market
for such tonnage remained buoyant, but by and large their overhead costs were
too high to permit them to compete effectively in the markets for cargo ships.
John Brown, forever associated in the public mind with Cunard’s “Queen” liners
of the 1930s, outstripped the other warship producers in aggressively seeking
passenger-ship work, but its apparent success glossed over serious pitfalls, for
only three of the twenty-three merchant ships it landed between 1922 and 1928
returned profits and these were far too small to offset the losses incurred on the
remainder.16 Worse still, the orders that fell to the naval contractors were
conspicuously inadequate when it came to fully employing their workers and
plant. On the face of it, a merchant ship of a given tonnage should represent the
same amount of work to a shipbuilder as a warship of equivalent size, but this
assumption is very far from the truth. By one reckoning, a single cruiser was
equivalent in terms of work to 20 cargo ships of approximately the same size
(8,000 tons).17 The disproportionate importance of warships not only applied to
the yards, but extended back to the material suppliers. It has been calculated, for
example, that a cruiser of 10,000 displaced tons requires 10,000 tons of carbon
and alloy steels for her hull and machinery and another 5,400 tons for her armor
and guns. Contrast that 15,400 tons for the warship with the modest 3,500 tons
built into a cargo vessel of 10,000 gross tons and the relevance of naval orders to
the steel industry becomes crystal clear.18
Diversification, then, seemed to lie in other directions. Locomotive building,
car manufacturing, and the making of precision machinery, paper, and aircraft
were all tried, but at the end of the day they were found wanting because they
had little use for the firms’ shipbuilding plant. The first concerted attempt to
address the problem was accomplished through the merger of Vickers and
Armstrong Whitworth in 1927. The object of the exercise was to save naval
capacity at Barrow and on the Tyne, albeit in sharply curtailed form, by ridding
the combined Vickers-Armstrongs of its Low Walker merchant yard (which
continued in existence for a few more years under the Armstrong Whitworth
title). The opportunity was taken at the same time to discard the formerly prized
arms factories at Crayford and Weybridge (belonging to Vickers), Scotswood,
Elswick, and Openshaw (bequeathed by Armstrong’s). However, the future of
Vickers-Armstrongs’ naval capacity still hung in the balance, so in 1929 the
decision was made to separate the firm from steel making. English Steel
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 75

Corporation was formed, unifying the steel works of Vickers-Armstrongs (at

Sheffield, Elswick, and Openshaw) with those of Cammell Laird (at Sheffield
and Penistone).19 In shedding its backward link to steel, Cammell’s was thus
induced to follow the lead of Vickers-Armstrongs and concentrate on
shipbuilding. John Brown resisted this tendency, retaining both its Sheffield
steel works and its Clydebank yard. However, its capabilities did not escape
unscathed, for it was forced to give up its plant for gun forgings. Beardmore,
striving to avoid collapse, chose to pin its hopes on the steel side, keeping its
Parkhead Forge and closing (in 1930) its Dalmuir yard. Ironically, by the
standards of the day Dalmuir had been fairly busy with naval work in 1929,
outfitting a cruiser and two submarines. However, this activity fell far short of
filling the large Naval Construction Works, and the government’s cancellation
of a submarine order late in that year (through no fault of the contractor) proved
to be the last straw.20 A sobering review of naval capacity, undertaken in 1933
when the disintegration process had run its course, concluded that only Vickers-
Armstrongs had the capacity to fulfill the Admiralty’s needs.21 This finding was
highly disconcerting to the Admiralty, for it could take little comfort from the
capacity resident in the Royal Dockyards. Despite fighting tooth and nail to
prevent their closure (only Pembroke Dock of the building yards was closed, in
1926) and then keeping them serviceable through the generous allocation of refit
work, the Admiralty could not pretend to have in the Dockyards a resource equal
to that which had once existed in private industry.22 For one thing, the
Dockyards were never as lavishly equipped as the integrated arms firms, lacking
plant for making guns and their mountings, to say nothing of propulsion
machinery (which, except for submarine engines made at Chatham, had to be
bought from contractors). For another, their building facilities had not been
enlarged to accommodate the new generation of capital ships; for a third, they
would be overwhelmed with repair work in the event of war, with little energy
to spare for new construction.
It should not be imagined that government had been indifferent to the
industry’s fate. At the industry’s behest it had guaranteed loans from 1921 to
1927 under the rubric of the Trade Facilities Acts. In their maritime guise these
both stimulated demand for ships and covered capital costs for shipbuilding.23
However, do what it might government could not shake off the industry’s
lethargy. The 110 ships of 850,000 gross tons spawned by the Acts, although
undoubtedly constituting a useful stimulant, were too few to execute a wholesale
turnaround in the industry’s fortunes. So, in what many construed as a
questionable act of desperation, the shipbuilders themselves devised a
comprehensive scheme for tackling the problem of excess capacity. The upshot,
National Shipbuilders’ Security (NSS), was created in 1930 with the express
purpose of buying redundant yards and permanently extinguishing them.24 Alive
to the further restrictions placed on naval shipbuilding by the London Naval
Treaty, NSS set about its task with grim determination, sparing neither merchant
nor warship capacity. First to fall into its clutches was the Naval Construction
Works. This, as mentioned, had been sacrificed to permit the survival of the rest
of Beardmore (although the firm’s marine-engineering works did not last
76 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

beyond 1934). The extinction of Dalmuir was a savage blow to those perturbed
about the preservation of naval capacity, but worse was to follow, for in 1934
NSS acquired Palmers and proceeded to dismantle its Tyne complex at Jarrow
and Hebburn. Palmers had been responsible for some of the Royal Navy’s finest
combatants. Altogether, NSS “sterilized” 216 building berths in the years to
1939, representing 1,411,500 gross tons of shipbuilding capacity. The United
Kingdom had boasted 1,013 berths with a capacity of 4,286,000 gross tons in
1920 and had suffered the wastage of 206 of them, accounting for 389,500 gross
tons of capacity, in the decade prior to the formation of the rationalization
body.25 Consequently, NSS expunged 36 percent of the 3,896,500 gross tons of
capacity available to the industry in 1930, leaving planners with a residual 591
berths amounting to 2,485,000 gross tons of capacity at the outbreak of war. As
Map 3.1 evinces, the two chief agglomerations bore the brunt of the closures.
The greater Clyde area lost 11 yards accounting for 488,000 gross tons of
capacity. The price exacted on the North-East Coast was larger still: 19 yards of
732,000 gross tons. Among the outports hit was Chepstow, with NSS expunging
nine berths or 40,000 tons of capacity.26 Much of this lost capacity caused little
stir in naval circles, for it involved shipyards geared in the main to tramp
shipping, but more percipient officials looked askance at the removal of some
yards that had proved their worth in the late war. Besides Beardmore and
Palmers, the Earle’s yard at Hull had once been a significant warship supplier,
and Armstrong Whitworth’s Low Walker yard had began life as the famous
Mitchell enterprise.
The activities of NSS in the agglomerations bore witness to the upheaval
occurring in them, and yet the cutbacks were endemic, affecting the far-flung
outliers of shipbuilding just as much as the cores. Indeed, Parkinson insists that
yard failures were “fairly evenly spread in their geographical impact and made
no lasting impression on the distribution of output.”27 Although this view might
hold for the generality of shipbuilding over the long run, it certainly did not
apply to shipbuilding—particularly naval shipbuilding—during the years
connecting World War I with World War II. Selecting Scotland for special
scrutiny, Buxton not only showed that the Clyde secured a greater share of
national merchant output in the interwar period than had been customary before
1914, but that, within Scotland, the East Coast outports tended to gain share at
the expense of the Clyde. Buxton adduced technical factors for these changes;
specifically, on the one hand, the Clyde’s greater predisposition to specialize in
liners than the tramp-leaning North-East Coast, and on the other, the Scottish
East Coast’s predilection for smaller vessels than the Clyde, vessels less prone
to cyclical demand swings.28 In other words, shipbuilding specialization was
discernible and acted rather to add to than to detract from regional
competitiveness.
Nowhere was this more apparent than in naval construction. A regional
breakdown of naval construction serves to alert us to the instability attending
competitiveness. To begin with, let us confine our attention to the two leading
agglomerations. In order to gain perspective we will compare them on the basis
of periods corresponding to trends in warship production; namely, the prewar
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 77

Map 3.1
Rationalization of Shipbuilding Capacity by National Shipbuilders’ Security

Douglas Fast

buildup of 1895–1914, the wartime expansion of 1915–1919, and the interwar

instability of 1920–1939. Table 3.3 provides the reference data for our
comparison.29 Granted the steadily diminishing output, it is the proportionate
shares that warrant examination. The Clyde’s share had surged in the war, rising
to 43 percent of national output from the 28 percent that it had sequestered in the
prewar buildup. In the interwar period, however, the Clyde’s share deflated to
just over one-fifth of national output. The North-East Coast (to all intents, the
Tyne) saw its prewar share of 11 percent more than double to almost 28 percent
during the war before dropping to a one-quarter share in the interlude between
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 79

the wars. In short, the North-East Coast performed comparatively better than the
Clyde in the bitter interwar years. Turning further afield, the miniagglomerations
based on the Royal Dockyards (the Solent centered on Portsmouth, the Medway
revolving round Chatham, and the South West oriented to Devonport) all
buttressed their relative shares during the interwar period, testimony to the
Admiralty’s determination to preserve them at all costs. Perhaps surprising in
view of the storms buffeting them, the miniagglomerations containing the
private arms complexes—the Mersey (Cammell Laird) and Barrow (Vickers)—
also contrived to hold their ground; indeed, to strengthen it in relative terms. The
Mersey not only managed to outdo its wartime record in the interwar years, but
it also bettered its prewar performance, and by a considerable margin. Clearly,
the miniagglomerations of both stripes were flourishing (if such a word can be
used in an era of absolute decline) to the detriment of the two principal
agglomerations. Belfast, a latecomer to naval construction, retained a
respectable 4-percent share, but the Scottish East Coast scarcely merited notice
in the naval sector.
The comparative success of the miniagglomerations can be partly attributed to
their canvassing of government on the grounds of severe localized
unemployment and the social distress brought in its train. Belfast’s Harland &
Wolff was able to persuade the Northern Ireland government of its need for
special treatment throughout much of the interwar period. Indeed, its receipt of
loan guarantees saw it through a difficult patch in the early 1930s, when
bankruptcy was a very real possibility.30 Because its economy rested on a
narrower base, Barrow stood to lose far more than Belfast in the event of the
closure of its shipbuilding complex. In common with Harland’s and other
shipbuilding firms, Vickers could clamor for measures geared to boosting
demand for merchant ships—measures made manifest through the Trade
Facilities Acts—but unlike other yards, it could point to its special importance to
the Admiralty. Not only was Vickers almost unique as a repository of submarine
expertise, it offered an integrated armaments complex at Barrow second to none.
Barrow’s geographical isolation prevented its population from seeking
alternative work through commutation, a fact that the municipal authorities were
not slow to stress in their appeals to government. Population growth reversed
itself in the 1920s: the 16.4-percent expansion recorded for the 1910s turned into
a 10.8-percent decline in the succeeding decade as Vickers’ fortunes waned. The
first hint of recession came in December 1921 when the Admiralty cancelled its
battle-cruiser program and Barrow saw a huge order for marine engines and gun
mountings vanish overnight. In July 1922 Barrow’s mayor led a delegation to
London with the object of lobbying for help for communities dependent on
warship yards. The government responded in kind, distributing work from the
reduced construction program around all the communities in question. Barrow
was granted orders for guns and their mountings but missed out on hull
contracts. Soon afterward, more orders for guns and mountings were
complemented with a cruiser contract, the package sufficient to employ up to
5,000 men. This was but a short-term palliative, for by 1929 the chairman of
Vickers-Armstrongs was voicing concern about the future employment of
80 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

13,000 Barrow workers. A cruiser contract (effected in 1932) guaranteed the

employment of 2,500 of them for more than two years.31
The most disquieting feature of the changes inflicted on shipbuilding was the
impact on labor. Rationalization could only lead to a lessening of the strength
inherent in labor, for it meant an obvious reduction in the number of workers
and a less apparent, but indisputably real, depletion of their reservoir of
expertise. Regular work, of which many shipyard workers stood sadly in need
during the depression, was vital not just for honing skills but for keeping them
current. The shrinkage of the labor pool began to assume alarming proportions
in the 1930s. Some crude data bear this out.32 The labor force had reached its
zenith in 1920, when it numbered 338,798, some 5.5 percent of whom were
classed as unemployed. More sobering times brought retrenchment. In July 1923
the industry had 269,970 registered workers on its books, a total that fell steadily
through 204,500 in July 1929 to reach its nadir of 157,230 in July 1935.
Rearmament sparked an upturn, which peaked at 172,810 two years later.33
These figures, although adequate for indicating broad trends, are still more than
a trifle misleading, for they fail to enumerate those actually in work. Once
layoffs are taken into account the true situation emerges in a much dimmer light.
In June 1931, for instance, 56.6 percent of the registered workforce was listed as
unemployed, a proportion that climbed to 62.9 percent a year later and then
touched 63.5 percent in December 1932.34 Nearly one-quarter of registered
workers were still unemployed as late as June 1937; that is to say, 42,000
workers were without gainful employment in the yards. At the same time,
shipbuilders eager to participate in the rearmament program had their work cut
out for them leaving their labor forces with skilled personnel, for enforced
idleness had taken its toll of the pool of skilled men. The official bodies—
comprising elements of the Committee of Imperial Defense (CID) and the Board
of Trade (BoT)—charged with assessing the state of shipbuilding in the event of
such a contingency had long expressed dismay at the plight of labor. Indeed,
they doubted whether shipbuilding capacity could be revived, adjudging it too
difficult to be worth the effort on account of the adverse labor situation. How
they set about their task in a nation conditioned to industrial decline is deserving
of elaboration.
The main interested party was a branch of the Principal Supply Officers
Committee (PSOC). PSOC had been founded in the early 1920s with the object
of advising the CID on the preparedness of the defense industry. Its origins were
inauspicious, for the time was not yet ripe for political perturbation regarding
international threats.35 In stolidly pursuing its remit PSOC grasped the necessity
of forming specialized subgroups, earmarking Supply Committee III (SC3) for
maritime industries. SC3 began operations in earnest in 1927, undertaking a
comprehensive review of shipbuilding and marine engineering. From the outset,
SC3 insisted on a wide mandate, viewing shipbuilding as a strategic asset that
had to embrace mercantile needs as well as those specific to the Navy. To this
end it invited input from the BoT, acquiring in the process an appreciation of the
factors circumscribing the carrying trades. Its deliberations—released as a series
of advisory plans—reflected this broad canvas. The first few of these, appearing
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 81

in 1929–1930, set the tone for government plans for rearmament and, indeed,
wartime expansion. Although SC3 distilled the underlying strengths of the
industry, it did not shrink from exposing its shortcomings. Concerning marine
engines, for example, it discovered that three-quarters of the production base
was attuned to the manufacture of steam reciprocating sets. To be sure, this
situation was disconcerting, because it was inimical to the rapid output of
turbine-powered warships should war break out. Nevertheless, it was not
without merit. SC3 reasoned that because they required the lowest skill level of
any type of propulsion machinery, the makers of reciprocating engines promised
easy conversion to mass production. Therefore standard ships should be
designed to make maximum use of this, the simplest kind of propulsion
machinery. SC3, however, did not belittle the importance of skilled labor; on the
contrary, it noted with alarm that the actual production of engines in 1929 only
reached 40 percent of plant capacity owing to shortages of key workers.36 When
this limit was married to that of new construction—and it was not forgotten that
an industry boasting a peak capacity of 4.286 million tons (in 1920) was never
able to push output much above half that figure—the importance of labor as the
vital factor restraining production was doubly affirmed. Because shipbuilding
was saddled with overcapacity at the time of SC3’s inception and was soon to be
subject to the depredations of NSS, any appraisal of the industry’s potential was
quickly rendered null and void. Consequently, a measured verdict was not
forthcoming until 1934. At that juncture the committee found yards for a
hypothetical program that called for a boosted output of warships together with
1.209 million gross tons of cargo ships, 350,000 gross tons of tankers, 300,000
gross tons of passenger vessels, and 75,000 gross tons of smaller craft. All told,
the merchant effort required the utilization of everything in the “active merchant
yards” and “small merchant yards” categories, to say nothing of a sizable
portion of the capacity resident in the “active naval yards” group (which
amounted to 158 building berths, including six jointly offered by the Royal
Dockyards and a dozen held in trust by Workman, Clark, the Belfast builder that
had recently failed). The naval effort was confined to the last category, whose
members were expected to commit 60 building berths to warship construction.
Table 3.4 shows how matters stood with respect to both geographical
distribution of shipyard assets and the uses that SC3 had in mind for them.37
Collectively, the North-East Coast furnished the largest number of building
berths, although no fewer than 35 of them (almost one-quarter) belonged to
yards conforming to the “reserve” category. This was the term given to yards
that had been closed, but not demolished, and so conceivably were capable of
re-opening should circumstances justify such a course. Two of these—Renwick
& Dalgleish on the Tyne (holding six berths with an estimated annual output of
40,500 gross tons) and Cleveland Dockyard on the Tees (possessing seven
berths potentially set to produce 30,500 gross tons)—were held accountable for
9 percent of the tonnage allocated to the North-East Coast.38Altogether this
agglomeration would lead the emergency shipbuilding effort, with a combined
naval and mercantile output amounting to 36 percent of national production. The
Clyde, by any measure a major agglomeration, would also play a
82 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Table 3.4
U.K. Shipbuilding Capacity and Emergency Output, Estimate of 1934

1
Excluding vessels under 2,000 gross tons. Small yards had capacity for 75,000 gross tons of such
vessels.
2
Figures rounded up.
3
Accounted for by Chepstow.
Source: Compiled from data presented in PRO, CAB102/441, Appendix 2, Table 1.

disproportionate role. The expectation was that it would produce 28 percent of

the total, though like its English counterpart, a significant fraction of its share
would issue from ‘reserve” yards. The recently shut Greenock complex of
Harland & Wolff alone was earmarked for the production of 54,500 gross tons.39
Only three other regions—the Scottish East Coast, the English East Coast, and
the Bristol Channel—were judged worthy of mercantile output, but their
combined effort paled in comparison with that of the Clyde and seemed
downright paltry when set against that of the North-East Coast. Curiously, SC3
contrived a role for Chepstow in this effort (incorporated in the Bristol Channel
contribution), assessing its eight closed berths as capable of producing 56,000
gross tons of shipping (a figure that it would have been hard pressed to attain,
granted its actual production history).40 The four remaining regions—the
English South Coast (by and large Hampshire and the Royal Dockyards of
Portsmouth and Devonport), the Mersey (Cammell Laird’s Birkenhead yard),
Barrow (Vickers-Armstrongs), and Northern Ireland (practically, Harland’s
Belfast establishment)—were all kept for naval work, with the importance of the
last elevated to a higher plane than either the North-East Coast or the Clyde.41
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 83

Matches made between warship type and yard shed light on the assets
available to the Admiralty on the eve of rearmament. Details were made explicit
in a follow-up report that considered a scaled-down program, intended to be
more affordable than the plan first contemplated.42 For the sake of brevity, we
will focus solely on the more significant combatants, ignoring smaller fighting
ships and auxiliaries. Four battleships were at issue, with one each being
assigned to John Brown and Fairfield on the Clyde, Vickers-Armstrongs on the
Tyne, and Cammell Laird at Birkenhead. The ten large cruisers envisaged in the
program enjoyed a wider distribution, with the Clyde granted three (to John
Brown, Harland & Wolff’s Govan yard, and Scott’s), the Tyne in receipt of
three (two to Swan Hunter, the other to Hawthorn Leslie), and Belfast (Harland
& Wolff), Barrow (Vickers-Armstrongs), and the Royal Dockyards at
Devonport and Portsmouth each the beneficiary of a single order. A tighter
spread applied to the allocation of 16 smaller cruisers, with seven going to the
Clyde (two each to Fairfield and Scott’s, one apiece to Harland’s Govan yard
and Stephen), five to the Tyne (two each to Swan Hunter and Vickers-
Armstrongs, the other to Hawthorn Leslie), and a couple each to Belfast and
Barrow. Similar patterns obtained for destroyers and submarines despite the
greater numbers involved. For the former, the Clyde was the depository for 14
orders (with Denny and Yarrow given four apiece, whereas John Brown, Scott’s
and Stephen each received a pair) and the Tyne took six (divided equally
between Swan Hunter, Hawthorn Leslie, and Vickers-Armstrongs).
Interestingly, a part of the North-East Coast bereft of naval construction since
the war—the Wear—was judged worthy of induction into the program with the
granting of a brace of destroyers to Doxford. The existing builders at
Birkenhead, Barrow and Belfast were not overlooked, and each received a pair.
Nor were the traditional destroyer builders in Hampshire ignored, for White and
Thornycroft both received four-ship allocations. Turning to submarines, Barrow
was crowned chief supplier, receiving six boats. The Royal Dockyard at
Chatham, by contrast, received only a single boat, confirming the committee’s
view that it could be used more effectively for refits. The Clyde garnered eight
boats (three to Fairfield, two apiece to Scott’s and Denny, and one to John
Brown) and the Tyne three (two to Vickers-Armstrongs, the other to Swan
Hunter), leaving Birkenhead (one boat) and Hampshire (two boats given to
Thornycroft) to account for the balance. A glance at the distribution of real
orders in the mid-1930s suffices to corroborate the view that the Admiralty took
the proffered advice very much to heart. True, there were some glaring
discrepancies: Swan Hunter was added to the select group of battleship builders,
the Govan yard of Harland & Wolff was ignored, Doxford was not called on to
produce destroyers, and the Admiralty refused to adhere to the plan to disperse
submarines to several yards in emulation of Great War practice (only Scott’s and
Cammell Laird joined Vickers-Armstrongs’ Barrow yard and Chatham
Dockyard in submarine production prior to 1939). For the most part, however,
rearmament orders conformed closely to the hypothetical allocations of SC3.
The CID had reason to be proud of the thoroughness of its subordinate
committee, for SC3 did not rest content with a perusal of shipyards and marine-
84 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

engineering plants. Instead, it recognized that the supply chain was disfigured by
a multitude of anomalies, not the least of which was the presence of latent
bottlenecks following cuts in metallurgical capabilities. The armor producers
could no longer give a good account of themself and in any case were reduced to
a rump of three: Beardmore at Glasgow (Parkhead) and the Sheffield plants
retained by English Steel and Thomas Firth & John Brown. Forgings capacity
necessary for producing naval gun mountings was scarcely better placed, with
two major producers—English Steel at Sheffield with a capacity of 2,700 tons
and Vickers-Armstrongs’ Barrow works with 2,000 tons—being supported by a
clutch of five smaller firms collectively controlling 1,980 tons. The position
regarding steel castings for gun mountings was, if anything, worse: Six plants
together offered 4,275 tons, with Vickers-Armstrongs’ Barrow contributing
1,400 tons and the same company’s Elswick adding a further 980 tons.43 In the
final analysis, though, SC3 felt constrained to invest labor with the title of chief
bottleneck, lamenting the wastage occasioned by the depression and the
resultant scarcity of indispensable tradesmen up and down the linkage chain
connecting shipbuilders with their suppliers. We thus return to the point raised
earlier: The labor factor governed absolutely the degree to which shipbuilding
could be expanded. As part of its mid-1930s deliberations, SC3 arrived at an
estimate of labor required in the event of an emergency. In all, the marine
industries (including ancillary activities such as gun manufacturing, but
excluding the Royal Dockyards) would require 460,000 workers, the most
critical of whom were fitters (38,000), riveters (32,000), metal machinists
(19,000), technical staff (18,000), joiners (16,300), turners (16,000), and platers
(13,000). The BoT, urged on by PSOC, compiled an inventory of workers in
1935 (including men currently unemployed). It concluded that shipbuilding had
access to a workforce numbering 157,379 individuals, another 45,580 were at
the disposal of marine engineering, while 117,000 constituted the pool into
which the other engineering trades could dip.44 Granted that the grand total of
workers relevant to the marine industries amounted to 320,000, SC3 doubted
whether the extra 140,000 needed in an emergency would ever be found. The
overriding concern for labor supply dictated SC3’s approach to the question of
restoring physical capacity to shipbuilding in order to meet the needs of
wartime. On the face of it, SC3’s pronouncements were profoundly pessimistic.
It flatly declared in 1937, “The possibility of re-opening shipbuilding yards at
present closed should be disregarded on the grounds that if a surplus of labour
became available it would be preferable to employ it to increase the output of
existing yards rather than to apply it to the re-opening of closed yards. They
could only recruit labor by enticement from other yards.”45
SC3 consistently refused to make light of labor-supply difficulties as the
prospect of war loomed ever closer, disabusing the government of any thought
of reviving the “reserve” yards. These, the better preserved of the yards stripped
of plant by NSS, stood no chance of mustering anywhere near enough workers
to staff them in the first year of war.46 Besides, the size of building berth
characteristic of the “reserve” yards left something to be desired, because they
had been mostly tailored to the construction of Great War standard ships. New
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 85

standard ships for the impending war were being designed with enlarged
dimensions—lengths of 425 feet rather than the old 400-feet benchmark—and
would require building on correspondingly larger berths. This stipulation already
rendered useless 42 berths in “active” yards that had been accustomed to turning
out standard ships in the previous war. Reactivating “reserve” yards with berths
of insufficient size would not repay the effort. To lend gravity to its message,
SC3 insisted that active yards were chronically undermanned, curtailing the
possibility that they could boost output to a level commensurate with their
maximum physical capacity. It attached particular importance to the fact that the
level of shipbuilding activity attained in 1938—the most vibrant year since the
beginning of the depression—only utilized two-thirds of the physical capacity of
the active yards (or, as is evident from Table 3.1, 51.4 percent of the 1939
capacity).47 Moreover, that level had only been achieved with difficulty, for
shortages of skilled workers in many yards had called a halt to further output. In
short, the real ceiling to yard output had practically been reached and any forced
expansion beyond this level would give rise to bottlenecks that would make
those currently being experienced seem positively benign by comparison. All
the same, SC3 held to the conviction that the industry would be able to summon
enough resources to produce 1.2 million gross tons (rather than the minimum of
1.6 million gross tons prescribed as essential in 1934) of merchant shipping in
the first year of war, albeit at the cost of a reduction in the naval program for
ASW and minesweeping vessels.48 However, the naval program still remained
formidable, and in a final flourish SC3 employed its energies allocating the units
of this program to the yards most suited to handling them. Little change was
discernible from the amended 1934 pattern, save that the Clyde (Port Glasgow)
yard of William Hamilton (which was owned by Lithgows) was conscripted for
the production of ASW and minesweeping vessels.49 Matters came to a head in
September 1939 with the German invasion of Poland, whereupon all theoretical
exercises in yard deployment became immediately subject to the acid test of
mobilization. Providentially, the United States had a little more breathing space
to prepare for the rigors of war, but her shipyards were to receive a timely
stimulus from British demands (in a manner reminiscent of Bethlehem’s
experience in the Great War). In truth—and not unlike their British
counterparts—American yards had undergone a searing experience of cutbacks
and closures in the interwar years, so any stimulus was gratefully welcomed.
Just how they had fared, not to say survived, is the subject of the next section.

AMERICA’S DECLINE
For the first three and a half years following the end of World War I, the full
capacity of the major American naval shipbuilders was occupied with prewar
and wartime construction programs. Likewise, the numerous yards that had been
engaged in the construction of merchant shipping continued to operate at high
levels of production, although the bulk of their work would be completed by the
end of 1920. Although the large-scale destroyer, ASW patrol craft, and
submarine programs continued, all of the capital ship programs were resumed
86 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

and took center stage once again. Between 1919 and 1921 nine battleships and
six battlecruisers were laid down and would dominate the resources of three
private shipyards (Bethlehem-Quincy, Newport News, and New York
Shipbuilding) and four naval yards (Mare Island, New York, Norfolk, and
Philadelphia) through 1922. Two other private yards, Todd Shipbuilding on the
west coast and Cramp Brothers on the east, would be utilized to complete eight
of the ten Omaha-class light cruisers that had been ordered in 1916–17.50 In
total, these along with other private and naval yards of the east and west coast
agglomerations laid down 134 naval vessels between 1919 and 1921. Table 3.5
shows a breakdown of these vessels by type. This construction and that begun
during the war would carry these yards into the mid-1920s, but as Table 3.6
shows, the bulk of these units would be completed and delivered by the end of
1924.

Table 3.5
Warships under Construction, 1919–1921, by Type

Table 3.6
Completion Dates for Warships Laid Down before 1921

Construction of merchant ships also kept many private yards, including the
eight Emergency Yards, busy through 1921. Between 1919 and 1921 over 6,500
merchant vessels totaling 1,268,000 gross tons were delivered under Shipping
Board and private contracts. The vast majority of these were wartime standard-
design cargo ships and tankers. Many vessels that had been laid down under
Shipping Board contracts were taken over by private shipping companies. Most
of the Shipping Board vessels were placed into reserve either immediately upon
delivery or shortly thereafter. Although clearly constituting a major overcapacity
of merchant shipping at the time, these ships would provide a lifesaving boost to
the merchant fleets of both Britain and America twenty years hence.
The year 1922 marked a watershed for both the naval and merchant marine
shipbuilding industries in the United States. Apart from having completed much
of the wartime work by this point, private and government yards engaged in
naval work were confronted with the necessity of program cutbacks in order to
meet the tonnage restrictions put forth in the Five Power Naval Limitations
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 87

Treaty. Specifically, the Navy was forced to suspend construction and

eventually cancel seven of the nine battleships then under construction and all
six of its battlecruisers. Only two of the battlecruisers would escape being
scrapped, as it was agreed that they could be completed as aircraft carriers under
the treaty limitations because the United States had only one small experimental
carrier in service at that time.51 The yards impacted by these cancellations
included New York Shipbuilding, Newport News, and Bethlehem-Quincy, as
well as the naval yards at Philadelphia, Mare Island, Norfolk, and New York. In
addition to halting construction on these capital ships, the Navy would
deactivate and dispose of nearly 200 ships during the next several years,
including four dreadnaughts and 15 pre-dreadnaughts. This dramatic drawdown
in fleet strength was a result of a conscious decision by the American
government to not only meet the stated treaty limitations, but to maintain a
workforce considerably below maximum limits provided therein. By September
1923, all construction of naval vessels had ceased in the naval yards except for a
couple of submarines at Portsmouth. In fact, this was the only naval yard that
had naval construction work continuously through the interwar period. Of the
others, Boston, Charleston, Philadelphia, and Norfolk would undertake no new
construction until the early or mid 1930s. They were kept in operation
exclusively on the demands for repair, conversion and overhaul work. Mare
Island, New York, and Puget Sound fared a bit better gaining contracts for small
numbers of new submarines and cruisers in the late 1920s that would carry them
through until the onset of the new growth programs of the mid-1930s. The major
private yards also experienced a dearth of naval construction. BIW completed its
last destroyer in September 1920 and had actually closed down by 1925 due to
no further naval contracts. It was reopened in 1927 and survived until the end of
1932—when orders for new destroyers resumed—on the lucrative luxury yacht
market. Bethlehem’s San Francisco yard completed its last submarine in January
1924 and did not return to new naval construction until 1936. Cramp completed
its naval work in February 1925, survived on merchant contracts for another
three years, and then closed down in 1928. Even the giant Newport News yard
was bereft of naval work from 1924 through May 1928, when it received an
order for two cruisers. In the Pacific Northwest, the Todd yard at Tacoma ceased
naval work after January 1924 and closed its doors the following year. Another
casualty of this period was the Lake Torpedo Boat Company of Bridgeport,
Connecticut, which completed its last submarine in October 1922 and shut down
operations for good in 1924. Of the major private yards engaged in naval work,
only Bethlehem’s Quincy yard and New York Shipbuilding were able to
maintain a continuous workload through the interwar period, although even that
was tenuous at times, with both being reduced by 1925 to completing the
conversion of two cancelled battlecruisers into aircraft carriers.
Shipbuilders whose work had been confined to merchant vessels for the
Shipping Board during and after the war suffered as well from a lack of large-
scale work in the interwar period. Bethlehem’s Alameda yard completed its last
Shipping Board vessel in July 1921 and then shifted exclusively to repair work.
Other yards such as Albina, Federal-Kearney, Manitowoc, and Moore barely
88 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

survived on a modest flow of merchant contracts along with repair work. Harlen
and Hollingworth were less fortunate, having to close down after merchant
contracts dried up after 1921. As way of illustration, the period between 1922
and 1929 saw the delivery of only 99 merchant vessels of 785,000 gross tons
from American yards, whereas a mere 51 vessels amounting to less than 510,000
gross tons were forthcoming during the five-year period that followed.52 Of the
wartime Emergency Yards, only Los Angeles Shipbuilding & Dry Dock
survived the postwar draw down. American International’s mammoth Hog
Island yard closed after completing its final Shipping Board vessels in January
1921. This yard would subsequently be used as a mothball yard for the
voluminous number of surplus World War I era vessels. Columbia River
Shipbuilding, J. F. Duthie and Skinner & Eddy all shut their doors for good by
the end of 1920, and Northwest Steel, Merchant’s Bristol yard, and Submarine
Boat Shipbuilding ceased operations the following year. Merchant’s Chester
yard held out the longest, completing its last vessel in 1922.
Apart from the reduction in the overall capacity of the American shipbuilding
industry during the interwar period, the numbers employed in the industry were
reduced both nationally and at individual yards. As was the case in Britain, not
only did this reduction in force have a quantitative impact, but a qualitative one
as well, in that a significant portion of the nation’s skilled shipbuilding expertise
was lost during this period. From a national workforce of over 300,000 in 1918,
employment in American shipyards fell to less than 50,000 in 1928. There was a
brief resurgence in hiring through 1930 and then a dropoff following the stock
market crash of 1929, which brought the industry’s labor force to an al-time low
of less than 34,000 just prior to the initial resurgence programs of the new
Roosevelt administration in 1933. Bethlehem-Quincy lost two-thirds of its
workforce during the decade following the Great War and reached a low of less
than 5,000 workers in 1930. Likewise, Newport News’s postwar labor force fell
to below 2,000. The naval yards suffered even greater reductions in labor owing
to the disappearance of naval construction work during the 1920s. For example,
the New York Naval Yard, which had employed over 10,000 people at the peak
of wartime construction, reduced its workforce to 3,000 by 1922 and then to half
that 10 years later. Employment at the Norfolk Yard went from a high of
approximately 11,000 in 1918 to 2,500 in 1924. The west coast naval yards did
not escape this decline in employment either, with Mare Island’s workforce
falling to 2,500 in 1920, but rising modestly to 2,800 in 1925. Perhaps hardest
hit of all the naval yards was Charleston, whose workforce peaked at nearly
5,600 during the war and then, after the war, fell off to a point where the yard
nearly shut down and employment opportunities virtually ceased to exist except
for a small core group of workers.
Of the major shipbuilding agglomerations, the two that suffered the greatest
reductions during the interwar period were Philadelphia–Camden (Delaware
River) and the Pacific Northwest (Seattle–Tacoma–Portland). Five of nine major
shipyards in the former agglomeration had closed down by the mid-1920s,
whereas four out of eight did likewise in the latter. Included in both of these sets
of closures were several of the Emergency Yards that had been established as a
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 89

direct result of the war. Nonetheless, these closures constituted a major

reduction in the overall shipbuilding capacity of these areas as well as the
nation’s aggregate capability. Offsetting only to a degree this widespread
reduction in shipbuilding capacity during the interwar period was a modest
expansion of the facilities of two major shipbuilders. In 1920, New York
Shipbuilding added four new shipbuilding slipways and a new power plant. This
was done largely to accommodate the immediate postwar resurgence in capital
ship construction the yard had undertaken. Bethlehem took advantage of the
reduced workload to upgrade its Quincy yard by adding several new large
slipways and a 10,000-ton capacity crane. These farsighted improvements would
prove to be invaluable both to the yards themselves and to the nation once the
Roosevelt resurgence geared up in the mid-1930s.
As has been illustrated thus far, the interwar period between 1922 and 1933
saw a significant contraction of the shipbuilding industry in the United States,
particularly from a naval construction point of view. In addition to the yards that
were closed down entirely, many other major private shipbuilders were faced
with no naval contracts whatsoever for this entire time period, and others
survived on a very meager and inconsistent level of demand. Included in the
former group of yards were Bethlehem’s San Francisco and Sparrow’s Point,
Maryland yards, Federal’s Kearny, New Jersey yard, Sun Shipbuilding, Los
Angeles Shipbuilding, Moore Shipbuilding, and Albina Engine and Machine
Works of Portland, Oregon. In addition, three naval yards—Boston, Charleston,
and Norfolk—had no naval contracts during this time period either. Those yards
that did sustain some naval work were the beneficiaries of the only two naval
construction programs of any consequence during the interwar period. The first
of these programs, initiated by the Navy in 1921 and then ongoing throughout
the remainder of the interwar period, was designed to create a submarine force
that would be capable of operating against the Japanese in the vast expanse of
the Pacific. Although possessing modest operational ranges, the numerous
submarines that had been constructed during and immediately following the war
lacked the necessary endurance characteristics that would allow for effective
Pacific patrols against Japan. Furthermore, the Navy believed that the so-called
cruiser type submarines they were planning would serve well as scouts for the
main battle fleet in the absence of battlecruisers, which had fallen victim to
treaty limitations. It was hoped that these boats would also be effective in direct
attacks on the enemy’s battle fleet. The General Board, acting on advice from
the Navy, repeatedly requested large numbers of such submarines during the
1920s, but owing to reluctance on the part of Congress to spend the required
funds and the Board’s self-imposed ideal of applying the overall 5:5:3 fleet
tonnage ratio stipulated in the Five Power Treaty to submarines as well as
battleships and carriers, only six boats had actually been constructed by 1933.53
To accommodate the rather modest demands of this program, the Navy relied
upon two of its own yards. Portsmouth, which by this point had assumed the role
of the lead submarine construction facility in the country, built four of the V-
Boats, and Mare Island Naval Yard turned out a single unit. The new privately
90 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

owned Electric Boat yard in Groton, Connecticut, was given the contract for the
last unit in 1931.
The other major interwar naval construction program was also motivated by
concerns about a future confrontation with Japan. Although the Five Power
Treaty did set tonnage limits on individual cruisers, it did not stipulate any total
tonnage limitations for cruisers, and it failed to stipulate forces or the number of
such vessels the major naval powers could deploy.54 Taking advantage of this
“loophole” in the Treaty, Japan embarked on a large-scale construction program
to increase its force of heavy cruisers in 1922. By 1926, the Japanese had laid
down 12 such vessels and were planning more. This sizable increase placed
Japan in a position of superiority to the United States in terms of cruisers.
Britain too was deficient in large cruisers in the Pacific.55 To address this
alarming situation, the United States embarked on a cruiser construction
program in 1924. The initial request was for an authorization to build eight
heavy cruisers. The first two units (USS Pensacola and USS Salt Lake City)
were laid down at the New York Naval Yard and New York Shipbuilding in
1926 and 1927, respectively. The subsequent six-unit Northampton-class, which
had been delayed as a result of funding issues, was not laid down until 1928.
Five shipbuilders, three private and two naval, shared this workload. Bethlehem-
Quincy undertook the class’s namesake, and New York Shipbuilding, Puget
Sound Naval Yard and Mare Island Naval Yard built the next three units (USS
Chester, USS Louisville and USS Chicago, respectively). Newport News was
the only yard to receive two contracts, building USS Houston and USS Augusta.
These authorizations were followed up in 1927 with a request from the General
Board for 25 more heavy cruisers. Not surprising, such a large request elicited a
considerable amount of debate on the part of Congress and the final
authorization, known as the “15 Cruiser Bill,” was not passed until February
1929. This reduced total was adjusted downward again to only 10 units as a
result of the London Treaty limitations that came into effect in 1931. This
program consisted of three separate classes of vessels, the two-unit
Indianapolis-class laid down in 1930, the seven-ship Astoria-class laid down
between 1930 and 1934, and the single-vessel Wichita-class, which was not laid
down until 1935. The construction of these ships was divided among a
combination of six private and naval yards. Specifically, Bethlehem-Quincy
built three ships, New York Shipbuilding and Philadelphia Naval Yard each
built two ships, and the Mare Island, New York, and Puget Sound Naval Yards
each turned out a single unit. This pattern of assigning the bulk of the
construction load to naval yards while still sustaining the major private
shipbuilding firms was a sound policy implemented by the government and
would ensure the survival of a core naval shipbuilding capability within both the
public and private sectors.
The only other major naval vessel laid down before the Roosevelt resurgence
era was the USS Ranger. Authorized in 1930 and laid down at Newport News in
1931, this was the first aircraft carrier built as such from the keel up. This initial
effort would secure Newport News’s position as America’s principal builder of
carriers, a title it has not relinquished to this day. This and the cruisers built
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 91

during the interwar period would prove to be invaluable to the United States for
several reasons beyond the contribution they made to increase the Navy’s force
structure heading into World War II. They helped sustain not only the facilities
of these naval and private yards during this lean period, but also a core pool of
shipbuilding expertise. Without these new construction programs, the naval
design and construction capabilities of the United States would certainly have
been in worse shape than they were on the eve of the most significant naval
expansion effort in the nation’s history.

NOTES

1. For a full description of each of these conferences and their associated treaties, see
McKercher, B.J.C., Arms Limitation and Disarmament: Restraints on War, 1899–1939
(Westport, CT: Praeger, 1992).
2. Lewis Johnman and Hugh Murphy, British Shipbuilding and the State since 1918: A
Political Economy of Decline (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002), p. 60.
3. A. Slaven, “A Shipyard in Depression: John Browns of Clydebank 1919–1938,”
Business History, 19, no. 2, 1977, p. 194.
4. Building costs declined in tandem with the fall off in demand, indicating both the
competitive pressures on the yards and the adverse deflationary conditions at large. The
cost per ton of a 7,500 dead weight tons cargo ship dropped from 30 pounds in 1920
through 13 pounds in 1921, 9 in 1922, to as little as 8 in 1925. The cost fluctuated around
9 pounds until 1936, whereupon it began to rise. In 1937 it surpassed 14 pounds, but
declined to 13 in the next year before climbing to well over 15 in 1939. See NMM,
Shipbuilding Conference, File S37, p.110.
5. Data derived from NMM, Shipbuilding Employers’ Federation, “Position of
Shipbuilding Industry,” pamphlet January 1937, and H. M. Hallsworth, “Shipbuilding” in
J. H. Jones (ed.), Britain in Recovery (London: Pitman, 1938), pp. 339–360.
6. Leslie Jones. Shipbuilding in Britain–Mainly between the Wars. (Cardiff: University
of Wales Press, 1957), p. 46.
7. In fact, the Londonderry yard had been founded in 1912, although it did not record
its peak output (21,200 gross tons) until 1920. The impeding effect of distance is
mentioned in The Shipbuilder, December 1929, p. 874.
8. Robb also pulled out of its Cumming yard in Glasgow at this time.
9. The two Belfast shipbuilders were significant on this score: Harland & Wolff
acquired David Colville & Sons in 1919, gaining steel works at Motherwell in the Clyde
valley; Workman, Clark snapped up the Glasgow Iron & Steel Company in the same
vicinity. A group of Clyde shipbuilders (including Stephen and Yarrow), acting in
tandem, bought the Steel Company of Scotland.
10. The Northumberland story is traced in Norman L. Middlemiss, British Shipbuilding
Yards, vol. 1, (Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Shield, 1993), pp. 119–125 and Lewis Johnman
and Hugh Murphy, British Shipbuilding and the State since 1918: A Political Economy of
Decline, (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002), pp. 25–28.
11. Besides Northumberland, the other groups were Lithgows and Rennie, Ritchie &
Newport. The former constituted a lower Clyde group at Port Glasgow, combining the
yards of Russell, Duncan, Hamilton, and Dunlop Bremner. The latter, ceasing operations
in 1922 before it became fully operational, was a genuine multilocation group. It
attempted to fuse a yard at Wivenhoe in Essex with two on the Clyde and a greenfield
92 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

site at Newport in South Wales. In addition, Harland’s persisted in acquiring yards on the
Clyde (Caird, Henderson, McMillan, and Inglis), whereas Swan Hunter was even more
venturesome, pulling together Barclay Curie on the Clyde, Grayson’s at Liverpool, and
Philip at Dartmouth, to say nothing of the Londonderry concern.
12. The National Shipyard dealt only with fabricated vessels it was without a platers’
shed. This defect was remedied. Note The Shipbuilder, January 1921, p. 83.
13. Details of Chepstow’s payroll and sales are available in File D2025 (“Messrs.
Fairfield–Mabey Ltd., Chepstow”), Gwent Record Office, Cwmbran. Variously dated
1919 to 1942.
14. Refer to G.A.H. Gordon, British Seapower and Procurement between the Wars: A
Reappraisal of Rearmament (London: Macmillan, 1988), p. 77.
15. Clydebank was not totally devoid of warship work, because it launched the
Australian cruiser Canberra in 1927.
16. Slaven, “A Shipyard in Depression,” p. 198.
17. Jones, Shipbuilding, p. 111.
18. William T. Hogan, Economic History of the Iron and Steel Industry in the United
States, vol. 3, (Lexington, MA: D. C. Health, 1971), p. 1376.
19. Deep cuts barely sufficed to keep the new Vickers-Armstrongs afloat. As it was,
the comparatively new Walker Naval Yard was practically closed in 1928, only returning
to full production in 1934 to build a cruiser.
20. Note Ian Johnston, Beardmore Built: The Rise and Fall of a Clydeside Shipyard
(Clydebank: District Libraries and Museums Department, 1993), pp. 143–145.
21. Gordon, British Seapower, p. 79.
22. The comparative stability of Dockyard workforces in an era when contractor labor
was erratic has been noted. When refit jobs were scarce, Dockyard labor was employed
on shipbuilding work, intentionally timed to pick up the slack. Refer to Jones,
Shipbuilding, pp. 58–59.
23. Of the 73 million pounds made available under the Acts, the maritime industries
accounted for almost 20 million. A further 11.8 million pounds were made available to
Belfast shipbuilders under a parallel scheme administered in Northern Ireland. See
Johnman and Murphy, British Shipbuilding, pp. 28–29.
24. NSS had a nominal capital of 10,000 pounds but was vested with borrowing
powers of 2.5 million pounds. It was funded through a 1-percent levy imposed on the
sales price of new orders received by the shipbuilders. The events leading up to its
formation are discussed in ibid, pp. 31–36, and Jones, Shipbuilding, pp. 133–135.
25. Details of NSS activities are preserved in NMM, Shipbuilding Conference File
S37.
26. NSS virtually eliminated the members of the defunct Northumberland group.
Besides the Howdon yard and Chepstow, it removed Irvine’s at Hartlepool, Belfast’s
Workman, Clark, and the West Yard of Fairfield.
27. J. R. Parkinson, The Economics of Shipbuilding in the United Kingdom.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960), p. 19.
28. Neil K. Buxton, “The Scottish Shipbuilding Industry between the Wars: A
Comparative Study,” Business History, 10, no. 2, 1968, pp. 101–120.
29. The original data were compiled and analyzed in Daniel Todd, “Regional
Variations in Naval Construction: The British Experience, 1895–1966,” Regional Studies,
15, no. 2, 1981, pp. 123–142.
30. Michael Moss and John R. Hume, Shipbuilders to the World: 125 Years of Harland
and Wolff, Belfast 1861–1986. (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1986), pp. 270–282.
31. Daniel Todd, World Shipbuilding Industry, (London: Croom Helm, 1985), pp.
332–333.
The Interwar Years and the Eve of War 93

32. Data are abstracted from H. M. Hallsworth, “Shipbuilding,” in J. H. Jones (ed.),

Britain in Recovery, (London: Pitman, 1938), pp. 357–359, and PRO, ADM.1/11892
“Labour in Naval and Mercantile Shipyards,” p. 1.
33. The upturn in shipbuilding employment was also stimulated by another
government measure, the British Shipping (Assistance) Act of 1935. One of its provisions
was a scrap-and-build scheme that encouraged shipowners to replace old vessels with
new tonnage. About 186,000 gross tons of new ships owed their existence to subsidies
forthcoming under the Act. See Jones, Shipbuilding, pp. 150–152.
34. The percentages of insured workers that were unemployed in other industries in
December 1932 were less extreme; for example, 45.1 in iron and steel, 35.2 in
waterborne transportation, and 29.2 in coal mining. The comparisons are found in NMM,
Shipbuilding Employers’ Federation, “Position of Shipbuilding Industry,” October 1937.
35. The origins of PSOC are covered in Gordon, pamphlet British Seapower, pp. 47–
64.
36. The labor shortage in marine engineering worried the planners throughout the
1930s, especially after several plants were closed in 1934. Note PRO, CAB102/440, C.C.
Wrigley, ‘Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs in the Second World War, vol. 1’, p.93.
37. Details are abstracted from PRO, CAB102/441, C. C. Wrigley,” Merchant
Shipbuilding and Repairs in the Second World War, vol.2,” Appendix II, Table 1.
38. The Renwick & Dalgleish yard was laid out at Hebburn at the end of World War I,
but came on stream just as the postwar boom evaporated. It never succeeded in building a
ship. Cleveland Dockyard, in contrast, had belonged to longstanding shipbuilder Sir
Raylton Dixon, but had gone out of business in 1922. A new company, Cleveland
Shipbuilding, acquired the yard in 1923, merging its operations with the neighboring
Tees yard of Harkess. It ceased trading at the end of 1924. See J. F. Clarke, Building
Ships on the North-East Coast, Part 2, C.1914–c.1980, (Whitley Bay: Bewick Press,
1997), pp. 212, 252–253.
39. At its heart was the well-equipped Caird yard, acquired by Harland’s in 1916. It
had been modernized in the early 1920s. See Moss and Hume, Shipbuilders to the World,
p. 211.
40. It is interesting that SC3 estimated that 56,000 gross tons could be squeezed out of
the eight-berth facility when NSS averred that only 40,000 gross tons could conceivably
emerge from a Chepstow operating nine berths.
41. The treatment meted out to Belfast by the Admiralty diverged markedly from that
envisioned by SC3. Between 1934 and 1938 Harland’s received contracts for two cruisers
and an aircraft carrier. Its preoccupation with flourishing merchant orders is the likely
cause of the Admiralty’s unwillingness to press more work on the yard.
42. The allocations are presented in PRO, CAB60/41, Paper 420, April 27, 1934.
43. The geography of this capacity can be elicited from PRO, CAB60/41, Paper 493,
dated February 22, 1935.
44. The particulars are laid out in PRO, CAB60/44, Paper 591 and CAB60/46, Paper
713, dated April 28, 1936 and November 30, 1937.
45. Cited in PRO, CAB60/45, Paper 697, dated July 26, 1937.
46. In 1936 NSS kept four yards in a state of preservation: Harland’s Greenock (Caird)
and Glasgow (Henderson) facilities, Armstrong Whitworth’s Low Walker (Tyne) site,
and William Gray’s Pallion (Wear) site, In addition, it identified partly dismantled yards,
possibly capable of reviving; namely, Palmers’ Jarrow site and the Bill Quay site of
Wood, Skinner (both on Tyneside), together with Fairfield’s Chepstow facility.
47. The capacity issue is discussed in PRO, CAB60/50, Paper 905, dated February 28,
1939.
48. The rationale is given in PRO, CAB60/48, Paper 831, dated July 8, 1938.
94 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

49. The Admiralty had been forced to bow to the Treasury’s concern that its desired
“two-power” standard (that is, a navy powerful enough to confront Japan although
holding the ring in European waters) was too ambitious, absorbing too much of the
nation’s industrial capacity. Nevertheless, the Admiralty still contrived to have its way,
provided it did not openly champion the larger standard. From 1936 it was authorized to
embark on an expansion program that, while falling short of the two-power standard,
exceeded the one-power standard (i.e., European dominance) of the fiscal conservatives.
The debate is covered in G. C. Peden, British Rearmament and the Treasury: 1932–1939
(Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press, 1979), pp. 113–117, 160–165.
50. Two units, USS Raleigh (CL7) and USS Detroit (CL8) were built at Bethlehem’s
Quincy/Fore River yard.
51. These would be commissioned in 1927 as USS Lexington (CV2) and USS Saratoga
(CV3).
52. See SNAME, 1948 for a full list of merchant vessel deliveries from 1914 to 1945.
53. The Five Power Treaty put no limitations on submarines. The submarines
constructed were the so-called “V Boats”. Originally referred to by this letter designation,
V-4 through V-9 became SS166 through SS171, respectively, and were given names. The
units designated V-1 through V-4 were actually laid down in the immediate postwar
period and were classified as “fleet boats” rather than the “cruiser type.”
54. The Treaty defined “heavy cruisers” as those units not to exceed 10,000 tons or
mount guns greater than 8 inches in diameter.
55. The British actually favored light cruisers over heavy, as their global system of
naval stations precluded the necessity of cruisers with longer ranges and endurance
capabilities. This British predilection to smaller cruisers was evidenced by their efforts to
achieve limitations on heavy cruisers at both the Washington and Geneva Naval
Limitation Conferences.
 4

World War II: The Ultimate Test

Perversely perhaps, in light of the momentous events impacting shipbuilding in
the years leading up to and embracing World War II, we choose to begin a
review of that era with a few general comments on location. Yet a little
reflection is enough to convince us that the adoption of such an approach needs
no justification in a book with a geographical bent After all, the weighty events
are familiar and well able to bear the ignominy of being pushed aside at the
outset. The same cannot be said of the circumstances to which shipbuilding was
especially subject, circumstances overlooked in most histories and acutely in
need of airing. These circumstances throw into bold relief the locations
underpinning shipbuilding, for it is impossible to grasp any understanding of
how the industry fared without first gaining an appreciation of where it was
carried out. That appreciation is now much in arrears, having faded from sight as
issues governing the policies of fleet sizes have interposed. Moreover, since we
addressed the industry’s performance in the Great War the location factors that
assumed prominence then—those impinging on capacity expansion and labor
supply—have been completely overturned, rendered obsolete by events
prejudicial to shipbuilding, the whole climaxed by an economic depression that
threatened its very existence. Location considerations conducive to capacity
expansion were to be revived with a vengeance in the second bout of hostilities,
but only after severe obstacles had been forcibly brought to the attention of
governments, obstacles that required desperate measures before they could be
overcome. Nevertheless, overcome they were, as this chapter will make
abundantly clear. Labor in particular came to preoccupy officials charged with
expanding output, albeit in a fashion never anticipated by Weber.1 Extant labor
pools, as found in the traditional shipbuilding agglomerations, seemed rather to
add to than to detract from the labor-supply problem, because shortages of
workers quickly became endemic. In seeking redress in outports only tolerably
familiar with shipbuilding, managers of new shipyards were less interested in
cheap labor—a pursuit worthy of Weber’s cost-cutting entrepreneurs—than they
were in procuring labor at almost any price.
96 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

The outcome was an industry that bore scant resemblance to its prewar
appearance in the United States, functioning on a far greater scale in many more
locations. Furthermore, it was using production practices barely contemplated in
the 1930s (although eerily reminiscent of those briefly countenanced in 1918—
1920, only to be renounced shortly afterward). The U.S. approach to
shipbuilding expansion from 1940 pushed for the installation of as much
production capacity as the economy could bear. However, it tended to eschew
the spatial concentration of the industry—and the agglomeration that it
betokened—promoted by the Emergency Fleet Corporation (EFC) in 1918. On
the face of it a dubious strategy, the later approach was not so much a rejection
of Weber’s agglomeration factor as it was a realization of the practical
difficulties of amassing large numbers of workers and enormous quantities of
materials, realities that mandated the avoidance of bottlenecks. The erection of
vast shipyards on the outskirts of Philadelphia (American International
Shipbuilding at Hog Island and Merchant Shipbuilding at Bristol, Pennsylvania)
and New York (Submarine Boat at Newark) in 1918 was implicitly motivated by
a desire to capture spatial-juxtaposition economies. Much to the dismay of the
EFC, however, these facilities had failed to live up to expectations, succumbing
to inefficiencies brought on by congestion costs.2 Mindful of the experience, the
U.S. Maritime Commission took extraordinary measures to avoid the possibility
of a repetition. For a solution it hit upon the strategy of authorizing yards of
more modest dimensions than the Great War giants (but not so small as to be
devoid of economies of scale) in locations less prone to agglomeration
diseconomies. From the geographical standpoint this object was best
accomplished by implementing a program that struck a balance between
clustering and dispersal. It was also brought to fruition by a calculated decision
to limit the degree of prefabrication of ship materials that was undertaken off-
site. In World War I much of the construction of a standard ship took place away
from the shipyard, the work amounting to the completion of riveted sections at
inland steel mills. The sections were then hauled to the likes of Hog Island, there
to be assembled into a ship on the ways. This procedure, although theoretically
sound in that it utilized skills already in place in the steel-making districts,
produced gridlock on the railroads carrying the prefabricated sections to the
waterfront. The resultant congestion with its attendant monetary and time costs
bore witness both to the excessive size of the assembly yards and to their
awkward location in the midst of densely packed urban areas. The
inconvenience of the yard locations, in any case, was being endorsed by the
problems encountered in gathering the necessary large workforces.3 With the
benefit of hindsight the Maritime Commission tempered its enthusiasm for
spatially dispersed ship assembly. It would insist on prefabrication, but
prefabrication carried out as far as possible within the confines of the shipyard.
British shipbuilding, by comparison, was much more recognizably the industry
of the late 1930s, and though subject to considerable alteration in its production
methods, still adhered to the locations that had spawned it in the nineteenth
century. In truth, the strength of the chief agglomerations had been severely
taxed in the trying times of the interwar years, but, to all appearances, World
World War II: The Ultimate Test 97

War II did much to restore their commanding position. As with the American
situation, we shall enlarge on the geographical aspects of these happenings in
due course.
Historians of the war attach particular importance to the production side of
shipbuilding, and with good reason, for though output does not by itself make a
victory or confer the hallmark of efficiency on an industry, it does hint at the
magnitude of the task in hand. The shackles hindering prewar output were
thrown off at government instigation and the industry, being under less restraint,
responded vigorously. In Britain output was restored to something approaching
the level of the earlier conflict, when the industry was at its peak and in a far
more robust condition. In America production was truly of mammoth
proportions, dwarfing anything that had gone before. Production figures will be
examined in detail later; at this juncture we shall let a few examples speak for
themselves. To take the British case first, consider the fact that in a period of
just over four years, from August 1914 to November 1918, the yards produced
1,661 naval ships displacing 1,595,000 tons, to say nothing of 3,770,000 gross
tons of merchant ships. A comparable period, beginning in September 1939 and
continuing through to the end of 1943, was forthcoming with 4,400 naval
vessels of 1,795,000 displacement tons and no less than 4,463,000 gross tons of
merchant shipping.4 To be sure, the second conflict had no production pinnacle
equal to 1916, when warships of 514,000 displacement tons left the yards, but
that was owing not so much to production shortfalls in the 1940s as it was to a
greater emphasis on turning out merchant tonnage. Turning to America, a
comparison of naval programs in aggregate for the six years from 1934 to 1939
with those for the six succeeding years is salutary. The programs, of course,
reflect the perceptions of politicians and naval chiefs and, as such, give a fair
impression of the stresses incident to international relations. So far as the United
States was concerned, safeguarding national security before 1940 called for the
provision of eight battleships, two aircraft carriers, 10 cruisers, 65 destroyers,
and 36 submarines. From 1940, however, a sea change occurs, because the
programs extending from that year through to 1945 encompass nine battleships
(plus six battle-cruisers), 49 aircraft carriers (plus 85 of the escort variety), 99
cruisers, 474 destroyers (together with an astounding 1,005 of the escort type),
and 339 submarines. Naval programs deal with authorizations, not actual
construction, so a better grasp of shipyard activity is gained from perusing lists
of ships during the years in question. Confirmation that authorizations and new
ships are not one and the same comes from the revealing fact that no battleship
was launched from 1934 to 1939, although three carriers, 17 cruisers, 67
destroyers and 28 submarines did slide down the ways. Once urgency had taken
hold in 1940 the situation was transformed: 10 battleships (plus three battle-
cruisers), 38 fleet and light carriers, 119 escort-carriers, 56 cruisers, 410
destroyers, 395 destroyer escorts (not to mention 78 built for Britain, six for
France and 56 completed as high-speed transports), and 235 submarines came
off the ways down to the end of 1945. In just three years from July 1, 1940,
some 333 of these combatants, totaling 1,117,054 tons, were built, added to
which were 810,746 tons of auxiliary vessels.5 The peak year for naval output of
98 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

all kinds was 1944, when 5,457,490 displacement tons were forthcoming, much
of it in the form of landing craft. At the same time, the Maritime Commission
was doing its utmost to fulfill insistent demands for cargo tonnage. Its crowning
achievement was the Liberty Ship program (and the Victory Ship program that it
inspired). Liberty Ships accounted for over half of the more than 53 million dead
weight tons of shipping built under the auspices of the Maritime Commission. In
a decision pregnant with consequences the Commission had decided well before
the war to stake its reputation on standard ships. It subsequently kept faith with
that decision, reaping benefits far in excess of those garnered by its Shipping
Board predecessor. At its zenith in 1917–1918 the EFC had contracted for 3,116
ships of 16,913,047 dead weight tons, ships predominantly of standard designs.
Flaws in design and tardiness in readying the 939 building berths needed to
handle this weight of tonnage had conspired to thwart timely output.6 In the
event, only 6.5 million dead weight tons ever materialized, with less than three
million tons of it entering service before the end of hostilities. By way of
contrast, the Commission produced 2,710 of the 7,200 gross tons (10,865 dead
weight tons) of EC2 Liberties before war’s end, the first being launched on
September 27, 1941. The faster VC2 Victory Ships (7, 612 gross tons) replaced
the Liberties on the ways and 534 were delivered between February 28, 1944
and the end of 1945.7 Together, the EC2 and VC2 standard ships were
emblematic of the American industry’s ability to meet the burdens imposed on
it. At its height in 1943 the industry was able to turn out a staggering 19.2
million dead weight tons of merchant vessels.8
Granted that labor was the leading factor restraining output in both Britain and
America, prodigious feats such as these were only attainable because the
industry assiduously promoted labor productivity. Compelling evidence of this
productivity is revealed in the data compiled for the Liberty Ship program. In
brief, the man-hour index associated with the building of such vessels fell from
100 to 45 between December 1941 and December 1944, translating into an
overall increase in output per man-hour of 122 percent, or an annual increase
averaging 40 percent9 An impressive performance to be sure, and one that can
be imputed to learning economies, but even more startling is the revelation that
most of the workers accounting for the accomplishment were new to the
industry. Productivity on this scale would have been impossible without
corresponding attention to process technology; that is to say, the entire means
whereby ships were built and shipyards laid out. Welding was at the heart of the
process technology. Once its drawbacks are overcome, welding offers
demonstrable benefits over riveting as a means of fastening together the steel
members of a ship.10 In requiring only about 88 percent of the amount of steel as
a riveted ship of comparable dimensions, a welded ship affords cost savings in
steel and thus reductions (of the order of two or three percent) in the price of the
ship herself. Moreover, the hull of a welded ship is smoother, because the
overlapping of plates unavoidable in riveting is eliminated, and this furnishes
added benefits of reduced water resistance when the vessel is under way (with
commensurate fuel savings—of up to 20 percent—at a given speed) and sharply
diminished leakage. Best of all, welding is an inherently faster process than
World War II: The Ultimate Test 99

riveting, requiring less intensive training among its practitioners. That fact raised
the possibility of promptly raising large armies of labor for shipbuilding tasks,
and was eagerly grasped by wartime officials looking to boost output at almost a
moment’s notice. Although partially adopted in the Great War, welding had
regressed thereafter; indeed, it had fallen so far out of favor as to owe its revival
to entrepreneurs largely detached from the mainstream of shipbuilding.
Prominent among them was Daniel K. Ludwig, a man whose star rose to the
ascendant after 1945. An opportunist looking to enter the industry, Ludwig hit
upon welding as a cheaper means than riveting to convert old EFC tonnage into
specialized tankers and bulk carriers. His aptly named Welding Shipyard,
inaugurated at Norfolk on Chesapeake Bay in 1940, was soon busily employed
in the construction of tankers for the Maritime Commission.11 The introduction
of welding had been left to rank outsiders like Ludwig because they were spared
the vested interests circumscribing the freedom of action of long-standing
shipbuilders. Besides the resistance to change displayed by the riveters, these
interests came into force through plant costs. To be effective, welding should be
carried out not in the open air but indoors, giving rise to prefabrication. The
latter follows from the application of downhand welding, which requires the
frequent turning of sections, an impractical task on a building berth and one best
undertaken in a crane-equipped welding bay set apart from the slipways.12 These
seemingly innocuous requirements necessitate radical alterations to yards geared
to open-air working in which all materials are riveted onto the ship as she takes
shape on the berth.13 Furthermore, they can be costly in the extreme, requiring
capital for new facilities and the deliberate writing off of plant applicable to
riveting even though that plant may not be fully depreciated.
What are the new facilities at issue? To begin with, factories for prefabricating
sections have to be erected; then, the sections have to be transported from the
factories to the ways, preferably in a straight-line flow pattern. The proposed
Higgins yard at New Orleans captures to a nicety the necessary layout. “The
fundamental idea was to have moving platforms marching down to the sea
carrying first the midship section, which would be assembled at the head of the
line complete with the main engine and boilers, and finally all the hull as it was
added section by section. There were to be four assembly lines, two on each side
of the huge sheds in which plates and shapes would be fabricated and pre-
assembled.”14 All told, the production capacity embodied in the four lines would
match that of a conventional yard boasting no fewer than 44 ways. Undoubtedly
a marvel of industrial engineering, the yard was not built, for its sheer size
would have overwhelmed the ability of the steel industry to keep it stocked with
materials. The British, endowed with small cramped sites and layouts ill suited
for straight-line flow principles, faced daunting difficulties in introducing the
rudiments of welding into their yards. So beset with difficulties were they that
they displayed little inclination to try the whole-or-nothing Higgins approach.
Less burdened with a legacy of antiquated yards, Americans took to the new
technology with gusto. True, they steered clear of grand projects of the Higgins
type (because it risked replicating the congestion and agglomeration
diseconomies that attended Hog Island), but that did not prevent them from
100 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

proceeding with a legion of smaller—and more manageable—peers. Nobody

surpassed Henry J. Kaiser, another newcomer to shipbuilding, in rising to the
challenge. His approach to shipbuilding was reduced to the bare essentials,
consisting in “a generous use of space so that production of the ships would
never be cramped, a program of prefabrication of huge ship sections and the use
of welding to replace the old-fashioned technique of riveting.” Kaiser’s
approach proved to be stunningly effective, and his 58 ways, shared among
seven new yards, produced no fewer than 1,383 merchant vessels (and 107
warships) or a breathtaking 25.73 percent of the Commission’s wartime
program.15
We have peppered the commentary with references to the Maritime
Commission, for the industry’s reconstruction in America was bound up with
the dictates of this agency, a spin-off of the Merchant Marine Act of 1936. The
Commission came to symbolize government intervention in shipbuilding,
although the phenomenon was not new to the industry, as we impressed upon
the reader in our review of World War I. Soon after the end of that conflict
governments had expressed a willingness to extricate themselves from the
industry’s affairs, urged on by shipbuilders critical of any state interference.
Scarcely had they withdrawn, however, before some in the industry were
clamoring for their return. The insistent demands came from shipbuilders
perturbed at the consequences of the cyclical downturn visited on the shipping
business. These industrialists subscribed to the view that there was much to
recommend government as a guarantor of last resort; in effect, it was expected to
act as a counterweight to the market, preventing the industry’s demise in harsh
economic times. A precedent of sorts was set in America in 1920 with the
Merchant Marine Act and in Britain in 1921 with the Trade Facilities Acts that
accustomed governments to the provision of subsidies in peacetime. By the late
1930s governments in both America and Britain had shouldered much of the
burden of responsibility for the industry’s well-being. Increasingly, though, the
grounds for government involvement shifted: Rather than using economic
depression to argue in favor of it as a relief measure—and not least as a prop
underpinning the continued survival of shipbuilding communities—the
advocates of public intervention justified their stance in the name of bolstering
national defense. In short, they maintained that shipbuilding was a strategic
industry that could not be allowed to founder, and their counsel prevailed as
international tensions mounted. Disagreements over the Naval Treaties were
construed as a menace to peace, a menace foreshadowed by the eagerness of
Japan and Italy to embark on aggressive colonial adventures. The concerns of
the advocates of shipbuilding supports did not play them false, because they all
came to fruition sooner rather than later. In the meantime the steps taken by
Anglo-American governments to shore up shipbuilding were to serve as a
foundation for the comprehensive controls ushered in by the outbreak of war.
How government intervention evolved in the critical interwar years—indeed,
how the industry as a whole contrived to endure—will now be addressed, for an
understanding of the events that were to unfold for shipbuilding in World War II
is incomplete without it.
World War II: The Ultimate Test 101

BRITISH SHIPBUILDING AND THE RIGORS OF WAR

The Daunting Prospect
We left British shipbuilding on the brink of war, preparing—after a fashion—
for the immense challenges in store. With war’s onset many in the industry were
plunged into gloom, ready to lament the decline so evident in the shipbuilding
districts and quick to voice criticism of the employers’ organization, the
Shipbuilding Conference for, in their view, allowing the deterioration to proceed
virtually unchecked. In particular, they singled out that creature of the
Conference, the National Shipbuilders’ Security, for being deaf to entreaties to
save modern facilities—yards such as Palmers’ extensive Jarrow establishment
and the Dalmuir Naval Construction Works of William Beardmore—that would
now be sorely missed. In vain did the defenders of the NSS protest that its aims
were not without merit, because enforced capacity reduction offered surviving
yards a lifeline through greater utilization of what capacity remained and
thereby the prospect of a reasonable rate of return, thus affording some hope of
long-term stability. The Shipbuilding Conference at the same time had urged the
surviving yards to refrain from bidding on all types of new construction and
instead concentrate their scope on just one or two types. That way they could
acquire specialist status and the inevitable benefits that would follow in its
wake. Specialization was credited not only with an improvement in costs, the
upshot of reduced standing charges (arising from the removal of nonessential
capacity hitherto retained to accommodate all building contingencies), but with
the bolstering of labor productivity, the consequence of augmented learning
economies.16 Implicit in this advocacy was the thought that specialized yards
could be turned to good account in wartime, capitalizing on their learning
economies to produce prodigious amounts of shipping in short order. Indeed,
this aspect was not lost on SC3, though it did seem to escape the notice of the
public at large. Labor representatives remained singularly unimpressed,
dismissing these arguments. Gavin Martin, one of Robert Barlow’s committee
investigating the thorny issue of labor supply in shipbuilding, insisted as late as
1942 that the NSS deserved censure, maintaining that it had recklessly pursued a
policy that “deliberately lowered the building capacity of the industry without
regard to the nation’s needs, either in peace or war.”17
Rancor aside, the government soon took matters into its own hands. In marked
contrast to the Great War, when it had first leaned to one scheme and then to
another, it demonstrated a firm grip from the beginning. It was resolved by any
means short of outright nationalization to exercise a full measure of control over
the industry’s every move. A Ministry of Shipping was formed in October 1939,
absorbing all branches of the BoT with a shipping or shipbuilding mandate. At
first, responsibility for merchant shipbuilding resided in this new department
(which was incorporated into the Ministry of War Transport in May 1941),
leaving the Admiralty in charge of naval shipbuilding. It was soon realized,
however, that better coordination would ensue with the eradication of the
division of responsibilities. Consequently, on February 1, 1940, all shipbuilding
and ship repair came under the jurisdiction of the Admiralty.18 Thanks in part to
102 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

the groundwork accomplished by SC3, nobody at the Admiralty had any

illusions about the magnitude of the task ahead for shipbuilding. There was a
general feeling abroad that the war would constitute the ultimate test and there
was no ambition or thought beyond surviving it (and this “siege mentality”
persisted well into the war). Moreover, it was thoroughly understood that the
industry had been thrown into such disorder by the vicissitudes of the interwar
years that it would be hard pressed to rise to the challenge. All in all, the
industry was but a shadow of its 1914 manifestation, a situation that did not
bode well for major upsurges in output. Certainly, circumstances were inimical
to any bold experiments, such as model shipyards at “greenfield” sites. In any
event, their Great War predecessors in the form of National Shipyards scarcely
served to fire the imagination, having failed so conspicuously to live up to
expectations. Not only did the lack of time act to deter any enthusiasm for
reviving the concept—and it would take years to bring totally new shipyards to
fruition—but an awareness of the labor-supply problems that were bound to
attend the venture simply underlined the fact that labor shortages threatened to
hamstring the efforts of each and every yard currently in existence.
By common consent the lessons of the Great War had to be heeded, and that
applied to standardization just as much as it bore on organization.
Standardization had been eagerly upheld by groups as diverse as maverick
industrialists and career bureaucrats in the earlier conflict, so clearly it had merit
on its side. This merit had been recognized anew by SC3 in the 1930s and that
committee had not only espoused it in principle but had gone on to adumbrate
the kinds of standard ships that would be needed.19 Not surprising, then,
standardization was an article of faith among the planners charged with
producing ships for the new war, albeit standardization after a new fashion.
However, the zeal for standardization was tempered by a level-headed
appreciation of the drawbacks that could accompany it. It was not forgotten that
in World War I standardization had left much to be desired, partly because of
government bungling and partly on account of resistance at the yard level, with
little to choose between them as to which was the main culprit for the tardy
production record. A similar debacle had to be avoided at all costs, for Britain
expected significant shipping losses to U-boats from the outset and had to be
prepared to find replacement tonnage. All things considered, SC3 and its
successors at the Admiralty believed that these problems could be overcome if
shipbuilders were granted greater flexibility. They held to the view that nothing
was to be gained from forcing a yard to build a standard ship of a type with
which it was barely familiar. Rather than countenance the delays occasioned by
learning, it would be preferable to have that yard produce simplified versions of
ships with which it was already familiar, ships that could be built in series fairly
rapidly (because of their simplified scantlings) and at substantially lower cost
(following from the combination of learning and scale economies). Apart from
the production advantages, this approach ensured that there was variety in ship
output, an outcome of immeasurable value to the navy and shipowners alike.20
The Admiralty, extolling the advantages of this approach, invited all
World War II: The Ultimate Test 103

shipbuilders to nominate a prototype vessel to serve as a pattern for series

production.
The example of the general cargo ship, the indispensable tramp steamer, will
suffice to show how the approach came to bear on merchant shipbuilding. At the
Admiralty’s behest, shipbuilders that had focused on tramp steamers formulated
several partly prefabricated designs that were further refined into standard cargo
ships of the B, C, D, and Y types. These ranged in size from 7,050 gross tons to
7,370 gross tons (10,000 to 10,500 dead weight tons) with lengths of 446 to 449
feet, the dispersion around the mean reflecting local yard conditions. Firms
granted discretionary powers to build these extensions of their own prototypes
included Barclay Curie and Charles Connell at Glasgow, Harland & Wolff at
Belfast, Readhead on the Tyne, the Sunderland yards of Bartram, Doxford,
Laing, and Short, the neighboring Hartlepool establishment of William Gray,
and that ardent supporter of standard ships from 1918, Burntisland on the
Forth.21 Thus the Great War approach of imposing standard designs on
shipbuilders was deliberately spurned; instead, each yard was given its head in
the conviction that it would raise productivity by concentrating on what it did
best. As a rule, a British shipbuilder in World War II only constructed ships of a
type with which it was accustomed in the manner which it felt most comfortable.
On occasion this rule was broken—exigencies sometimes called for drastic
measures—but the belief then current was that yards would give a good account
of themselves by affirming their specialization. The message that specialization
was a worthy end of rationalization, disseminated with an air of desperation by
the Shipbuilding Conference in defense of the NSS, had taken root.
This is not to say that standardization was disparaged in any way; on the
contrary, it came into its own with respect to the power, navigation, crewing,
and lifting subsystems essential to the functioning of any ship. Practically, this
entailed the mass production of standard components built into the ship. Items
such as winches, pumps, fans, electrical motors, controllers, switchboards,
valves, heat exchange units, boilers, and hatch covers all became
interchangeable parts, “commodities” rather than bespoke components built to
fit the requirements of specific ships. Prominent among the subsystems
subjected to standardization of parts were marine engines. Just a few designs
were selected for volume production and components common to these designs
were manufactured to standard blueprints, permitting their installation in any
engine type. As we have already remarked, marine engineering had been dealt as
severe a blow as shipbuilding by the depression of the early 1930s, alarming
observers at SC3. By February 1939 it was estimated that the remaining plant
would be able to produce propelling machinery totaling 632,000 horsepower in
the course of a year.22 This level of activity was but a fraction of what the
industry had been capable of in its prime; for example, it paled in comparison
with the 1,426,000 horsepower turned out in 1914 and the 1,752,000 horsepower
complementing the peak shipbuilding output of 1920.23 All the same, the
projected 1939 output was judged to be enough, if just barely, to meet the new
construction targets for that year, provided that the standardization plan was put
into effect. The closed factories were the most visible indications of the blight
104 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

from which marine engineering was only now emerging, but making good the
lost plant was not the biggest problem confronting the industry; rather, in fact, it
was chronic shortages of skilled labor, not shortfalls in machine tooling, that
quickly came to dominate the production outlook.

Mobilization
A system had sprung up over the years of rearmament that was prepared to
oversee the mobilizing of war production. The Admiralty had formulated several
fleet expansion plans, secure in the knowledge that the government would do its
level best to allocate the necessary shipbuilding facilities. These plans, however,
were subject to amendment, having to take into account the parallel demands for
merchant tonnage—vital for ensuring Britain’s ability to countermand any
submarine blockade mounted against her—and the reality of a diminished
shipbuilding industry that was scarcely half of its 1914 size. As we have seen,
SC3 kept abreast of the state of industrial deterioration, carefully matching
hypothetical emergency programs to the inventory both of active yards and
those of the inactive, though redeemable, kind that were judged not to have
passed the point of no return. From the advent of rearmament in 1934,
contingency plans had first been revised downward and then, as the gravity of
the international situation began to sink in, jerked upward. Still, on the brink of
war the conviction had gained ground that the industry would have its work cut
out producing an adequate naval program as well as 1.2 million gross tons of
merchant shipping. When war’s imminence was transformed overnight into
actual hostilities the reaction was to let the warship yards steal the industry’s
thunder; in other words, it was held that the existing naval program had to be
completed at all costs even if that meant diverting resources away from
merchant yards (and their annual production objective was accordingly cut to
1.1 million gross tons). This was a tall order, for in 1936 the Admiralty had been
given carte blanche to order as many warships as the industry could handle in
the succeeding three years. Two decisions in close succession had added to the
industry’s burden: first, in 1938 the government had bowed to pressure from the
Admiralty and agreed to countenance the mustering of a powerful Far East fleet,
and second, at the eleventh hour in August 1939 it had thrown financial caution
to the winds and removed all cost limits on naval plans. The upshot of the
former alone was a program of considerable size, calling for the completion (and
by 1943 no less) of four battleships, two aircraft carriers, eleven cruisers, four
cruiser-minelayers, 16 destroyers, seven submarines, and no fewer than 166
other combatants.24 The consequences of the latter were even more breathtaking,
for giving the Admiralty its head was tantamount to sanctioning its two-power
standard. As envisioned in 1938, that required a force of truly epic proportions,
numbering 21 battleships, 13 aircraft carriers, 90 cruisers, 21 destroyer flotillas
(of eight ships apiece), 73 submarines, and a mass of smaller ASW and
minesweeping vessels. Transforming plans of such scale into steel structures
was a daunting prospect for a still enfeebled industry. Nevertheless, the yards
toiled in the wake of the insistent demands made on them and could point to
World War II: The Ultimate Test 105

naval vessels amounting to 545,000 displacement tons under construction at the

end of 1938. However, hopes of building on this momentum were quickly
dashed during the first few months of war when reality intruded in the form of
U-boat depredations. Large combatants were sacrificed on the altar of necessity,
because submarines could only be countered by ships of destroyer size and
smaller. From March 1940 priority was accorded ASW forces in the naval
program and efforts were redoubled to raise merchant tonnage to 1.5 million.25
Frustrating Admiralty efforts to harmonize the two branches of shipbuilding was
the enormous rise in ship repair, an activity that diverted labor and plant away
from new construction. This unforeseen exigency seriously detracted from the
inventory of yards that had been set aside as essential for the fulfillment of the
production targets. Nowhere was it more troublesome than in the Admiralty’s
own dockyards, where the staff “found themselves overwhelmed with ships sent
for refit and repairs.”26 Granted that the realities of war rendered the Royal
Dockyards virtually useless as sources of new warships, the Admiralty was at a
loss to find replacement capacity.
The turn of events from the early 1930s had so undermined the supply of
skilled labor as to rule out either the creation of new yards or the revival of old
ones. The government, alive to the sharp deterioration in the workforce, had
calculated on concentrating at existing yards the scarce skilled labor that was
available. The official position thus echoed the advice proffered by the
Shipbuilding Conference and could be said to represent the orthodox view.
Certainly, the trade press was quick to champion it. Editorial opinion held that
the main problem confronting both the government and those advocating the
opening of disused yards was the securing of skilled labor. Moreover, the point
was strenuously made that “it would be much easier to absorb any skilled labour
available in shipyards now being operated than to face the cost, delay and risk
inevitably associated with re-starting old yards.”27 Orthodoxy of this kind
irritated many observers beyond measure, however, not least the spokesmen for
the labor unions. The forces arrayed against the government position were too
powerful to ignore and so an effort was made to find yards that could be revived
at little cost within a reasonable time. In order to tap a labor pool habituated to
shipbuilding it was necessary to confine the search to the two chief
agglomerations. The Clyde was summarily excluded, because engineering
establishments there were already bemoaning labor shortages amounting to
4,000 skilled men.28 On the face of it, only the North-East Coast appeared to
have an appreciable surplus of qualified workers that could be spared from
active yards. In fact, the planners were guilty of making light of the sheer
difficulties involved in gathering together sizable worker complements in a
region soon to be plagued with a tight labor market. The government, eager to
placate its critics, was prepared to stretch the point, sanctioning the reopening of
two yards that had fallen into the clutches of the NSS. Ironically, only one of the
two—the venerable Low Walker site on the Tyne that had begun life under the
auspices of Charles Mitchell and had been inherited by Armstrong Whitworth—
had been deemed worthy of retention after its closure in 1934. The other, the
Southwick yard on the Wear that had been founded by Swan Hunter in 1912,
106 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

had been demolished after its closure in 1931. The NSS had judged it to be less
valuable as a reserve yard than Gray’s Pallion yard on the same river.29
The Shipbuilding Conference, presented with the task of organizing the
revived capacity, formed the Shipbuilding Corporation to run the two yards. Yet
it was one thing to declare an intention to open the yards; it was quite another to
consummate that intention. Shortages of managers and workers (despite the
influx of female “dilutees”; that is to say, people engaged temporarily to
undertake jobs that would normally be reserved for time-served craftsmen)
conspired to frustrate startup operations. Low Walker was not ready before July
1941, and Southwick’s effective start was put off until the summer of 1942. The
former had taken nine months to muster a skeleton force of 505 workers and it
was two years before the barely adequate total of 1,000 was reached; indeed, in
May 1943 it had 1,010 on its books and still had need for 800 more.30 The
latter’s attempt to engage workers had been thwarted by other Sunderland yards,
a state of affairs that persisted until the Conference threatened to remove some
of their skilled workers and spirit them out of the district.31 It had 402 workers
on its books in May 1943, a good 700 short of what was needed. All things
considered, the results scarcely justified the trouble taken to revive the yards.
Being but a derelict site, Southwick’s renewed lease on life cost a princely
350,000 pounds, for everything from the building ways to the cranage and shops
had to be provided from scratch.32 In return for that expenditure the yard
produced a modest six vessels by war’s end, none of which was a warship (they
were standard tramps, five of the D type and one of the C type). The
Corporation’s Tyne branch was more proficient, completing eleven B-type
standard tramps by the end of hostilities. All the same, this performance was
unimpressive when set against the record of Harland’s Belfast and Govan
establishments, which between them turned out 82 large merchant ships, to say
nothing of a prodigious amount of naval tonnage.33
In all, 23 old yards were brought back into use as hostilities wore on, although
only the aforementioned two were fitted out as fully functioning construction
entities. The reactivated yards were dotted round the country, albeit with a bias
in favor of the Clyde and North-East Coast (as can be elicited from Map 4.1).
Besides the pair under the charge of the Shipbuilding Corporation, one or two
more were pressed into service in the production drive. Most conspicuous from
the naval viewpoint was the Sunderland yard of Priestman, an abandoned site
not far from the Corporation’s Southwick branch. It was reconstituted with
Admiralty help as the West Yard of the active shipbuilder, William Pickersgill,
and went on later in the war to build several ASW escorts and landing craft. Of
greater significance for the industry as a whole was the formerly idle capacity
nourished at Belfast. There, part of the defunct Workman, Clark establishment,
the old South Yard, was invested with new purpose as Harland & Wolff’s
Victoria Yard. It was turned to good account in merchant shipbuilding. Yard
reactivation on the Clyde offered fewer material benefits in absolute terms, but it
was still something of value all the same. The capacity brought back to life
World War II: The Ultimate Test 107

Map 4.1
U.K. Shipyards Reopened in Wartime

Douglas Fast

proved useful in buttressing the agglomeration’s strengths. Even that symbol of

wasted investment on the part of the integrated armaments makers, the Dalmuir
Naval Works, was not overlooked, for its outfitting basin was restored by John
Brown, only a stone’s throw away at Clydebank, to handle “overflow” work. Its
rescue paid off later in the war when it became an outfitting station for frigates
prefabricated at a number of yards in Western Scotland. With labor shortages
very much in evidence everywhere, the other “revivals” were either given over
to ship repair or, in the case of a dozen of them, used for dealing with
prefabricated units. In certain instances, these units were fabricated on site and
108 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

then moved to neighboring building berths for incorporation into completed

ships. Alternatively—and here we are getting ahead of ourselves in the
unfolding chronology—when the program to build enormous numbers of
landing craft assumed high priority, the sites served as the final-assembly points
for prefabricated sections gathered from inland steel suppliers. Prominent among
those dedicated to ship repair was a site evocative of bygone shipbuilding
prowess; namely, Jarrow on the Tyne. The Admiralty transformed the one-time
Palmers’ site into a ship-repair base, transferring floating docks to the river from
vulnerable southern ports. A similar circumstance overtook the Londonderry
yard that had once belonged to Swan Hunter’s North of Ireland Shipbuilding
subsidiary. In the capable hands of Harland’s (acting on behalf of the
Admiralty), it became the refit center for ASW flotillas committed to the Battle
of the Atlantic. Another old building yard—and one that belonged wholly to the
Admiralty—saw a new lease on life conducting warship refits, and that was at
Pembroke Dock. The advent of German bombing, meanwhile, was responsible
for persuading the London Graving Dock Company to seek a safer location in
which to undertake ship repairs. The firm hit upon Ayr in the Clyde approaches,
reopening a yard abandoned by Ailsa Shipbuilding. For the present we will
refrain from commenting on the landing-craft program. However, we feel the
compulsion to mention two familiar yards, both casualties of the interwar years,
which were drawn into that venture. The first is Fairfield’s Chepstow branch, the
erstwhile National Shipyard; the second is the Meadowside Yard on the Clyde,
once celebrated as the Henderson establishment and subsequently acquired by
Harland & Wolff.
Clearly, the government did manage to enlist the aid of some redundant
shipbuilding sites in its mobilization crusade, but the numbers involved were
never more than a small fraction of all the inactive sites. Still, when all is said
and done the fear expressed by some people that unused capacity was going to
waste was soon laid to rest, for it became plain to everybody that physical
capacity was useless without attendant workers. So there matters rested with
respect to shipbuilding locations: In short, no new sites of any significance were
added to the remnants of the stock bequeathed by the previous generation. By
default, the government was left with little choice but to rely heavily on the two
chief agglomerations. To get the full measure of what mobilization meant for
shipbuilding it is necessary to turn to the labor factor.

Chronic Labor Shortages

Compounding the problem of labor shortages was the need to give greater
weight to ship repair. To be sure, the Admiralty had anticipated an upsurge in
the work of converting merchant ships into naval auxiliaries and the arming of
those retained for trading purposes. However, they had not foreseen the huge
requirement for refits occasioned by naval actions off Norway and Dunkirk.
Also the battle damage sustained by vessels surviving U-boat attacks defied
prediction. Because ship repairing is inherently labor intensive (comparable in
many ways to the outfitting of new-built ships), it imposed disproportionate
World War II: The Ultimate Test 109

demands on the yards, compelling them to bolster their repair workforces. The
preferred means of accomplishing this object was through infusions of fresh
labor. Failing that, they had no option but to resort to the diversion of existing
workers from ship construction to ship repairing. To do justice to the
government no effort was spared in assisting the yards to garner new workers.
The total number of insured workers in shipbuilding and repairing in Britain
(exclusive of Northern Ireland) climbed from 173,000 in July 1939 to stand at
249,000 by July 1945.34 In Northern Ireland, Harland’s mighty Belfast
establishment saw its workforce grow from just under 18,000 at the end of 1939
to 30,801 in December 1944 (before reducing to 26,393 one year later).35 Three
districts bore the brunt of the expansion in mainland Britain: the Clyde and
North-East Coast, respectively subsumed within Scotland, and the Northern
standard regions, and the North-Western Region; that is to say, the Mersey in all
but name. Increases of 72 percent were registered for the first, 69 percent for the
second, and 86 percent for the third. In the waning days of the war—February
1945—official data recorded 58,596 shipbuilding and repair workers in
Scotland; a number amounting to almost 27 percent of all workers in mainland
British shipyards. No fewer than 16,037 of these workers operated within the
repair sector. For the Northern Region the February survey returned 53,105
workers (24.3 percent of the total for mainland Britain), of whom 16,679 were
engaged in ship repairing. The North-Western Region, for its part, recorded
38,585 workers (17.6 percent of the total), with as many as 27,089 active in the
repair sector.36
More telling than these aggregate changes in labor supply were the
incremental accretions. The data presented in Table 4.1 hint at the difficulties
encountered in attracting additional workers after the fourth quarter of 1941.
Shipyard labor rose from 120,000 to 154,000 in the first year of the war. In the
course of the next year the industry gained another 17,000 workers, just half of
the previous increment. Thereafter, though, the gains were barely discernible:
scarcely 5,000 in 1942 and a mere 1,000 in 1943. The total began to erode in
1944, declining by almost 10,000 by the end of that year, and the erosion was
not arrested in 1945. A similar pattern informs the data of employment in marine
engineering. Yet it is the shipyard data that merit closer inspection, for they
permit us to gauge how the balance between new construction and repairing
altered as the war progressed. At the outset, in October 1939, naval and
merchant repairs together occupied 44 percent of all employment in the yards,
leaving naval new construction to engage the attention of 34 percent and
construction of merchant ships to keep busy the rest. By the fourth quarter of
1940 we can distinguish between those occupied in naval repairs and those
dedicated to merchant repairs, and the data reveal that the former accounted for
one-fifth of all yard employees whereas the latter tied up no less than one-
quarter. Both branches of repairing were therefore imposing greater demands on
labor supply than merchant construction, which occupied 19 percent of the
workforce. A partial redressing of the balance had occurred a year later when the
proportion of the workforce given over to naval repairs fell below that dedicated
to merchant construction. Yet there were still 12,000 more workers committed
World War II: The Ultimate Test 111

to repairing merchant ships at this stage of the war than there were workers
tasked with building them. That state of affairs persisted to the end; indeed by
September 1945 there were appreciably more people working on merchant
repairs than there were employed on naval construction. By that juncture fully
one-third of all shipyard labor was busy with merchant repairs as against the 27
percent committed to merchant construction, the 26 percent involved in naval
construction, and the less than 13 percent retained for naval repairs. Thus, it can
be said without any risk of contradiction that repairing consistently drew on a
large share of the available workforce, encroaching on the pool suitable for new
construction. As Davies remarks, the repair sector called on the services of “at
least as half as many again as those engaged in building new ships and, since the
facilities in the repair establishments proved inadequate, much repair work had
to be carried out in shipbuilding yards which inevitably delayed both the naval
and merchant new-building programme.”37 More to the point, attempts to
enlarge the workforce to accommodate the insistent demands of both repairing
and construction were thwarted again and again. They offer an object lesson in
ambition outstripping the realities of the labor market.
The fact was that government plans, however wistful of a future bright with
promise, remained hostage to the supply of skilled craftsmen, for bottlenecks
could not be removed at a moment’s notice. Insufficient numbers of qualified
riveters, platers, welders, and electricians combined to constitute a thorny
stumbling block, preventing the galvanizing of yard activity. These shortfalls,
rather than the absolute size of recruitment, threatened to militate against all
grand production targets. Indeed, bottlenecks proved stubbornly resistant to
remedial action, so much so that a worried government formed a committee of
inquiry, chaired by Robert Barlow, to thoroughly investigate the matter and
propose solutions. After inspecting many yards and ruminating on the issue, the
committee pronounced its verdict.38 In the first place, it recognized that the
problem was chronic, originating in the industry’s 1932 brush with disaster
when labor training became a prey to expediency. Second, it cautioned the
government to resign itself to the disagreeable fact that there was no relief on the
horizon, because the country could not turn out skilled men in the twinkling of
an eye. Instead—and this was the third and most useful aspect of the report—the
only recourse left to the government was to derive greater returns from the
personnel already present in the yards. The committee, befitting its mandate,
came up with means whereby that end could be achieved. What struck the
committee was the unwillingness of many people, party to the industry’s day-to-
day operations, to cooperate in formulating simple but workable improvements.
Too many workers, it averred, were reluctant to work beyond the 47 hours
stipulated for the week (and the committee imputed that hesitancy to arduous
conditions), but if they were to agree to a moderate amount of overtime, pushing
the hours worked to 56 or 60, then the concomitant increase in output would be
immense. A 10-percent jump in productivity was confidently predicted on the
strength of this change alone. In the committee’s opinion yard managers would
encourage greater worker participation were they to adopt incentive-based pay
schemes such as piecework. Furthermore, managers were faulted for their
112 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

inclination to operate in isolation, ignoring the needs of their counterparts in

other yards. It was the committee’s considered view that they would profit from
better coordination of their labor needs. In so doing it would be possible to
mitigate the worst effect of a mismatch prevalent in the yards; namely, the
presence in some of them of skilled labor in excess of their needs at the same
time as others, in the neighborhood, were suffering acute shortages of workers in
those trades. Barlow’s group, while pressing the government to provide more
schools for the abbreviated training of riveters, did not shy away from the
question of dilution, despite its tendency to aggravate labor–management
relations. The main current of the committee’s argument was that dilution,
including the employment of women, was inevitable given the shortage of
skilled men, and that efforts should be redoubled to ensure that it was
implemented. Resort to welding, particularly in the subassembly stages, would
offset the severe shortage of time-served riveters, especially if the Admiralty
could be induced to overlook some of the misgivings it held with respect to
welded ships. Welding, as we have remarked, was a trade capable of mastering
in a much shorter period than riveting. In any case, the drawbacks of using labor
that was unskilled or semiskilled could be countered by a parallel attention to
plant improvement, and here the government was enjoined to institute a wide-
ranging program of yard investment. The government went on to distill the
particular lessons for policy, not least those calling for a reappraisal of yard
layouts and plant replacement. As we shall see, the results impacted
significantly on shipbuilding performance in the final years of the war. For the
moment, however, the Admiralty had its hands full with other concerns.
Noticeably absent from them was any sign of the reappearance of Great War–
style bottlenecks in steel supplies to the yards.
In World War I steel delivery to the yards had been prone to interruption, but
in the current crisis not even the most confirmed pessimist could deny that the
supply chain was much more robust. True, shortages arose early in the war that
disproportionately handicapped some yards and some aspects of the new-build
program. Yet both the severity of the shortages and the production delays
occasioned by them could have been far worse. The government, to its credit,
had foreseen some of the problems and, in hopes of circumventing them, had
instructed the Ministry of Supply (formed in August 1939 with the express
purpose of anticipating the needs of war industries) to give the highest priority
to steel supply.39 Thus, in January 1940 the Steel Controller insisted that the
steel industry was to supply the shipbuilders with 1.1 million tons to allow the
yards to press ahead with the construction of 1.5 million gross tons of merchant
ships. By any measure, the Ministry’s efforts were commendable, not to say
imaginative. It was prepared to countenance greater usage of acid (and later
basic) Bessemer steel—a move that provoked initial dissent from some
shipbuilders—so as to access material that had previously been overlooked. The
Bessemer rail-making complex at Workington was inducted into the supply
chain in this manner.40 For the most part the Bessemer material had been
eclipsed by the open-hearth variety in the composition of U.K. steel output, but
the residual capacity devoted to its production was now fully engaged in the war
World War II: The Ultimate Test 113

effort.41 Certainly, Bessemer steel had long been out of favor in the shipbuilding
industry, as we have had cause to remark. Now the Admiralty raised no
objection to the application of Bessemer steel to such ship’s items as
nonstructural decks and flats, deckhouses, tank-top plating, subdivision
bulkheads, rivets, vent tubes, and funnel plates. These initiatives were sufficient
to satisfy the shipbuilding industry’s requirements for ordinary rolled steel plates
and sections. However, some difficulties were encountered in meeting the
requirement for heavy steel forgings and castings, materials indispensable for
making engine crankshafts and ships’ stern frames.42 The crankshaft problem
was eliminated gradually as new plant was brought on stream. The problem with
stern frames was overcome more ingeniously. Rather than persist with the
casting process, the stern frame was completed redesigned as a standard item
that could be fabricated from welded plates and sections. In addition, the
production of alloy steel for armor plate was often in arrears, as evidenced by
the diversion of much of the limited stock to the production of main battle tanks
for the Army in the summer of 1940. Compelled to make do with an allocation
of only 16,500 tons of armor plate, the Admiralty had no choice but to curtail its
1941 plans for completing battleships, aircraft carriers, and cruisers.43 Other
elements of the Admiralty’s emergency programs were thrown into disorder as
the realities of war took hold, but these owed less to material shortages than to
the restraining effect of the labor factor on the wholesale expansion of
shipbuilding. It is high time that we examine the details of these programs as
they came to bear on the shipyards.

Endurance
At the beginning of the war the Admiralty still nourished hopes of completing
its ambitious plans for capital ships. The advent of the German submarine
offensive soon threw these deep-laid plans to the winds. War losses of cargo
vessels called for urgent replacements from the shipyards, a request that placed a
premium on turnover. Completion times of large combatants were lengthy,
obviously antagonistic to the object of turning out tonnage with expedition.
This, together with the even lengthier time taken to produce heavy gun
mountings, sealed the fate of the battleship program. The shipbuilding resources
dedicated to them were both disproportionate and at odds with the new
imperative. The yards persevered with the five-ship King George V class, began
before the outbreak, but the follow-on foursome of the Lion class were
summarily cancelled, their partly built hulls ignominiously removed from the
ways (although, at Winston Churchill’s insistence, the design was resurrected to
accommodate spare gun mountings as the Vanguard, a vessel whose completion
was delayed until after war’s end). Similar considerations applied to plans for
aircraft carriers and cruisers. The Admiralty had been roundly criticized before
the war for allowing cruiser numbers to fall below the “critical mass” needed for
trade protection, so it was anxious to make good the deficiency. By the same
token, early war losses had gravely depleted the carrier force and the Navy was
clamoring for replacements. In the event, however, these types bore the brunt of
114 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

the cuts, sacrificed on the altar of necessity, for in the autumn of 1941 the
Admiralty reluctantly conceded that only enough capacity to build one carrier
and six cruisers could be spared from that devoted to the ASW priority. Some of
the building berths thus released were given over to constructing destroyers, key
weapons in the ASW effort. The Navy had a pressing need for destroyers
throughout the war and felt keenly the want of them. Taxing to the limit
whatever capacity was available, the industry had 118 destroyers under
construction at the end of 1941. Another 42 were started in 1942 (while 75 were
completed), and 43 more in 1943, but the numbers remained woefully
inadequate.44 The inability of the industry to produce the necessary numbers—in
spite of the influx of capacity—was imputed to the prewar demise of naval
contractors.
Because destroyers did not lend themselves to quantity production, the
Admiralty was forced to look to smaller, simpler ships to undertake the bulk of
the ASW effort. The Great War precedent with its recourse to sloops and patrol
boats was eagerly embraced. In the same vein, the Admiralty quickly resorted to
the Great War practice of adopting mercantile standards for the vessels and
having them built for the most part in merchant yards. It turned to a shipbuilder
that had made its name ministering to the wants of the whaling fleets, Smith’s
Dock of South Bank on the Tees, and persuaded that firm to modify a whale-
catcher design into an armed escort.45 The resultant warship, dubbed a
“corvette,” led to a large number of Flower-class ASW vessels that formed the
backbone of Britain’s escort groups during the first half of the war. Built to
commercial standards (set by the British Corporation, a classification society
similar to Lloyd’s Register), the corvettes emanated from a host of mostly small
merchant yards in Britain and Canada, although Harland’s big Belfast
establishment was a conspicuous contributor. A target of 12 ships per month
was set, and to meet it the Admiralty furnished standard parts—everything from
anchors to rudders—to all the participating yards. The wisdom of tapping the
design expertise of merchant yards was upheld by the usefulness of the corvettes
in service (and Smith’s Dock subsequently cooperated with the Admiralty to
produce the improved Castle corvettes), but midocean operational conditions
brought home the need for larger vessels with better sea-keeping properties. The
“frigate” was the upshot. The first model, the River class, was also built to
mercantile standards and turned out in the main by the smaller merchant yards
(in Canada, Australia and, as the amended PF or patrol frigate, in the United
States, as well as in Britain). In truth, the frigate’s length (301.25 feet) meant
that it required longer berths than the corvette (205 feet), a requirement that
disqualified some yards from frigate construction. However, the new emphasis
on frigates, far from eliminating production capacity, was an element working
for boosted capacity, as was made manifest in the succeeding Loch class. This
version, the combined effort of the Admiralty and John Brown, was conceived
with rapid construction in mind; indeed, the vessel could be mostly prefabricated
by structural engineers and brought to the yard for final assembly (with
outfitting concentrated at the Dalmuir Basin of the old Beardmore yard and at
Hendon Dock on the Wear). Thus, whereas the smaller yards stuck with
World War II: The Ultimate Test 115

corvettes of the improved type (Castles, 252-feet long), others slightly larger
switched to frigate construction, even drawing on inland structural engineers for
sections. Yards relieved from escort production on account of their restricted
size found work aplenty either in turning out landing craft or in attempting to
meet the insatiable demand for small merchant ships. These small yards, in
common with their larger counterparts, were always being pressed to work on
merchant tonnage whenever circumstances allowed.
The intense pressure placed on the yards to ameliorate the shortage of
merchant tonnage put the capacity matter in a different light. It was all very well
to manipulate warship programs so as to grant ASW escorts heightened priority,
but by itself that adjustment did not address the acute shortage of merchantmen,
a shortage that threatened the integrity of Britain’s maritime lifelines. Ample
means for simultaneously servicing naval and mercantile shipbuilding needs
simply did not exist, so painful compromises had to be made. The Admiralty,
though conscious of the importance of increasing merchant tonnage, had at first
been induced to temporarily neglect it in order to complete as many warships as
possible. Consequently, some yards preoccupied with accommodating multiple
demands and finding that they had bitten off more than they could chew lapsed
into momentary confusion, to the detriment of output. Output targets, for their
part, were subject to several revisions in close succession. Hopes of producing
1.5 million gross tons in the first year of war were soon dashed, and actual
merchant output in 1940 reached only 805,000 gross tons, appreciably less than
the 1.03 million achieved in the last full year of peace. Performance thereafter
did improve, the result of government exhortations to the industry to try harder.
The more realistic target of 1.2 million gross tons was approached, albeit not
exceeded save in 1942, in the next three years. Output rose to 1.157 million
gross tons in 1941 before advancing to 1.298 million in 1942 and 1.201 million
in 1943. A slackening of effort then took hold, with the 1944 output of 1.019
million diminishing sharply to 742,100 gross tons in 1945. The falloff was to a
degree intentional, the result of a government decision in November 1943 to
augment the production of landing craft. To that end, the government was
willing to forfeit 80,000 tons of merchant new-building capacity. However, by
that stage in the war the enormous American Liberty and Victory programs were
more than sufficient to compensate for any production shortfalls in Britain.
Shortage of workers and space-constrained sites were constant irritants to
British yard managers, frustrating their attempts to raise output. The first, as we
have remarked, had exercised the minds of government officials since the
inception of controls, and measures had been taken to moderate its worst effects.
The second problem, though, was beyond redemption in the context of a rapidly
unfolding war. It could only be solved, if resolution was at all possible, in the
fullness of time. Nobody summed up the problem posed by the site factor better
than Wrigley: “Lack of space was an almost universal difficulty, preventing the
expansion of small yards which could with advantage have used additional
berths, hindering the installation of big labour-saving machines, such as the one-
man punch, and above all acting as the main obstacle, not only to prefabrication
in the full sense, but also to pre-construction within the yards and its attendant
116 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

processes, hydraulic riveting and electric welding.”46 Hydraulic riveting

promised prodigious productivity gains (of the order of 300 percent) but was
incumbent on wholesale yard reorganization. In eliminating the tedious process
of punching holes in plates, electric welding presaged more production
efficiencies. It was the shortage of trained workers that had proved its undoing
(although the lack of equipment in many of the yards had not helped).
Preconstruction, for its part, was thwarted by the absence of suitable cranes,
because the 5-ton lifts typical of yard cranage were downright useless when lifts
of 15 to 35 tons were required. Daunting obstacles notwithstanding, the
Admiralty was prepared to institute yard modernization schemes, the substance
of which was contained in a comprehensive program that blended plant
investment with improved process technology.47 A shipyard development
committee was formed (in November 1942) and given oversight powers. The
merchant yards were the beneficiaries of direct grants for plant and equipment
worth in excess of 1.2 million pounds (and they stumped up another million
pounds of their own money).48 Assuredly, this investment was both timely and
efficacious, and despite otherwise fractious relations between the Admiralty and
the Shipbuilding Conference, sparked by contention over contract prices, was to
meet with the approval of each party. All yards, naval and merchant, were
invited to adopt welding on a large scale, the Admiralty encouraging
participation with its commitment to meet half the costs. Labor training together
with equipment provision enabled many yards to implement welding outright by
the end of 1943. The number of welders operating in the naval yards rose by
almost 40 percent between July 1942 and July 1943, an increase sufficiently
great to prompt the Admiralty into sanctioning the first all-welded submarines
and destroyers. In conjunction with the installation of larger cranes, these
changes greatly facilitated the use of prefabricated assemblies in shipbuilding.49
All told, the Admiralty disbursement totaled over 5 million pounds, with two-
thirds of it directed to the naval yards.
So, amid growing fears of looming shortages in merchant tonnage, how did
the naval construction programs fare during the war? At the outset expectations
were high that 213 ships aggregating 264,000 tons would be completed within a
year. Several circumstances, touched on earlier, intervened to prevent the
expected outcome. Only 126 ships of 172,000 tons had been completed by
October 1940, and completions continued to fall behind targets throughout
1941.50 Battleship construction essentially came to a halt after 1941, as can be
elicited from Table 4.2 (with the exception of the Vanguard in 1944, there was
no battleship launched after 1940). The work on cruisers also sharply declined
after 1940, although more of an effort was made to persist with some new
construction. In the last two years of war only three cruisers were launched, the
Navy having to be content with their leisurely completion (in fact, not until long
after the war). Matters were arranged differently for aircraft carriers in spite of
their enormous demand on shipyard resources. Events in the Mediterranean
(most spectacularly at Taranto) had underscored the importance of carriers at the
same time as they had exposed the vulnerability of battleships. As if to drive the
point home, Pearl Harbor and Midway had demonstrated that carriers were the
World War II: The Ultimate Test 117

Table 4.2
Numbers of Warships Launched in U.K. Shipyards, 1940–1945

1
Includes escort carriers (1 in 1942; 3 in 1943).
2
Includes cruiser minelayers (4 in 1940; 2 in 1943) and monitors (1 in 1941; 1 in 1942).
3
Includes all sloops, corvettes and frigates, but excludes ASW trawlers.
Source: Abstracted from information contained in H. T. Lenton and J. J. Colledge, Warships of
World War II, 2d ed. (London: Ian Allen, 1973).

new arbiters of sea battles. Accordingly, they accounted for much shipbuilding
activity in 1943, when the average tonnage of warships peaked at over 1.7
million. In order to speed up construction times—and large fleet carriers
required three years to build—the Admiralty switched priority to light fleet
carriers that could be completed in just two years. No fewer than 16 were
ordered in 1942, with 10 of them being laid down by January 1943 for entry into
service in late 1944 and 1945. Of course, the numbers of cruisers and carriers in
the yards were far overshadowed by the swarms of smaller combatants.
Destroyers, as we have already had cause to remark, were caught between two
stools: They were required in numbers for fleet and escort duties, but this
demand persistently outstripping supply. Besides the reduced inventory of berths
capable of constructing destroyers, the builders of these vessels were confronted
with another problem. Because destroyers were speedy vessels that derived their
speed from the use of turbine propelling machinery, they were apt to impose
burdens on the industrial production base out of all proportion to the size of the
ships themselves. This last contingency arose from the fact that marine-
engineering establishments encountered difficulty in producing turbines and
gearing in quantity. As a result, turbine sets were reserved in the main for larger
combatants, starving the destroyer programs. Granted this harsh reality, the
Admiralty hit upon the expedient of finding alternatives to destroyers for escort
duties. Thus pressing claims for more and more escorts were increasingly met
by producing corvettes and frigates, vessels that could be built quicker by virtue
of their use of reciprocating engines. Nevertheless, destroyer output was
respectable—257 were launched in all—even though many of the ships built
were of the stripped-down Hunt variety. The submarine production record
mirrored to a large degree that of destroyers. They too issued from the yards in
respectable numbers—176 were launched—with peak activity occurring in 1943
(as against 1942 for destroyers). Constraints on turbine machinery affected
118 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

submarines not at all; rather, their rate of production was conditioned by the
manufacture of diesel engines, electric motors, and batteries. The magnitudes
involved in destroyer or submarine production paled in comparison with the
output of ASW escorts, 429 all told. Yet the scale of escort output belies the
difficulty attending it, for it was more reliant on prefabrication than the other
types of combatants.
Prefabrication rested on an ingenious division of labor between traditional
shipyards and constructional-engineering firms, with the latter charged with
welding large units that could be moved to the former and assembled into hulls.
However, its full implementation depended on a thorough reorganization of
production methods, including the retooling of facilities, and constituted a
problem of major proportions that was not overcome before the beginning of
1944. It was on this account that less than 50 corvettes and frigates were
finished in 1943 (although 90 escorts were actually launched in that year). To
make matters worse, urgent demands for landing craft emerged just as the escort
program was getting into its stride. Indeed, the insistent demand for such craft,
the upshot of the commanding position granted amphibious landings in war
plans after 1942, threatened to become a real constraint on all shipbuilding
programs. During the first quarter of 1942 some 518 landing craft of 104,400
tons were under construction. One year later the numbers had risen to 1,364
craft of 290,800 tons. By the second quarter of 1944 the yards were working on
1,381 craft of 363,200 tons. Prefabrication, once it took hold, worked wonders,
cutting production times by half or more; for example, some firms were able to
build tank landing craft in as little as two months instead of the six months that
had prevailed at first. Unfortunately, the landing-craft effort was exacting in its
call on shipbuilding resources. To be sure, some old yards were revived with an
eye to mitigating the berth shortage (refer to Map 4.1), but these were basically
rudimentary sites suitable only for final assembly of the smaller craft. The
constructional-engineering firms undertaking the fabrication soon became
swamped with work; they were so overwhelmed by the beginning of 1944 that
they had to relinquish much of their backlog to the shipyards proper. Other ship
types besides escorts fell victim to the priority accorded amphibious vessels; for
instance, one fleet carrier, two light fleet carriers, one cruiser, and several
destroyers all suffered serious delays.51 Worse than delays were to affect other
ships, because the keels of a fleet carrier, a destroyer and two submarines were
unceremoniously removed to use the space they occupied on the slipways for
tank landing ships.52 These vessels could not be reinstated in the yards when the
demand for amphibious craft began to abate in late 1944 because another
contingency had arisen to usurp them; namely, the need to form a fleet train for
the Pacific theater. This need stemmed from Britain’s determination to join the
American maritime effort against Japan. Yet the vast oceanic expanses, together
with the limited ranges characteristic of British warships, meant that the British
Pacific Fleet would be rendered ineffectual without the provision of an ample
collection of support ships, the aforementioned fleet train. The vital logistic
function of the train, neatly summarized in the requirement to cover distances
averaging 4,000 miles between advanced and rear bases, rested on the
World War II: The Ultimate Test 119

acquisition of significant numbers of tankers and cargo vessels adapted for

replenishing warships at sea. These vessels fulfilled only part of the train’s
duties, however. Added to them were the ships used as substitutes for fixed,
shore-side facilities that were notably absent from the region in question. Exotic
types conjured from nowhere suddenly assumed critical importance. Among
their number were aircraft transports, store ships, floating docks, and harbor
service craft. Many of these could be converted from merchant hulls, either of
ships already in service or on the building ways. Others were designed expressly
to fulfill specific tasks; for example, the TED and TES types of coastal tankers.
Some idea of the complexity entailed in the fleet train can be gained from a
listing of the major conversions: 23 maintenance ships (21 obtained from
Canadian shipbuilders), five heavy-duty repair ships, five aircraft maintenance
ships (two of which were light fleet carriers converted before completion), three
accommodation ships, two hull-repair ships, two amenities ships, and a seaward-
defense ship.53
A description of shipbuilding activity in general pays scant regard to the work
undertaken by individual shipyards, but that oversight can now be remedied.
Thanks to the prewar efforts of SC3, the Admiralty had been fully aware of the
capabilities of particular shipbuilders from the first. Moreover, the rearmament
schemes of the late 1930s had disabused the planners of any illusions concerning
their potential for expansion. The Admiralty, owing to the preoccupation of the
Royal Dockyards with repairs and refits, set great store by the so-called naval
yards, preferring to order the principal warships through them.54 The yards
assuming the burden in this respect were those endowed with building berths in
excess of 500 feet in length. Standing head and shoulders over the others was
the Belfast establishment of Harland & Wolff, boasting 16 berths of this caliber.
The Birkenhead yard of Cammell Laird ranked second, possessing nine long
berths, while Fairfield at Govan had eight. The trio of Swan Hunter and the
Tyne and Barrow establishments of Vickers-Armstrongs laid claim to seven
apiece. Another three yards—John Brown and Scott’s on the Clyde and
Hawthorn Leslie on the Tyne—each had six long berths at their disposal,
leaving Stephen’s, with four, and Denny, with three, to complete the group.
Befitting its top standing, Harland’s found itself loaded with contracts for
aircraft carriers, a respectable seven being launched in the years stretching from
1940 to 1946. Two cruisers complemented their efforts, cruisers being almost as
demanding as carriers in their need for long berths. However, Harland’s
contribution extended far beyond the construction of lengthy combatants, for its
extensive suite of building ways were also used to produce numerous smaller
warships, not to mention a host of merchant ships. The launches of 38 corvettes,
27 minesweeping sloops, and 10 frigates attest to this versatility. Cammell Laird
could point to a production record scarcely less impressive than Belfast.
Admittedly, it launched only one carrier and a couple of cruisers, but in
recompense it turned out 38 submarines, 27 destroyers, and two sloops. Swan
Hunter, the chief shipbuilder on the Tyne, managed a battleship, three carriers,
three cruisers, 29 destroyers, five frigates, three corvettes, and a sloop. Its
neighbor, the Tyne branch of Vickers-Armstrongs, could take satisfaction from
120 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

an output equally stellar: three carriers, a monitor and a cruiser, 23 destroyers,

and 16 submarines. The sister establishment at Barrow, true to its long-standing
specialty, launched 88 submarines and still found the energy to work on three
carriers, two cruisers, and ten destroyers. Fairfield, at one time characteristic of
the integrated armaments producers, underwent something of a revival,
producing a battleship, two carriers, two cruisers, two sloops, and no less than
21 destroyers. Another firm once known for its integrated arms capabilities,
John Brown, excelled in constructing capital ships, launching two battleships
and two carriers. However, it by no means neglected smaller combatants,
counting a monitor, two cruisers, 28 destroyers, and a frigate in its tally. Scott’s,
eschewing capital ships, concentrated on destroyers (19) and submarines (17),
but still contrived to launch three cruisers and two sloops. Hawthorn Leslie also
shone as a destroyer specialist, with 20 to its credit. Somehow it also found the
space to launch a carrier and four cruisers as well. The remaining two yards in
the group recorded performances that could bear comparison with their larger
counterparts. Stephen’s launched a carrier, three cruisers, 15 destroyers and four
sloops. Denny, for its part, accounted for a dozen destroyers and 15 sloops. To
the principal naval yards must be added those that were thoroughgoing warship
specialists but without berths of enlarged dimensions. The destroyer
specialists—Yarrow on the Clyde and the two Hampshire firms of Thornycroft
and White—fall into this category. The first was responsible for 21 of these
ships (and six sloops), the second launched 18 destroyers (to say nothing of a
cruiser and five sloops), and the third surpassed the others with 23 (and still
managed a cruiser to boot).
Of course, the Admiralty did not rest content with the stock of naval yards for
its warships, but had recourse to the merchant variety. Although all the main
combatants issued from the naval yards, the merchant yards had to make up the
deficiency, focusing on the lesser fry. Without them, the enormous programs for
escorts and amphibious vessels would not have borne fruit. To be sure, the
bigger merchant yards were reserved almost exclusively for production of
merchant ships, but occasionally they were called on to bolster the output of
ASW vessels. Consider Furness on the Tees. The Haverton Hill yard had seven
long berths, bettered only by the nine held by Lithgows at Port Glasgow. In
1940 it had enough capacity available to build two turbine-powered sloops, a
circumstance that was not fated to recur. Harland’s Govan yard, with five long
berths, was almost in the same class as Furness. It had once been earmarked for
naval construction, but on measured consideration was judged more worthy of
merchant work. In the event, however, it found the time to build a frigate and
two minesweeping sloops. A clutch of other yards conforming to the “major
merchant” category lent a hand in the escort program: Barclay Curie, with three
long berths, turned out a frigate and a corvette; the Caledon yard at Dundee,
with four such berths, rose to an escort carrier (admittedly, one conceived as a
merchantman) as well as four frigates and three corvettes; and Hamilton (a
subsidiary of Lithgows, with three long berths) constructed eight minesweeping
sloops. It was the smaller merchant yards, though, that bore the brunt of the
escort effort. Destitute of long berths they were less valuable to the standard ship
World War II: The Ultimate Test 121

programs than the aforementioned yards and, accordingly, could be released

more readily from merchant commitments. Not surprising in light of its intimate
involvement in corvette design, Smith’s Dock figured prominently on this score.
It was forthcoming with an impressive 23 corvettes and 22 frigates. Lobnitz, a
Paisley builder of dredgers, was almost equally proficient, building 29
minesweeping sloops. Between them, its Paisley neighbors, Simons and Fleming
& Ferguson, constructed 30 escorts, and four other small yards in the Greater
Clyde region—George Brown (Greenock), Inglis (Glasgow), Ferguson (Port
Glasgow), and Ailsa (Troon)—added 52 more. Small yards in the North-East
Coast agglomeration did not escape the Admiralty’s notice in this regard. The
Wear threesome of Pickersgill (in the ex-Priestman yard), Crown and Austin
together constructed 19 escorts, whereas that outlier of the Tyne, Blyth, alone
built 24. On the Scottish East Coast the Forth yards of Robb (Leith),
Burntisland, and Grangemouth came up with 29 escorts. Still on that coast,
albeit further north, the Aberdeen yards of Alexander Hall, Hall Russell, and
John Lewis also managed to build 29 of these vessels.
Besides building corvettes and frigates, many of these small merchant yards
had been swept up in the scheme to produce naval trawlers. As their name
implies, naval trawlers were armed versions of fishing trawlers. They had first
been used in large numbers in the Great War and so useful had the makeshift
vessels taken up from trade proved that the Admiralty decided to build naval
versions from scratch. Initially put to minesweeping duties, they rendered
sterling service as boom-defense vessels, tenders, and ASW patrol craft. They
fell out of favor in naval circles after the war, but the ex-naval trawlers were
eagerly snapped up to serve in the fishing fleets. Rearmament gave them a new
lease on life, the Admiralty valuing them for their robust seaworthy
characteristics. The first of a new generation, the Basset type of 460–545 tons
was conceived in 1935 and this vessel became the forerunner of 250 trawlers
built in the next decade in Canada, India, and New Zealand, as well as Britain.55
It and subsequent classes were designed in accordance with Great War practice;
that is to say, they were adaptations of commercial types that had stood the test
of time. In the earlier conflict three standard designs had emerged from yards
that were bywords for fishing vessels. The smallest was the 311-ton Strath type,
devised by Hall Russell of Aberdeen from one of its commercial models. Next
in size—at 360 tons—was the Castle type, emanating from Smith’s Dock on the
Tees (and not to be confused with the Castle class of World War II corvettes, a
type that also received the stamp of Smith’s Dock). Third and largest was the
438-ton Mersey type, designed by Cochrane at Selby on the Humber. The first
and third were resuscitated as “lead” yards for the new generation of naval
trawlers. Smith’s Dock, however, was fully committed to the corvette initiative,
so the Admiralty cast around for a replacement. It hit upon another Humber yard
with a reputation for fishing vessels; namely, the Beverley firm of Cook,
Welton, and Gemmell (CWG).56 Therefore, at the war’s inception the Admiralty
possessed both a standard design and a trio of lead yards that not only could be
used to produce it in quantity but could be relied upon to supervise others
involved in its production. Moreover, the Admiralty set such a high value on the
122 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

expertise resident in these three yards that it allowed them to develop variants of
their own commercial designs. Cochrane obliged with the 670-ton Fish class,
Hall Russell responded with the 440-ton Round Table class, and CWG was
forthcoming with the 750-ton Hills class. The trawler output of the three was
admirable: Cochrane constructed 40 between 1939 and 1945, Hall Russell built
10, and CWG outstripped the two combined with 84. Nevertheless, the numbers
would have remained inadequate without the reinforcements provided by several
other yards.57 The supplementary producers were drawn from a list concocted by
SC3 in the last years of peace.58 With the exception of Smith’s Dock, none of
the dozen firms so distinguished boasted a building berth longer than 350 feet,
and the majority had to make do with berths of 200 feet. This limit hampered
their usefulness for other warship (and merchant) projects. In the event, several
yards on the original list were not used, whereas others, at first overlooked, were
brought into the trawler-building scheme.59 Besides the two lead yards, the
Humber enjoyed the contribution of Goole, pushing its total to 139 vessels. On
the Scottish East Coast the two Aberdeen builders of Alexander Hall and John
Lewis joined with Hall Russell to complete 26 vessels (and a further 10 were
built by Robb at Leith). To the Clyde the building of trawlers was something of
no moment in the grand output picture, but Ardrossan, Inglis, Ferguson, Fleming
& Ferguson, and George Brown—yards for the most part intimately involved
with larger escorts—somehow managed to fit 32 of them into their manifold
activities. Trawler activity on the North-East Coast was almost an afterthought
given Smith Dock’s adherence to other escort work; all the same, this yard did
build nine trawlers at the beginning of the war (and Crown at Sunderland added
three more).
Small merchant yards, as we have hinted, were not so lavishly equipped as to
be able to handle anything other than simple warships and auxiliary vessels.
Even more sparingly furnished were the yards charged either with assembling
landing craft or making the craft collectively known as “coastal forces.” Because
the fabrication of many of the former was assigned to constructional engineers
there was little need for elaborate shipyard facilities in any case. At government
urging, firms habituated to working in steel pooled their efforts to promote
volume production. Prominent among them was the Stockton Construction
Company, an organization that drew on the fabricating facilities of Cleveland
Bridge, Head Wrighton, South Durham Steel & Iron, and Whessoe, all located
in a corner of North-East England close by the Tees. Stockton assembled well
over 200 landing craft at redundant yards on that river, having fabricated them at
the premises of its partners beforehand. Another firm given over to fabricating
landing craft in the same district was Tees Bridge & Engineering. Together, they
accounted for 24 percent of all the shipbuilding wages paid out on Teesside in
the 1941–1945 period, a testament indeed to the regional importance of this
brand of new construction.60 In Scotland an enterprise of comparable scope
revived new construction at Henderson’s Meadowside Yard, a site on the Clyde
pared back by Harland & Wolff in the 1930s. The enterprise in question, Sir
William Arrol, was a noted structural engineering firm that made use of the old
Alloa yard once owned by Vickers, as well as Meadowside. It was the latter,
World War II: The Ultimate Test 123

however, that became something of a mother lode for landing craft; for besides
assembling 95 of Arrol’s craft, it performed the same function for 75 fabricated
by Redpath Brown and 57 made by Motherwell Bridge & Engineering.61 Further
down the Clyde at Paisley, a yard that had been closed in 1932—that of Bow
McLachlan—was resurrected by MacLellan. It found a new use assembling 100
LCTs. Rising from the ashes, too, was Fairfield’s Chepstow Yard, long defunct
as a shipbuilder. This facility, once esteemed by SC3 as a leading reserve yard,
came into its own at last. Its slipways were still tolerably complete and were
soon swept up in the landing-craft program, because fortuitously it combined
shipyard-like attributes with workshops attuned to structural-steel fabrication. It
built 61 LCTs at the rate of three a month and, for good measure, constructed six
floating cranes. Sized at 615 gross tons, these were built in 1942–1943 for
service in the ports of Liverpool, Glasgow, London, Bristol, and Cardiff.62
Another former reserve yard encountered in the landing-craft effort was
Workman, Clark of Belfast. To be precise, it was the expired builder’s North
Yard—the part not absorbed by Harland & Wolff—that was calculated to make
a contribution. The North Yard was barely recognizable as a shipyard. Having
suffered demolition at the hands of NSS, it was destitute of equipment. Lack of
plant proved no obstacle to landing-craft assembly, however, and Lagan
Construction Company occupied the site with this end in mind.
Appreciable yard facilities were necessary when the need arose for larger
landing craft, the late-model LCTs, and became yet more imperative when LSTs
assumed major importance. LSTs were seaworthy vessels, to all intents and
purposes roll-on, roll-off vehicle carriers capable of grounding. When conditions
allowed, yards familiar with constructing destroyers and escorts were usefully
employed turning out the larger LCTs. Such shipbuilders as Cammell Laird,
Fairfield (Govan), Hawthorn Leslie, Scott’s, Stephen, Swan Hunter,
Thornycroft, and Vickers-Armstrongs (Tyne)—all extolled as naval
contractors—built batches of landing craft. An entirely greater effort was
required with LSTs, vessels displacing 4,820 tons when loaded, and several
yards, as we have stated, were compelled to drop other commitments in order to
tackle them. As a result of American reluctance to supply British demands—and
LSTs had been judged an American production responsibility—45 were ordered
from British yards in 1944 (with another 37 assigned to Canadian yards).63
Harland’s, in both its Belfast and Clyde manifestations, was emblematic of the
yards caught up in the program. Its resources were marshaled to build eight at
Belfast and a pair at Govan (the latter being outfitted in the ex-Beardmore
Dalmuir Basin). Apart from Harland’s, 16 other British yards were prevailed
upon to construct LSTs. Perhaps surprising, such comparatively modest
establishments as Smith’s Dock, Blyth, Hall Russell, Pickersgill, and Ailsa were
numbered among them. Of the 11 more substantial establishments, eight were
navy yards (Hawthorn Leslie, Swan Hunter, Stephen, Denny, Fairfield, Scott’s,
and both branches of Vickers-Armstrongs), with the balance being major
merchant yards (Barclay Curie, Lithgows, and Connell).
Yards of an altogether different complexion were responsible for the lion’s
share of coastal forces. Coastal forces should not be confused with coasters,
124 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

which are small cargo vessels for coastwise or short-sea trading.64 Rather, the
genesis of coastal forces can be traced to the “mosquito” craft—coastal torpedo
boats—of Victorian times, but more recognizably to the (CMBs) coastal motor
boats, of the Great War. These were high-performance, torpedo-armed craft
powered by gasoline engines, craft that had been devised to counter raids
mounted by German torpedo boats. Destroyer-builder Thornycroft had acted as
lead yard for the CMBs, with several boat builders operating under its sway.
Among their number were Brooke of Lowestoft and Camper & Nicholson of
Gosport, two yards that were to be revived to good effect in World War II. At
least 123 CMBs were completed between 1916 and 1919, and they were
supported by 580 slower motor launches (MLs) ordered from the Electric
Launch Company (Elco) of Bayonne, New Jersey. However, in a manner
reminiscent of naval trawlers, coastal forces fell out of favor once hostilities had
ceased. Accordingly, development lapsed until rearmament sparked a new
interest in 1935. Compelled to defer to private expertise, the Admiralty
commissioned, first, the British Power Boat Company (of Hythe) and, second,
Vosper (of Portsmouth) to formulate a new generation of small fast combatants,
the motor torpedo boats (MTBs;) (the PT boats of American parlance). The
early craft entered service from 1936, precursors to a flood of vessels with a
variety of designations, such as the motor gunboat (MGB) and the motor
minesweeper (MMS). Established naval contractors of the stature of Thornycroft
and White were drawn into the production effort (with the former operating a
yard at Hampton on the Thames for this purpose), but most of the output came
from boat-building yards with little experience of naval work.65 The P. K. Harris
yard at Appledore in North Devon is emblematic. A family firm as accustomed
to building wooden vessels as steel ones, Harris took to MTB and MMS
construction with aplomb.66 Experience building in wood was a decided
advantage, for the MMS had to be built of this material to neutralize the
influence of magnetic mines. Because MTBs were prefabricated (with the
sections being trucked to Appledore from Cobham, near London), they only
required the yard for assembly and outfitting. The MMS, by contrast, was built
in wood from the keel up, tapping the time-honored skills of the yard’s
shipwrights.67
However, it is the prefabrication scheme adopted for quantity production of
most coastal forces that warrants our notice. It was the upshot of an intriguing
association between the Admiralty and the Fairmile Company at Cobham.
Fairmile was entrusted with the management of the mass-production scheme
that embraced sawmills and furniture makers for the prefabrication of frames
and other structural members. Presented with the challenge of coordinating the
output of many small enterprises, Fairmile rose to the occasion, smoothly
gathering the prefabricated components before delivering them to their assembly
sites at the yards.68 MLs in particular were susceptible to production after this
fashion, and 368 of the 112-foot craft issued from yards dotted around the coast.
Truth to tell, however, some small yards were not suited to industrial
organization on this scale, falling short of Fairmile standards on account of their
rudimentary facilities. Yet this did not exempt them from participation in the
World War II: The Ultimate Test 125

production initiative. A particular simplified type, the 72-foot harbor defense

motor launch, was devised in conformity with their slim resources. No fewer
than 308 of these craft emanated from 28 yards, including—incongruously—
Harland & Wolff’s Belfast establishment. On balance, coastal forces performed
well in action, although they were not entirely free of blemishes. They tended to
fall down on two counts: First, their gasoline engines were prone to combat
damage and, second, the wooden or wood-and-metal materials from which they
were made were apt to fail with hard usage. A solution was sought to overcome
these shortcomings, ironically one that had recourse to full naval standards in all
their complexity. The result was the steam gunboat (SGB), a steel-built craft
that, at 165 tons, dwarfed the MTBs and MGBs (which seldom exceeded 100
tons) and equaled the size of the MMS. The SGB was likened to a destroyer in
miniature, to the extent indeed of relying on steam turbines for propulsion.
Unfortunately, the turbines turned out to be the steam gunboat’s Achilles’ heel,
for they proved vulnerable to enemy fire. Application of protective armor raised
the displacement of SGBs to 260 tons, with detrimental consequences for their
speed. This reduction in battle-worthiness, together with the fact that they
required shipbuilding resources out of all proportion to their worth, led to
abandonment of the SGB concept. Only seven SGBs were built, but in 1941
they distracted Yarrow, Hawthorn Leslie, Denny, and White from more
promising work on destroyers. Although the SGB episode did not tell in the
Admiralty’s favor, it was a relatively insignificant part of a vast effort of new
construction of which coastal forces were only one element. Our review of that
effort has revealed any number of production achievements, even though the
geographical aspect of those achievements has remained muted. It is now
appropriate to make explicit the geographical undertones, presenting at the same
time an appraisal of each region’s contribution to wartime shipbuilding.

THE GEOGRAPHICAL IMPRINT

The cluster concept, as maintained at the beginning of this book, is no more
than a revamping of an empirical regularity, and a crude one at that. All the
same, it performs a useful service underscoring the importance of agglomeration
to an industry. Agglomeration, of course, is made manifest in those geographical
concentrations of activities that have a sound basis in economic advantage for
their participants. Time and time again we have identified distinct
concentrations of shipbuilders in Britain, highlighting those constituting what
we have styled the Clyde and North-East Coast agglomerations. Together, these
two chief agglomerations have been responsible for the weightier portion of
British output since the new shipbuilding took hold in the late nineteenth
century. Their dominance, though chronic, has not been a record of unbroken
advance, however, and the advantages accruing to the agglomerations in the
form of external economies have not always preserved the individual firms
participating in them. In particular, several observers voiced concerns about the
long-term viability of both the Clyde and the North-East Coast in the 1930s, and
the catalogue of difficulties confronting the yards found within them were
126 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

contrasted unfavorably with the comparatively buoyant performance of some

shipbuilders elsewhere. Shipyards located in ports on the Scottish East Coast,
conspicuously removed from the two big agglomerations, seemed to thrive in
spite of the apparent absence of localization economies. Yet, perversely, other
sites beyond the agglomerations were not spared the ravages of recession and
certainly did not live up to the promise evident in Aberdeen, Dundee and the
Forth ports.69 New yards in locations fresh to shipbuilding, paradoxically,
seemed more liable to fail than established yards in the agglomerations. Outports
like Chepstow and Londonderry fell victim to adverse conditions just as readily
as cramped yards with worn-out facilities at Newcastle and Sunderland, the core
of the North-East Coast agglomeration. Interested parties of the stamp of the
Shipbuilding Conference saw little value in saving the neophytes when well-
found yards on the Clyde and Tyne were forced into liquidation. The onset of
war, though, soon brushed aside any lingering doubts as to the relative merits of
the shipbuilding districts, for the plain and simple fact was that all locations,
possibly including those hosting dormant yards, were now looked on as
potentially vital to the production effort.
That effort, as it unfolded, contrived to both reinforce the two chief
agglomerations as the industry’s backbone and tease out the latent strengths of
some of the lesser ones. At least with regard to merchant production there was
little scope for encouraging the growth of new production sites outside the
recognized shipbuilding districts. Labor was the big constraining factor, and
labor—of the skilled sort, at any rate—was to be found in the existing districts.
Besides, nobody was keen to repeat the Great War Chepstow experiment, a
project whose advocates intentionally sought out a nontraditional shipyard site
and suffered delayed start-up problems for their pains. As can be seen distinctly
enough from Table 4.3 the North-East Coast and the Clyde made striking
contributions to merchant shipping, some 7 million tons of which flowed from
the country’s yards from 1939 through 1945. The contribution of the former
amounted to in excess of 3.3 million gross tons, whereas the latter added 2.1
million gross tons. The North-East Coast thus can be credited with a 48-percent
share of national merchant output for the war period, whereas the Clyde’s share
was a solid 30 percent. It is evident, then, that the accomplished group of
industry observers embodied in SC3 were not prone to exaggeration in 1934
when they accorded the North-East Coast a 49-percent share of mercantile
output in a contingency. However, their perspicacity was not infallible, as they
were guilty of erring on the side of optimism with respect to the Clyde’s
potential, granting it a 39-percent share (recall Table 3.4). Actual wartime output
of merchant tonnage from the other districts was almost paltry by comparison.
To be fair, the vaunted Scottish East Coast did rise to the occasion, surpassing
SC3’s expectations. Its absolute total of 601,000 gross tons was equivalent to
almost 9-percent of the national output, bettering the prewar estimate of 7.7
percent calculated by the experts of SC3. Northern Ireland, too, exceeded prewar
expectations, although for fundamentally different reasons. Its respectable
performance, building more than half a million tons of merchantmen, should not
have occurred at all. It will be recollected that SC3 had originally set aside
World War II: The Ultimate Test 127

Table 4.3
U.K Merchant Shipbuilding Production, 1939–1945, by Location in ‘000 gross tons

1
Combines Glasgow and Greenock
2
Aberdeen, Dundee, and Forth Ports
3
Tyne & Blyth, Wear, Hartlepool, and Tees
4
Humber, Thames and East Anglia
5
Includes 295 tons contributed by the South Coast
Source: SRNA, Merchant Shipbuilding in Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. III.

Belfast—to all intents the only shipbuilding center remaining in the province—
for naval production, and had such circumstances arisen as those conjectured,
would have kept Harland & Wolff out of merchant work. As we have recounted,
though, circumstances did not occur as envisaged, and Belfast in practice
assumed a significant role in the construction and repair of merchant ships. The
merchant tonnage emanating from two lesser agglomerations, the Mersey and
Barrow, together totaled less than half that achieved by Belfast alone. This was
not an indictment of their productivity; rather, it was a faithful reflection of their
preoccupation with naval work. Although scarcely qualifying as agglomerations,
the English East Coast and the Bristol Channel were equally engrossed in naval
programs, albeit on a much smaller scale, and this fact informed their merchant
production.
Apart from offering a comparative oversight of regional performance in
aggregate merchant output, Table 4.3 allows us to elicit regional differences in
the scheduling and peaking of activity. Although not meaning to insinuate that
an overall trend is especially relevant in this context, it is discernible
nonetheless. It can be described in few words; namely, merchant output rose
strongly until 1942, then tended to hold steady before succumbing to a fairly
steep plunge. However, the correspondence between the regions in the trend is
decidedly inexact. The two chief agglomerations, befitting their status as leading
contributors to national output, conform for the most part, though it must be said
that the North-East Coast displays a precipitate drop in 1943 by comparison with
1942. The lesser agglomerations in contrast exhibit patterns not in compliance
128 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

with this trend, but in defiance of it. Both the Mersey and Northern Ireland
performed better in 1939 than in 1940; indeed the former failed to improve on
its 1939 output in all succeeding years, whereas the latter only managed to equal
the production of that year in 1943. Barrow, for its part, was glaringly different,
refraining altogether from merchant activity until 1941. The other regions
registered in the table, the Scottish East Coast, the English East Coast, and the
Bristol Channel, were not agglomerations in any meaningful sense; rather, they
were merely convenient descriptions for geographically dispersed shipbuilding
communities with comparatively little in common. Their performance was
slightly at odds with that of the agglomerations, especially the chief
agglomerations, for instead of peaking in 1941–1942 they tended to peak later.
These differences in regional production patterns—some subtle, others more
pronounced—are symptomatic of variations in specialization across the
locations hosting the yards. However, common to all regional participants is the
diminished output of 1945, the upshot of declining labor forces in the yards
(recall Table 4.1) and changing priorities in the government’s war strategy.
Central to the latter, of course, was a reinvigorated naval program geared to
Pacific operations. That this program took precedence over those attending to
the needs of merchant shipping is a reminder of the naval objectives directing
shipbuilding as a whole. It is now opportune to examine the regional
ramifications of those objectives.
We should not lose sight of the fact that each region’s role in shipbuilding had
been conditioned throughout by naval requirements. The war and its insistent
need for naval vessels had swept up all regions in its whirlwind despite their best
efforts to contribute to merchant tonnage. Earlier, we attempted to summarize
regional performance in the construction of warships, setting three periods—
1895 to 1914, 1915 to 1919, and 1920 to 1939—as the benchmarks for
recognizable phases in the waxing and waning of power. At that point, our
material (reproduced in Table 3.3) bore witness to the persistent dominance of
the two chief agglomerations but also revealed, upon manipulation, the
fluctuations in relative importance incident to their dominance. The Clyde was
prone to wide swings, falling from a position in which it commanded 43 percent
of national output in the Great War to one markedly inferior in the interwar
years. The North-East Coast, in comparison, was a symbol of constancy,
undergoing scarcely any erosion of its Great War share in the two decades that
followed. These regional shares and the record of their changing magnitudes are
simple but valuable reflections of the balance of credits and liabilities endemic
in the agglomerations. Their usefulness can be extended to embrace World War
II, an episode represented by the tonnage of warships launched in seven years,
1940 through 1946. This tally is by no means complete, for it excludes
enormous numbers of auxiliaries and small combatants, to say nothing of
landing craft. However, it suffices both to capture the essence of warship
activity and to meet the compatibility requirements of the other benchmark
periods, notably the one encompassing World War I. Table 4.4, therefore,
provides us with a means of directly comparing the output of each region for the
two wars, and is edifying on that score alone. The table also presents a
130 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

breakdown of the output by warship type, a facility that compounds its value.
For the moment let us dwell on the first basis of comparison. Immediately
apparent in the comparison of the two wars is the magnitude of tonnage at stake:
of the order of 1.5 to 1.7 million displacement tons launched in each episode.
Once allowance is made for the longer duration of the second—seven years
against the five obtaining for the first—it becomes evident that average annual
output in World War II stood at 244,000 tons, some 60,000 tons short of the
average achieved in the earlier conflict. What kind of construction can we put on
this finding? On the face of it, it goes a long way to vindicating the concern
expressed in 1939 at the toll on the industry’s capacity exacted by the depression
years. But this is not all, for it also hints at the appreciably greater demands that
merchant shipbuilding, landing craft, and naval auxiliaries made on the industry
in the second bout of hostilities.
More germane to this section, however, is the regional dimension to
production, and to this end the table is a mine of information. The breakdown of
production by warship type allows us to extol the virtues of specialization as
practiced by some of the regions, but before pursuing that theme it is opportune
to examine each region’s overall record.
The Clyde towers head and shoulders over the others in terms of absolute
weight of output, registering a touch beyond 632,000. Although that total just
failed to match the tonnage achieved in World War I, it represented in relative
terms a share of national output that had slipped appreciably from the share
assumed in the earlier conflict: 37 percent against 43 percent (although, to be
sure, it was considerably better than the 21.5 percent for the 1920–1939 period).
The other big agglomeration, the North-East Coast, exhibited the same
tendency, because the combined share of the Tyne, Wear and Tees contracted
from the Great War’s 27.6 percent to a shade over 25 percent. Unlike the Clyde,
however, the aggregate tonnage launched on the North-East Coast from 1940 to
1946 exceeded the tonnage launched between 1915 and 1919: 431,000 as
opposed to 421,000. This extenuating circumstance notwithstanding, the fact
remains that the two chief agglomerations commanded a substantially smaller
share of the nation’s warship output in World War II than they had done in
World War I. In the earlier conflict their joint efforts furnished 1.08 million tons,
amounting to 72.8 percent of all such tonnage launched nationwide. In the years
corresponding to the World War II programs their combined endeavors resulted
in 1.063 million tons, or 62.2 percent of the national output. The shortfall had to
be made good, and four regions contrived to be the gainers. The most dramatic
improvement in relative performance was displayed by Belfast, for its World
War II share of 12.2 percent of national output is markedly at odds with the 5.7
percent it managed in World War I. The Scottish East Coast, too, lived up to
raised expectations, because Aberdeen and the Tay and Forth ports together
accounted for one-twentieth of national output in the second conflict, a far cry
from the one-fiftieth that they contributed in the first. The Mersey’s
improvement was of more modest proportions, climbing from 4.1 percent to 5.9
percent. The last of the four, Bristol, is salutary. Having failed to contribute to
significant naval programs in the Great War, it burst onto the scene from
World War II: The Ultimate Test 131

nowhere, seizing a 1.5-percent stake in the major naval initiatives of the later
war. All other districts aped the two chief agglomerations in underperforming in
relative terms, and included in their number was Barrow, the self-contained
industrial complex that had grown from next to nothing on the strength of naval
orders. The Medway, Solent, and South West likewise suffered declines in spite
of (or because of) the presence in them of the Royal Dockyards at Chatham,
Portsmouth, and Devonport.70 In fact, the Humber was the only region with an
out-and-out merchant leaning to witness a waning share of naval output in the
comparison exercise.
In common with several other shipbuilding regions, the Humber’s overall
performance derives from the specialization of its yards. A glance at Table 4.4
suffices to show that the Humber output fell entirely into one category, that of
escorts. Consistency was the hallmark of this specialization, although the
region’s yards only managed to launch 1,850 tons of escorts from 1940 to 1946
instead of the 14,440 tons registered between 1915 and 1919. Redirection to the
construction of naval trawlers (and tugs) bears the brunt of the explanation for
the reduced emphasis on escorts in World War II. Equivalent insights can be
gleaned for the other regions, with the more specialized catching the eye on
account of the preponderance of null entries in the table. Bristol, Aberdeen, and
the Forth ports mimic the Humber in confining their activities to escorts. The
Tay follows suit, save for the single indulgence in an escort carrier. All four
record bigger outputs in World War II than in World War I; spectacularly so in
the cases of the Forth and Bristol, locations that had been effectively dormant as
warship suppliers in the Great War. Together, the four built almost 100,000 tons
of escorts in the second war, a weight of output equaling 21.6 percent of the
escort program. This record puts to shame that of the Great War when slightly
more than 8,000 tons of escorts, just 2.1 percent of the national total, emerged
from the same regions. Constituting an opposing camp were the
“underperformers,” the regions with output levels that did not equal the outputs
accomplished in World War I. Setting aside for a moment the two leading
agglomerations, this camp comprised four regions. Three of these—the Solent,
Medway, and South West—revolved, as mentioned, round Royal Dockyards,
and were committed in consequence to heavy repairing workloads. Yet the
government yards stamped their influence in ways beyond ship repair. In
particular, Chatham granted the Medway a significant presence in submarine
construction, whereas Devonport bequeathed an involvement in capital ships (in
this instance, a light fleet carrier) on the South West. On the whole the
diversified nature of the warships built in the three regions—and all types are
represented—can be imputed to the mandate of the Royal Dockyards to stay
abreast of warship technology. However, that mandate no longer held true for
battleships, a fact accounting for the sharply curtailed involvement of the three
regions in capital ships relative to the Great War. The reduced stature of Barrow
can be partly attributed to the same cause; that is to say, to its forsaking of
capital ships. This owed less to excessive production costs—the prime reason
for the forfeiting of battleships by the government yards—and more to the
decision taken at the Admiralty to dedicate much of Barrow’s industrial
132 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

complex to the manufacture of submarines. Barrow remained the main source of

these boats, but by a sharply increased margin. Instead of the 38.9-percent share
it held in the Great War, Barrow’s production amounted to 48 percent of all
submarine tonnage launched between 1940 and 1946 (and slightly more tonnage
was produced in the latter period in comparison with the former, 139,000 versus
131,000).
Barrow’s specialization stands in sharp relief to the Mersey, a shipbuilding
region with which it was often compared. Each was under the sway of a single
firm, with Vickers-Armstrongs acting as a monopoly supplier at Barrow and
Cammell Laird providing all the main naval vessels on the Mersey.71 The latter
firm, as we had cause to remark, insisted on prosecuting the full range of naval
vessels. To be sure, the Birkenhead complex inherited the habits of an integrated
armaments supplier and so, by rights, should have leaned toward the
construction of sophisticated tonnage of the likes of capital ships and cruisers. In
practice, though, it gave preference to the building of destroyers and submarines
while still finding the resources to tackle everything from light fleet carriers to
the smallest of landing craft. Despite such diversity of effort, it became a force
to be reckoned with in the production of destroyers (contributing nearly 15
percent of the national total) and the supply of submarines (emerging as second
only to Barrow, with 21.5 percent of British output). Belfast was the mirror
image of the Mersey with respect to production profile, eschewing destroyers
and submarines in favor of capital ships, cruisers, and escorts. Indeed, its
participation in the first—practically limited to aircraft carriers—was surpassed
only by the two big agglomerations. These two leading regions also produced
more escorts than Belfast, a claim that could be made by no other region.
Significantly, Belfast was responsible for 24.3 percent of all capital-ship tonnage
launched during World War II, not to mention 16 percent of all escort tonnage.
Those statistics turn on Harland & Wolff’s superbly equipped yard that boasted
a rich endowment of building berths, slips able to accommodate ships from
truncated corvettes to the longest fleet carriers. Although Harland’s
establishment towered over Belfast in a magisterial fashion, it did not exhaust
the city’s shipbuilding contribution. It will be recollected that Lagan
Construction assembled landing craft in part of the old Workman, Clark yard.72
All in all, Belfast bulked far larger as a naval producer in World War II than its
fairly modest contribution in the Great War might have led one to expect. In the
earlier conflict it produced less than 87,000 tons; in the later affair it excelled
itself by a wide margin, launching nearly 209,000 tons. Much of the difference,
of course, is ascribable to the prominent role that carriers assumed in Harland’s
workload.
Now let us revert to the two chief agglomerations, intentionally set aside
earlier so that we could concentrate our attention on regions that specialized,
more or less, in specific types of warships. In view of its clout it is only fitting
that we start with the Clyde. We have already commented on the Clyde’s
aggregate performance, hinting at the success that eluded it in the interwar years
and a conduct in World War II that, though respectable, still bordered on the
disappointing. Once the dismay over this seeming “underperformance” has
World War II: The Ultimate Test 133

subsided, it is important to apply a more sober assessment based on the

composition of its warship output. On first appearances, its production mixture
does not admit of specialization, because every warship type is generously
represented in the output achievement. However, it is this generosity of output
that implicitly denotes specialization. In fact, the Clyde on its own turned out
fully 41.4 percent of the British tonnage of capital ships for the Second World
War period, to say nothing of 39.3 percent of the country’s cruiser tonnage.
These shares exceeded those secured by the Clyde in World War I, when the
region laid claim to 37.7 percent of capital ships and 32.5 percent of cruisers.
Evidently the Clyde’s expertise in naval contracting had outlasted the adverse
conditions experienced by its yards in the interwar years, to the extent, indeed,
of reaffirming with a vengeance its dominance of the heavy end of warship
construction. In other words, the Admiralty attached great importance to a select
group of Clyde yards that had consistently demonstrated the ability to handle the
most valuable warship assets. The faltering in the Clyde’s hold on other warship
types also can be adduced to support its increasing bent toward large
combatants. Although scarcely inconsequential by any reckoning, its share of
destroyer tonnage did register a decline, slipping from 47 percent in World War
I to 43.8 percent in World War II. This slippage cannot be imputed to any
structural change (indeed, Clyde yards actually produced a greater tonnage of
destroyers in the second war); rather, it followed from vigorous attempts made
elsewhere to devote capacity to destroyer construction. More alarming was the
Clyde’s slumping production shares of escorts and submarines, the former
dropping from 59.3 percent to 33.3 percent and the latter collapsing from 23.1
percent to 10.1 percent. The circumstance attending the escort situation needs no
enlarging, for we have already mentioned the rise of other locations, stretching
from Bristol to Aberdeen, in the concerted effort of the Admiralty to press
merchant yards into war work. Similarly, the submarine situation needs little in
the way of elaboration, because we have already remarked on the promotion of
Barrow as the principal source for the type, to say nothing of the contribution of
Birkenhead. Nevertheless, these proportionate declines suffered by the Clyde
(and their effects were heightened by reduced output tonnages) indicate that the
region was no longer the shipbuilding colossus of the early twentieth century,
when it could contemplate fulfilling naval and merchant needs with comparative
ease.73 Its luster was now dimmer, its yards visibly run down and the famed
workforce nothing if not careworn.
The North-East Coast echoes the vast range of activities characteristic of the
Clyde, but is replete with subtle differences. We have already had cause to
mention its better relative performance in the interwar years. Then, it managed
to hold on to a 25.5-percent share of naval work, four points greater than that
gained by the Clyde. Although the North-East Coast’s share of naval output
dipped slightly in World War II—and fell short of the share amassed in the
Great War by a more discernible amount—the tonnage actually emanating from
its yards rose to equal (and slightly exceed) the level of output achieved in the
earlier war. From the naval aspect, of course, the North-East Coast is credited
with results that derive almost entirely from just one of its constituent
134 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

subregions, the Tyne (which, besides incorporating all builders along the river of
that name, extends to the outlying port of Blyth, the home of a small but busy
shipbuilder).74 The other subregions—the Wear, Tees, and Hartlepool—though
aspiring to equality with the Tyne in merchant shipbuilding, appear as no more
than a necessary adjunct to the more northerly river in warship production. Their
naval involvement was limited by and large to the construction of escorts and
landing craft. Hartlepool and its remaining firm, William Gray, abstained
altogether from warship construction.75 It found the building of standard cargo
ships more to its taste, although two of the 72 produced were completed as
component repair ships for the fleet train.76 So it is to the Tyne that we must
look when we wish to make close comparisons with the Clyde. In the Great War
the river’s yards had been forthcoming with nearly 340,000 tons of warships and
had followed up that effort with a cumulative total of 242,000 tons in the two
succeeding decades. In World War II, however, the Tyne surpassed itself,
reaching an unprecedented 354,000 tons (albeit at a lower annual rate than that
accomplished in World War I). Capital ships accounted for well over one-third
of its World War II production. Indeed, the Tyne’s output of capital ships
amounted to 26.5 percent of British production of warships of this type. Its
output of cruisers was also outstanding, representing 30.5 percent of all such
vessels launched in the country between 1940 and 1946. Outweighing cruisers in
the production effort were destroyers, which collectively spoke for another third
of the Tyne’s total output. The 116,000 tons of destroyers coming off the Tyne’s
ways equaled 27.7 percent of all British destroyer tonnage.
Thus far the Tyne has emulated the Clyde in concentrating on major
combatants, hinting at distinct preferences within a shipbuilding complex
competent enough to countenance any construction task. The resemblance does
not end there, but extends to the lesser combatants. Like its Scottish counterpart,
the Tyne tended to neglect the construction of escorts and submarines in World
War II in marked contrast to its Great War predilection. Barely 39,000 tons of
escorts were launched in World War II, some 17,000 less than was the case in
the previous conflict. This contraction cannot be attributed to the dedication of
yards to other purposes, much less to a lowering in the value attached to escorts;
rather, it is in keeping with the excision of most of the Tyne’s smaller merchant
yards in the depression years. It was the small shipyard sector that had buoyed
up the ASW program in the Great War. Content to produce coasters and colliers
in peacetime, the likes of Tyne Iron Shipbuilding, Eltringham, and Charles
Rennoldson had proved useful as makeshift naval suppliers, turning out sloops
and patrol craft after 1915. Their demise between the wars left a void in the
Tyne cluster of marine industries. The river’s sharply reduced submarine output
in World War II—8,680 tons against the 18,430 tons recorded for World War
I—owes less to the winnowing out of yard capacity (although Palmers’ yard,
which had indulged in submarine construction in the Great War, had gone) and
more to the Admiralty’s decision to confine submarine work to a handful of
yards. It was for this reason that Swan Hunter was denied submarine contracts in
spite of carrying out such activity in the first war. Yet in retaining Armstrong
Whitworth (now in the guise of Vickers-Armstrongs) as one of the select few,
World War II: The Ultimate Test 135

the Tyne fared comparatively better than the Clyde.77 The same could be said of
the Wear with respect to escorts. The Clyde’s overwhelming share of these
vessels was curbed in the second war, whereas the share appropriated by the
Wear yards shot up from a paltry 1.6 percent in the Great War to a much more
respectable 4.8 percent in World War II. It should not escape our notice, though,
that the tonnage of escorts produced in Wear yards during the latter conflict
matched very closely the tonnage of destroyers leaving the river in the earlier
war. Because destroyers no longer featured in the Wear’s tally for World War II
it is evident that the production gain in ASW vessels is largely illusory.
Careful scrutiny reveals that Doxford, the yard solely responsible for the
Wear’s Great War supply of destroyers, was not just removed from participation
in the destroyer programs of World War II but was kept out of escort
construction to boot. It is not necessary to look for recondite reasons to account
for this dramatic turn; rather, it speaks to the Admiralty’s appreciation of the
comprehensive nature of shipbuilding. On the eve of World War II SC3 had
alerted it to Doxford’s expertise in building cargo ships in series. This attribute
was to prove Doxford’s undoing as a warship producer, for the Admiralty
preferred to see the yard refine its specialist skills as a constructor of standard
tramp ships.78 Offsetting the 22 destroyers launched during the course of World
War I were 75 standard ships of the highly acclaimed 9,500 dead weight tons
Doxford Economy type. This was a vessel type conceived in 1938 and
immediately embraced by shipowners who judged it superior to its
contemporaries in all-round capabilities. Much of the Doxford Economy’s
success rested on the installed propulsion machinery, an opposed piston diesel
designed and manufactured by the shipbuilder. So impressed was the Admiralty
by the type’s potential that it insisted that Doxford must marshal all the
resources at its disposal in furtherance of the aim of producing as many copies
as possible. Implicit in this stance was the Admiralty’s acceptance—with a fair
degree of equanimity—of the warship production that was thereby forfeited.
However, the inclination to tolerate forgone warship production did not extend
to the same degree to the Tees. This subregion was the home of Smith’s Dock, a
firm that rose to eminence in escort production despite its undoubted prowess in
designing and building small commercial ships. Smith’s efforts notwithstanding,
the tonnage of escorts proceeding from the Tees did not outweigh by much the
tonnage built in the Great War. As with the Tyne, so with the Tees; for, with the
exception of Smith’s Dock, all of the merchant yards pressed into emergency
service in the 1914 conflict had fallen victim to the interwar depression. In short,
the minicluster comprising Harkess, Ropner, Richardson Duck, and the
Cleveland Dockyard had expired, taking with it any hopes of supplementary
warship capacity.
Regional production figures are the very stuff of shipbuilding, presenting a
succinct overview of the geographical spread of all the activity that constitutes a
national industry. If aggregate output is important—and clearly it is a vital force
in wartime—such regional breakdowns must count for something. All the same,
there is something lacking in crude tonnage figures, and that is an expression of
what the tempo of activity convulsing the industry meant for a particular
136 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

locality. To capture the flavor of that intensity, let us mull over what this
concentrated frenzy of industriousness meant for Barrow, the self-contained
miniagglomeration. Barrow had been imbued with unequalled vitality for a brief
spell in the Great War, but thereafter circumstances had taken a very different
turn. As we have recorded elsewhere, the postwar recession had assumed crisis
proportions in Barrow, dealing its confidence an almost fatal blow. Partly
because of its geographical isolation at the tip of the Furness peninsula, Barrow
had been spurned by economic activities attuned to market accessibility. Thus
the municipality’s prosperity remained rooted in shipbuilding and its original
sponsor, steel making, both the recipients of punishing reversals at this time.
The industrial complex of shipbuilder and steel plant accounted for the lion’s
share of the 25,799 male workers registered as being employed in Barrow in
1921.79 Shipbuilding and its engineering affiliates dominated the complex, as the
Vickers payroll of 16,064 (which include, 347 women) bears witness.80 Yet the
municipality’s reliance on shipbuilding became more pronounced as the 1920s
unfolded and by 1931 was disproportionate in the extreme. In 1923 matters had
taken a turn for the worse in the shipyard and the resultant layoffs, cutting the
payroll to a skeleton force of 3,769, had meant that, temporarily at least, only a
minority of Barrow’s insured workforce had been beholden to shipbuilding for
its livelihood. But decline in other sectors—not least the iron and steel industry
(which had employed 2,852 in 1921)—together with a brief revival for
shipbuilding propelled the latter industry to the forefront in no uncertain terms.
Virtually by default shipbuilding became the only source of gainful—albeit
intermittent—employment for skilled male workers in Barrow. By 1931, with
the depression gathering momentum, the industry accounted in relative terms for
three times as many insured workers in Barrow as it did in other shipbuilding
centers.81 The Vickers-Armstrongs yard then had 9,821 men on its books, or
74.5 percent of all male industrial workers in the community. As irony would
have it, Barrow’s reliance on shipbuilding was strengthening in step with the
weakening in the industry’s fortunes. Thanks to the sympathetic ear accorded
lobbyists acting on behalf of both the firm and the municipality, the yard and its
attendant engineering establishment had been saved (the upshot of the 1927
merger with Armstrong Whitworth), and what is more, had been the beneficiary
of a sufficiency of naval contracts to keep bankruptcy at bay.
While these palliatives have received passing notice, their consequences for
the community have not been pursued in detail. Let us take a moment to spell
them out. To begin with, the preservation of the shipbuilding complex failed to
stem the out migration of people. From a figure of 74,244 in 1921, Barrow’s
population had eroded to 66,366 a decade later. Alarmingly, the municipality’s
rate of decline was exceeded in the country only by Rhondda and Merthyr
Tydfil, two Welsh communities devastated by the collapse of their coal-mining
and iron-making activities. Fortunately, a supply agreement struck in 1932
between the Barrow Hematite Steel Company and the London, Midland, and
Scottish Railway, Britain’s biggest railroad, intervened to forestall the closure of
the municipality’s steel plant, but the ailing iron and steel industry was in no
position to act as a foil to the vicissitudes plaguing shipbuilding.82 Restoration of
World War II: The Ultimate Test 137

the fortunes of shipbuilding, and Barrow’s to boot, came with the rearmament
programs initiated during and after 1934. For good measure, the occasional
export contract aided and abetted the recovery process. Thus Vickers-
Armstrongs’ employment at Barrow, which achieved a postmerger peak of
13,394 in July 1929 before plunging to 7,850 in 1933, had regained lost ground
by September 1935, attaining a payroll of about 11,000 on the strength of an
order from Argentina for a cruiser and several destroyers. With rearmament in
full swing, the firm’s employment grew by leaps and bounds, ascending from
about 13,000 in October 1936 to register over 14,500 by February 1937. This
was but a foretaste of things to come, for by February 1939 the payroll
numbered 15,370. Spurred by the start of hostilities, it stood at 17,500 as 1940
dawned.83 Some perspective on these growth trends is gained when it is
appreciated that the Vickers payroll at the height of the Anglo-German naval
race in 1913 numbered 15,600, a total that stretched to 17,000 on the eve of the
Great War.84
For the next five years Barrow wholeheartedly gave itself over to the war
effort. It seemed to relish its practical isolation from other industrial centers,
proclaiming the virtues of self-containment. Certainly, this aspect struck Cecil
Bentham during his visit there in the late summer of 1942. Bentham was
expressly charged with studying how Britain’s main shipbuilding firms were
coping with the impositions of war, so his appraisal of the Barrow establishment
in that context is worthy of attention for the wealth of insights it offers.85 He
applauded the yard’s versatility, its ability to tackle large aircraft carriers at the
same time as it was undertaking quantity production of much smaller destroyers
and submarines. Barrow’s experience also told in its capacity to handle
merchant tonnage whenever circumstances allowed, regardless of whether that
tonnage consisted of standard tramps or specialized heavy-lift ships. Bentham
was particularly taken by the marine engineering facilities at the beck and call of
the shipyard. He singled out Vickers-Armstrongs for having the foresight to
invest heavily in its engine works, complimenting the firm for installing up-to-
date plant for making turbine blades, plant that had resulted in a halving in the
time taken to accomplish the job. The firm also received praise for its
enlightened labor-training policy, one that had maintained steady numbers of
apprentices even in the darkest days of recession. However, Bentham was not
blind to defects evident in the shipbuilding establishment. Barrow, like most
other British yards, was hindered by the scarcity of heavy cranes, thus limiting
the size of sections that could be moved to the building berths. This restriction,
in turn, rendered ineffectual efforts to wring the maximum benefits out of
prefabrication. Bentham also found the outfitting berths constraining, declaring
that they were too small for the production capacity of the building ways. All
these hurdles came to a head in submarine construction. Although amenable to
prefabrication, the yard’s practice of welding submarine sections in a shop
separated from the slipways was nothing if not problematic, because the
subsequent production flow line was hamstrung by inadequate cranage and an
incomplete assortment of machine tools.
138 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Despite these undoubted handicaps, the yard’s managers intervened to prevent

the workforce from being thrown into disorder. Although retaining its capacity
to handle big, one-off jobs, the yard was rearranged in a fashion that would lend
itself to series production. Submarines, of course, constituted the main fare, and
the yard could have been likened to a factory dedicated solely to their
manufacture. At times, all five of the yard’s building berths were given over to
submarine construction. Its output, by any measure, was spectacular. Counting
midget craft, no fewer than 106 were built in the war years. Only the
extraordinary lengths taken to simplify the production process made this feat
possible. Tight organization was complemented (perhaps belatedly) with a new
stock of tools, the two permitting the logic of the production flow line to come
to the fore. As the firm put it, “The submarine was divided up into a limited
number of major units, which, on completion and after partly outfitting, were
passed to the berth for welding together and launch.”86 Adoption of this system
of subdivision and part prefabrication proved instrumental in reducing average
construction times from 44 weeks to just 16 weeks. Yet the process innovation
did not stop there, for the introduction of the Amphion class in 1944 gave a new
aspect to submarine construction. These boats, designed for service in the Far
East, were the first British submarine class to have a completely welded hull.
Practically, the implications were enormous for the shipbuilder. Now, all the
sections—and there were 10 in the pressure hull and 16 composing the ballast
tanks—were produced under cover in ideal conditions, whereupon they were
transferred to the building berth for assembly. Furthermore, the berth was kept
clear of unassembled sections until all sections were ready, thus releasing it for
other construction tasks. Berth productivity shot up in consequence, with a
commensurate increase in yard output. The efforts of the yard’s workers never
wavered or grew lax. By war’s end, they were turning out a submarine every 25
days. This hard-won experience, which placed a premium on intelligent
organization, was to rebound to the yard’s credit in the postwar years. The same,
unfortunately, could not be said of many other British yards. Their postwar
problems, in many respects the legacy of the trials undergone in World War II,
were to go from bad to worse, compromising the integrity of clusters and sealing
the fate of the communities that had accommodated them. Enlarging on their
story, however, is beyond our present remit. It will only be touched on as we
contemplate in the final chapter the aftereffects of war on the shipbuilding
industry, but first we must see how the Americans faired in their wartime
shipbuilding efforts.

THE GREAT AMERICAN EXPANSION

Origins and Planning
The precipitous decline of the U.S. Navy and the American shipbuilding
industry in the interwar period came to and end with the inauguration of
President Franklin D. Roosevelt in early 1933. Having served as assistant
secretary of the Navy in the Wilson administration, Roosevelt helped oversee
World War II: The Ultimate Test 139

the naval buildup during World War I. He possessed both a keen interest in all
things naval and a dogged determination to set the U.S. Navy back on a course
of growth that would lead not only to its strengthening, but its modernization.
As time would prove, he ardently took a personal interest in a wide variety of
naval design, construction, strategic, and tactical issues, often to the
consternation of naval professionals working under him. Roosevelt’s inclination
to initiate a naval buildup went beyond his personal assessment and interest in
such matters, however. From the time he took office he was acutely aware of the
aggressive tendencies of certain world powers, both in Europe and Asia, and
foresaw the eventual necessity of America’s role in countering such aggression.
For this, a strong, modern navy and a shipbuilding industry capable of producing
and maintaining such a force would be required.
As we have previously alluded to, between 1933 and 1945 Roosevelt would
initiate and oversee the largest naval expansion program in history. To fully
understand and appreciate the magnitude of this expansion, a review of the
authorizations that provided for it is appropriate. The initial authorization
program that would set this great expansion in motion, however, did not result
from a request by the Navy or even a staunch naval advocate in Congress like
Carl Vinson, but rather as part of the President’s National Industrial Recovery
Act legislation. Specifically, Roosevelt was able to get authorization for
$238,000,000 to build naval vessels, not so much to expand the Navy, but to
“prime the pump of industrial recovery” and provide a source of employment for
the masses of out-of-work Americans. This authorization allowed for building
ships within the international Naval Treaty limitations still in place and included
two carriers (USS Yorktown and USS Enterprise), four cruisers, 20 destroyers,
and four submarines. In March 1934 Congressman Carl Vinson, a longstanding
member of the Naval Affairs Committee, succeeded in passing the major naval
appropriations bill (the Vinson-Trammel Act), which called for the construction
of over 1 million tons of new combatant vessels, including battleships, cruisers,
destroyers, and submarines. This construction was intended to bring the U.S.
Navy up to the maximum limit allowed by the Naval Treaties. It also allowed
for the replacement of old obsolete ships. Although construction of the ships
authorized under the Vinson–Trammel Act did not begin until 1937, by the end
of 1942, nine battleships, eight cruisers, 57 destroyers, and 32 submarines would
be completed as a result of this act. Between July 1937 and April 1941 an
additional 11 authorization bills were enacted, which allowed for the
construction of all types of naval vessels from combatants to auxiliaries, patrol
craft and mine warfare vessels. Of most significance were the three so-called
Expansion Acts, each of which enlarged the Navy’s tonnage and number of
ships by a certain percentage, hence the titles: Twenty, Eleven, and Seventy
Percent Naval Expansion Acts. The first of these, the Twenty Percent Act, was
enacted in May 1938 and provided for expanding the Navy’s strength beyond
the limits set by the Naval Treaties, which had expired in 1936. Specifically, it
increased the tonnage of combatants by nearly 300,000 tons and resulted in the
construction of 46 combatants along with 25 auxiliary vessels and
approximately 40 patrol craft and mine warfare vessels. Of particular note, this
140 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Act purposefully provided the president with discretionary funding for the
development of experimental light surface craft, a particular interest of
Roosevelt’s. This would lead to the design and construction of the famous PT
boats as well as the various types of small ASW craft, which would number in
the thousands by war’s end.
In response to Germany’s invasion of Poland in September 1939, Roosevelt
declared a limited state of emergency for the United States This action
precipitated the Eleven Percent Act of June 1940, which authorized another
167,000 tons of combatants and 75,000 tons of auxiliary vessels.87 By May 1940
the president, alarmed by the surrender of France to Germany and Japan’s
continued aggression in Asia, declared an unlimited national emergency.
Representative Vinson responded by once again successfully maneuvering a
major naval expansion authorizations bill through Congress a month later, the
so-called Seventy Percent Act, which became more widely known as the “Two-
Ocean Navy” bill on account of it providing for enough new shipping to allow
the U.S. Navy to conduct operations effectively in both the Atlantic and Pacific.
This act authorized an additional 1.3 million tons of combatants and another
100,000 tons of auxiliary vessels plus numerous smaller vessels. Most of these
vessels would be laid down during 1941 and 1942 and would, by early 1941,
occupy most of America’s existing shipbuilding capacity.88 The final three
authorization acts prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor were designed primarily to
bolster the Navy’s fleet of auxiliary, patrol, and mine warfare vessels. Between
September 1940 and April 1941 nearly 300,000 additional tons of such vessels
were authorized. At this point it is appropriate to step back and observe that the
aforesaid expansion acts provided for a majority of the combatant and other
vessels the U.S. Navy would utilize in World War II. Although the actual
construction of most of these vessels would extend well into the war years (and
beyond), the programs and planning for their construction were largely in place
prior to the commencement of hostilities.
The attack on Pearl Harbor did elicit an immediate albeit modest response
from the Congress. On December 23, 1941, the Five Percent Naval Expansion
Act was passed, authorizing a further 150,000 tons of combatant construction. It
was left to the discretion of the president and Navy officials as to the actual
types of vessels procured under this program.89 During the first half of 1942,
three more authorization bills would be passed. One, the so-called Emergency
Construction Program, also known as the 1799 Vessel Act, was enacted in early
February 1942 and provided for the construction of large numbers of minor
combatant, patrol, and auxiliary vessels. Many of these were incorporated into
the Lend-Lease Program to supplement British naval forces. The most
significant aspect of this program was the construction of the new destroyer
escort type of small ASW combatant, which would prove to be invaluable to
both navies in the struggle against the U-boats. The month of May saw the
passage of the Submarine Act authorizing the construction of 200,000 tons of
submarines, mainly with the intent to prosecute the war against Japan’s
merchant marine. This program would result in the eventual construction of 102
submarines. The final major authorization act of the war was passed in July
World War II: The Ultimate Test 141

1942. Vinson’s bill HR7184 authorized an additional 1.9 million tons of

combatants and 1.2 million tons of auxiliary vessels, plus 800 smaller craft. It
also provided for the acquisition by the Navy of some 200 patrol-type vessels.90
Because of the fact that virtually all of America’s existing shipbuilding
capability was already engaged in constructing vessels authorized under the
previous acts, most of these ships would not be laid down until 1943 and 1944.
In addition, as we shall see, owing to changes in the strategic course of the war
and various issues impacting the shipbuilding industry, many ships authorized
under this bill were eventually cancelled or never actually laid down. Only four
additional authorization bills were passed during the remainder of the war, three
in 1943 and one in 1944. Three of these were the Emergency Landing Craft
Program legislation, each authorizing the construction of 1 million tons of
landing craft. The second of these acts also authorized an additional 2.5 million
tons of auxiliary shipping, including transports and cargo ships. Another
authorization for 1 million tons more of auxiliary vessels was passed in June
1943 and reflected the need for an enlarged fleet train required to sustain the
ever-expanding operations in the vast Pacific theater.
Combined, these acts authorized the construction of more than 10 million tons
of naval shipping, with just over half of this amount being devoted to major
combatants.91 The massive construction program that these authorizations
resulted in between 1940 and 1946 is captured in Table 4.5, which shows the
number of ships actually built in each type category and the percentage of the
total accounted for by each.92
An examination of the chronology of this enormous building program
illustrates both the daunting nature of the task at hand and how impressively the
American shipbuilding industry accomplished it. Of particular note is how
significantly the pace of construction and delivery of vessels increased after the
war began and how many of the ships were actually built during the war. This
latter point is in stark contrast to America’s experience in World War I, when
nearly all of the ships built were not completed until after the Armistice. This
fact also runs counter to what many government and naval officials at the time
believed to be the rule, that wars were fought largely with ships included in the
fleet at the beginning of hostilities. Approximately 75 percent of the total ships
actually built under the 1933–1944 authorizations were laid down and delivered
after Pearl Harbor but before VJ Day. Looking at just major warships and
submarines, the percentage is 75 percent and 81 percent, respectively. The peak
years of construction were 1943 and 1944.93
As already remarked, what makes this naval expansion program so much
more impressive is the realization that accompanying it throughout the prewar
and wartime years was the equally ambitious merchant marine construction
program that was necessary to support military operations on a global scale.
Whereas in some ways the Navy and the Maritime Commission were in direct
competition with one another for shipbuilding capacity, materials, and
142 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Table 4.5
Authorizations by Ship Type

manpower, the Commission also proved to be an important ancillary contributor

to the Navy’s expansion efforts. As we shall see, many Maritime Commission
shipyards would build a variety of types of naval vessels. In some cases, in fact,
entire types (frigates, for example) were produced exclusively by such yards.
Many of the Navy’s auxiliary vessels were laid down as merchant vessels in
Commission yards early in the war and were then converted for naval use. Other
Maritime Commission-designed vessels were modified and the ships laid down
specifically as naval auxiliaries (cargo ships for transports and tankers for oilers,
for example). As already described earlier in this chapter, the output of the
Maritime Commission’s merchant shipbuilding program was impressive to be
sure, but the Navy’s program was considerably more demanding in the total
numbers of vessels required, their complexity of construction, and the sheer
variety of types and designs. Naval vessels, especially warships, are inherently
more complicated in their design, outfitting, and construction than merchant
vessels. This, in turn, meant that naval vessels often took longer to construct and
necessitated a higher proportion of skilled shipyard workers. Throughout the
war, Maritime Commission yards competed with private yards doing naval work
as well as the Naval Shipyards themselves for skilled workers, including naval
architects and shipyard managers, steel, all manner of ship fitting equipment,
and space. The entities would also compete for materials and funds needed to
undertake the necessary expansion of shipbuilding facilities that was required to
meet the demands of both programs. Although some of these competitive
tensions were never truly resolved, attempts were made to alleviate the most
contentious issues involved in competing priorities between the Navy and
Maritime Commission. One of the most dramatic examples of such
accommodations was the decision to devote the entire construction capacity of
given shipyards to either Maritime Commission of Naval construction. As per
no less an authority than the president’s, it was decided in March 1941 that the
World War II: The Ultimate Test 143

full facilities of Sun Shipbuilding of Chester, Pennsylvania, and Bethlehem’s

Sparrow’s Point, Maryland, yard would be reserved exclusively for Maritime
Commission work, whereas those of Newport News, New York Shipbuilding,
and Bethlehem’s Quincy, San Francisco, and Staten Island yards would be for
naval work only. Other smaller yards, such as Western Pipe, Federal’s Kearney,
New Jersey, yard, Moore Dry Dock and Ingalls, would continue to do work for
both the Navy and Maritime Commission.
Shipbuilding programs of this magnitude necessitate planning on a grand
scale. Both the naval and merchant shipbuilding programs had to be planned and
administered within the framework of a national industrial war mobilization
effort that involved hundreds of government agencies, private industries and
businesses, and the Army, Navy, and Maritime Commission. This planning
effort was a multifaceted, nationally coordinated, geographically dispersed
undertaking that had no real precedent-setting framework to guide it. America’s
efforts in World War I were the closest experience to such mobilization on a
grand scale, but the limited nature of this program brought on by the relatively
short duration of America’s involvement in the conflict meant that it held few
real helpful lessons on what to do (although it did provide some insights into
what not to do).94 The plans that produced the naval and merchant shipbuilding
programs were the result of a combination of grand Allied strategic planning,
reactions to enemy actions (such as the U-boat offensive in the Atlantic and
Japan’s early victories in the Pacific), and the requirements believed necessary
by the Navy to carry out its operations at both the strategic and tactical levels.95
An issue that plagued the Navy, and especially the shipbuilding industry as a
whole throughout the war, was the ever-changing relationship between often
unrealistic wants and demands by various ship operating and utilizing
constituents (the Navy, Army, and Merchant Marine) and the actual capacities to
meet them. The numbers and tonnage of ships allowed for by the various
authorization acts generally did not reflect those that were actually required in
light of wartime operations. This was true both in terms of over- and
underestimations, depending on the specific types of vessels involved.96 In
almost every case, however, the demands made on the shipbuilding industry by
these authorizations exceeded its capacity at any given moment and thus there
was a time delay between authorization and actual construction. In total, the
increased demands for shipping across the board did, as we shall see, necessitate
a major expansion of the nation’s shipbuilding industry. Overall national
industrial wartime planning was conducted by the War Production Board
(WPB). Through its many subagencies, the WPB coordinated the requirements
for all wartime procurement entities (including the Navy and Maritime
Commission) in terms of materials, manpower, and facilities. Of particular
relevance to the shipbuilding industry (and to our work) was the Plant Site
Board, which oversaw the selection of sites for new shipyards around the
country. The bureau within the Navy that was directly charged with
administering all aspects of its shipbuilding program was the Bureau of Ships
(BofS), created in June 1940 through the combining of the Bureaus of
Construction and Engineering. Specifically, this bureau exercised responsibility
144 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

over all aspects of ship design, construction, outfitting, maintenance, repair, and
acquisition. It was also charged with the responsibility of keeping the secretary
of the Navy informed as to the status, adequacy, and condition of the nation’s
shipbuilding industry. Included within its jurisdiction were all matters pertaining
to ship propulsion, communications, electrical and auxiliary systems, and thus it
interacted not only with shipbuilding firms, but with the myriad of ancillary
industries related to shipbuilding. Furthermore, it directly oversaw the operation
of the Naval Shipyards and had a role in the development and maintenance of
many emergency shipyards around the nation. The Bureau worked closely with
the Office of Procurement and Material’s Facilities Division to determine the
requirements for new construction and plant facilities as well as the expansion of
existing shipyards.97
Upon the creation of the BofS, all authority for the procurement of naval
vessels was given directly to the Navy. This, combined with various wartime
emergency measures, streamlined and simplified both the contractual and
financial aspects of naval shipbuilding. Apart from expedience, this also made
sense, because by 1940 virtually all contracts being let for ships in the United
States were owned by the government. Included in the many revisions of the
shipbuilding contractual process were the elimination of competitive bidding
and its replacement by direct contracting with shipyards by the Navy, the
suspension of various laws regulating work-hour limits on such contracts, and
the replacement of negotiated cost estimates with a cost-plus-a-fixed-fee
payment schedule. The cost of the nation’s increased demand for ships and the
facilities to build and repair them was staggering. The Navy’s program
consumed over $18 billion whereas that of the Maritime Commission accounted
for another $13 billion. Although financing for the Navy’s expansion program
was never a problem (nor was it really for the Maritime Commission’s program
either), this new administrative arrangement involving the BofS allowed for
direct financing of the expansion of shipbuilding facilities by the Navy. As a
result, between 1940 and 1945 the government expended $1.376 billion on the
Naval Shipyards and nearly $500 million on Maritime Commission yards.
Private investment contributed another $108 million to shipyard construction
and improvement. A further $560 million of government funding, and $252
million in private investments went to expanding and improving ancillary
industrial facilities98
Adding to the complexity of shipbuilding planning were almost monthly
changes to the Navy’s “Shipbuilding Priorities List.” This list was established in
the wake of Pearl Harbor and reflected what BofS officials believed to be the
most important building programs underway at any given point during the war.
Organized into three priority categories (A, B, and C), with the latter having
multiple subpriority levels, this list was a reflection of the changing strategic and
operational realities of the war. Changes to the order of priorities usually
emanated from the secretary of the Navy or the chief of naval operations, but
were occasionally forthcoming even from President Roosevelt himself. Factors
that precipitated such changes included adjustments in global Allied strategic
plans, material-operational requirements for specific campaigns, results of
World War II: The Ultimate Test 145

specific campaigns including accounting for greater or lesser than expected

losses of vessels, and tactical improvements and innovations discovered as a
result of operational experience. Some examples of such changes include the
elevation of landing craft construction to the priority A level in July 1942 in
anticipation of the invasion of the Solomons and North Africa in August and
November of that year, respectively. Likewise, the construction of aircraft
carriers and destroyer escorts were moved into the priority B position in the fall
of 1942 to make up for losses of the former suffered at the Battles of the Coral
Sea, Santa Cruz, and Midway and the necessity of the latter type to thwart the
U-boat offensive off the east coast of North and South America. Later in the
war, changes in priority reflected the continued need for amphibious vessels as
well as other ships such as attack transports, hospital ships, and attack cargo
ships essential to conducting the various island invasions in the Pacific as well
as the landings at Normandy.
Industrial considerations also exerted an influence on priorities. The need for
construction space for one type of vessel versus another often brought about a
change in priorities and would frequently result in the cancellation of certain
ships planned or even some that had already been laid down. Shortages of
materials such as steel and armor plate also resulted in such cancellations and
changes in the priority list. Examples of such instances include the cancellation
of numerous steel minesweepers and subchasers and their replacement by
similar units constructed of wood, and the cancellation of the five Montana-class
battleships in July 1943 and the substitution of the Midway-class carriers and
several additional cruisers in their place.99 Each of these changes in priority
would create challenges to the overall production schedules of the BofS and
individual shipyards. It is a testament to the adaptability and flexibility of the
BofS that such changes did not significantly delay or disrupt the overall
shipbuilding program during the war. However, owing to the frequency of
priority changes as well as the introduction of entirely new ship types and design
adjustments in existing types, there were some unavoidable problems. For
example, procurement of materials in the amounts and of the types necessary for
one category of vessel were not always appropriate for another and changes to
building programs would inevitably lead to shortages of materials that resulted
in some production delays. Quite often these delays were brought about by the
necessity to cancel and then reorder materials that would disrupt the supply
chain flowing to specific shipyards or, in same cases, to entire agglomerations.
Alterations in design characteristics and priority changes for various types of
vessels also made it difficult to install true mass production methods.100
Another challenge to planners was the need to design and produce entirely
new types and even entire categories of new vessels. As was alluded to in our
discussion of the shifting priorities in shipbuilding, the course of wartime
operations necessitated the development of an ever-expanding array of new
types of vessels, including numerous large and medium-size amphibious ships,
multiple types of specialized landing craft, patrol craft, and small ASW vessels,
small aircraft carriers, and various auxiliary vessels, both large and small. Many
of these new types of vessels lent themselves to the use of standardized designs,
146 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

whereas others required a greater level of specialization in design, such as the

larger amphibious ships (LSD, LSV, and AGC, for example). A common
characteristic of most of these new design programs was the need to produce
relatively large numbers of each type of vessel, a fact that further pressed for
standardization of designs. This reality also facilitated the use of mass
production techniques, including prefabrication, in their construction. Examples
of standardized designs for such mass produced types of vessels include oilers
built to the Maritime Commission’s T-3-S2-A1, T2-A, and T2-SE-A1 designs,
the famous LST design of John Niedermair of the BoS, and George Lawley &
Sons of Neponset, Massachusetts’s LCI design. Table 4.6 provides insight into
some of the new types of vessels that were produced during the war. Included
are the number of individual units completed, whether they were based upon a
single or several standardized designs, and how many shipyards were utilized in
the construction of each type of vessel. As we shall see, these programs were
among the most demanding of shipbuilding facilities and precipitated a
substantial expansion, both numerically and geographically, of the shipyards
doing naval work during the war.
At the time of the president’s declaration of a limited state of emergency
following the outbreak of war in Europe, there were 16 shipyards building naval
vessels. Half of these were naval yards whereas the others were the major
prewar, established private shipyards that had been surviving on the limited
interwar work.101 On their building ways at the time were one carrier, four
battleships, 20 destroyers, five submarines, two minesweepers, and eight
assorted auxiliary vessels. This rather leisurely pace of activity was about to
change and with it the entire American shipbuilding industry. The industry was
poised to begin a massive expansion of its capacity, facilities, workforce, and
contracts. It is to this expansion that we now turn our attention.

Enlargement on an Epic Scale

The expansion of America’s shipbuilding industry commenced in the wake of
the naval expansion authorization legislation of mid-1940. It quickly became
evident that the existing shipbuilding capacity would not be adequate to
undertake the construction of the quantities of naval vessels that had been
authorized, not to mention the numerous merchant ships that would also be
required. Although government and private shipyards then engaged in naval
construction were not at maximum capacity in early 1940, once the contracts for
the large number of vessels of all types called for under the Eleven Percent and
Two-Ocean Navy Acts were let, they would be. The Congress took this into
account by authorizing monies for the expansion of shipbuilding facilities in
June 1940. This expansion would be supervised largely by the BofS and would
be funded through direct investment both in government and private shipyards
by the Navy as well as investments from private business. Adjusting tax laws
regarding the amortization of investment monies facilitated the latter, as did
revising tax-deduction rates for defense-related improvements to physical
industrial plant. The expansion of the nation’s shipbuilding industry, a daunting
World War II: The Ultimate Test 147

Table 4.6
New Ship Types

task in and of itself, must be viewed in the context that it would be but one
aspect of the even more Herculean effort of overall industrial expansion that
would become necessary as America mobilized for war. As we shall see, the
shipbuilding industry would have to compete with other defense industries for
often limited supplies of labor, raw materials, and industrial equipment. To
succeed this undertaking would have to exhibit a significant degree of
coordination among all sectors of American industry in order to ensure not only
that the material demands of conducting a global war were met, but also that
they were met in an efficient and timely manner. Of particular importance to the
shipbuilding industry was the related expansion of its many ancillary industries.
This was crucial in securing the flow of vital raw materials as well as the myriad
finished components that went into building ships of all types. Virtually every
branch of American industry would be impacted in one way or another by the
expansion of the shipbuilding industry.
Before we begin our discussion of the details of this expansion, it is worth the
effort to illustrate the immensity of this undertaking through an examination of
its scope and time frame. Between 1940 and 1945, 197 different American
shipyards turned out 9,936 naval vessels ranging from 45,000-displacement-ton
Iowa-class battleships to 150 ton LCTs (refer to Table 4.6 for breakdown of
specific categories).102 This effort engaged not only the largest corporate and
naval shipyards in the country, but small, family-owned boat yards that had
never before built naval vessels as well as firms that had previously done no
shipbuilding work at all. Entirely new yards were also built from scratch. The
shipyards doing naval work were located in 32 states, along the nation’s three
coasts, on all of the Great Lakes, and on many of its inland waterways. Most of
148 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

the yards were located in one of sixteen major and minor agglomerations. Some,
however, were situated in more singular, independent locations. A workforce
that at its peak in July 1943 reached slightly more than 1 million men and
women were kept fully employed in the yards doing naval work. Supporting
these yards were more than 40,000 ancillary contractors located in virtually
every state and employing an estimated 2 million additional workers. Table 4.7
lists the total number of shipyards doing naval work in each of the years from
1939 through 1945 and how many were added and dropped from the rolls of
naval shipbuilders in each year. As can be seen, the period encompassing 1942
through 1944, with 1943 as its peak, saw the greatest number of yards building
naval vessels. This corresponds with the fact that 1943 and 1944 were the peak
years for naval vessel construction. Much of the actual construction and
enhancement of new and existing shipbuilding facilities occurred between 1940
and the first half of 1943. By the end of that year, shipbuilding capacity had
been increased to such a level that no further significant expansion was
necessary to complete the naval work then underway and subsequently
undertaken during the final two years of the war.
The war-induced requirements for expansion of America’s shipbuilding
industry can be broken down into seven specific categories:

1. Yards to build major types of combatant vessels such as battleships, carriers, cruisers,
destroyers, and submarines.
2. Yards to build the numerous smaller escort vessels (destroyers escorts and frigates),
patrol craft, and mine warfare vessels.
3. Yards to build the voluminous numbers of landing ships and craft, including LSTs,
LSMs, LCIs, and LCTs.
4. Yards to build the large number of varied types of naval auxiliary vessels necessary to
support forward operations, mainly in the Pacific theater of operations.
5. Yards to build the cargo and troop transports required to meet the transport needs of
both the Army and Navy in all theaters of operation.
6. Yards to construct the wide variety of merchant vessels required to support the war
effort, including tankers and Liberty and Victory ships.
7. Yards to repair, overhaul, and maintain the ever-expanding American naval and
merchant fleets.

The Navy relied primarily on the naval yards and a small group of private yards
that had previous experience with large warship construction to handle its major
warship construction needs. Three naval yards, New York, Norfolk, and
Philadelphia, plus an identical number of major private yards, Bethlehem-
Quincy, New York Shipbuilding, and Newport News, accounted for all of the
battleships, battlecruisers, aircraft carriers, and heavy cruisers built between
1938 and 1946. The three private yards already mentioned along with Cramp
and Bethlehem’s San Francisco yard built light cruisers as well. All of these
yards also built substantial numbers of other types of naval vessels during the
war. The large number of destroyers authorized left the Navy no choice but to
expand its base of construction for such ships beyond those yards that had
World War II: The Ultimate Test 149

Table 4.7
Shipyards Engaged in Naval Work, 1939–1945

previous destroyer-building experience. Of course Bath I.W., Bethlehem’s

Quincy, San Francisco, and Staten Island yards, Federal’s Kearny yard, Newport
News and the Boston, Charleston, Norfolk, Philadelphia, and Puget Sound
Naval Yards were used, but so too were newcomers to the industry, such as
Consolidated Steel of Orange, Texas, Gulf Shipbuilding’s Madisonville,
Louisiana yard, Todd’s two Seattle yards, Bethlehem’s yard at San Pedro,
California, and Federal’s new yard at Newark. The specialization necessary to
construct submarines limited their construction to four experienced yards,
Cramp, Electric Boat, Mare Island, and Portsmouth Naval Yards, plus a
newcomer to the field, Manitowoc Shipbuilding of Manitowoc, Wisconsin.103
The need for numerous convoy escort/ASW vessels hastened the authorization
of nearly 950 destroyer escorts and 100 frigates during the war. This represented
nearly 9 percent of the total vessels authorized. To produce the 424 destroyer
escorts and 97 frigates that would eventually be commissioned, 29 shipyards
were employed, including six naval yards and eleven private yards, six that had
previously done naval work, five that had not. Eight of the 29 were wartime
created yards and one had done no previous shipbuilding work whatsoever.
During the early stages of the war the Navy relied primarily on its own yards for
the bulk of its necessary repair and overhaul work. Later in the war, as more
capacity was freed up in private yards, including those operated by the Maritime
Commission, more of this work was carried out by such yards, especially on the
west coast. For the remaining building-capacity requirements included in our
list, the Navy relied upon a combination of existing naval yards, private yards
(both with and without experience in naval shipbuilding), Maritime Commission
wartime emergency yards, and nonshipbuilding establishments such as steel
fabricators.
In order to meet the shipbuilding needs of the Navy and the commensurate
expansion requirements of the shipbuilding industry as a whole, the following
steps were undertaken:

The existing facilities of the eight naval yards were expanded and two entirely new
yards were constructed.
The facilities of the major private shipyards were expanded and enhanced.
Where feasible, yards that had been shut down during the interwar period were
reopened.
Entirely new wartime emergency yards were built.
150 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Small, existing shipyards including boat works and yacht builders were utilized for the
construction of smaller steel and wooden naval vessels.
Nonshipbuilding firms such as steel fabricators were enlisted and adapted to build
naval vessels.
Maritime Commission yards, especially those where excess capacity existed, were
used for naval construction.

It was through the combination of these measures that the shipbuilding industry,
in conjunction with the BofS, Maritime Commission, and other government
agencies, was able to expand so rapidly and effectively between 1940 and 1943
in order to construct the nearly 10,000 naval vessels commissioned between
1940 and 1945. We will now examine each aspect of this expansion program in
some detail.

Expansion of the Naval Yards

The first step undertaken by the Navy to expand its own shipbuilding and
repair capacity was to conduct a comprehensive review of the existing naval
shipyard facilities in order to ascertain what improvements would be required.
This report, written by the Bureau of Yards and Docks and issued in January
1939, recommended a series of improvements to existing yards that would both
address issues of deficiencies and obsolescence and increase the overall capacity
of the yards. This report, coupled with the authorization acts of 1938 and 1940,
called for the expenditure of $330 million to be divided along the lines of 23
percent, or roughly $75 million, for upgrades and the remainder being expended
for new facilities. This same agency, under the auspices of the BofS, would
oversee the improvements and expansion of existing naval shipyards as well as
the construction of new facilities. Additional funding for naval shipyard
improvements was acquired during the early buildup period through a series of
so-called public works appropriations from Congress. By the end of the war a
total of $590 million was spent on constructing new naval shipyards and
expanding existing ones. The initial improvements and expansion of the naval
yards were centered on enhancing the ship repair capabilities available to the
Navy. To that end, four new facilities were authorized in 1940–1941 and were
online by 1941–1942. These included the Hunter’s Point and Terminal Island
yards on the west coast. The former was designed to accommodate various types
of smaller warships—destroyers, destroyer escorts, and landing ships/craft—for
repair and overhaul work. Initially built on 48 acres that had been occupied
previously by a small private shipyard, wartime improvements expanded the
facility to over 580 acres. It included numerous dry docks, a large timber wharf,
a 450-ton and two 225-ton capacity cranes and numerous machine, electrical,
and optical shops, also for repair work. The Terminal Island yard was a 380-acre
site that was used primarily for the repair of destroyers. On the east coast, two
repair facilities were constructed as annexes to existing naval yards. The first of
these was the so-called South Boston Annex constructed in 1940–1941 on the
main shipping channel leading into Boston Harbor. Included among its ship
World War II: The Ultimate Test 151

repair facilities was a 693-foot graving dock specifically intended for the repair
of cruisers. The other facility was the heavy ship repair yard located on a strip of
land in Bayonne, New Jersey, directly across the Hudson River from the New
York Naval Yard. Its main 1,092-foot dry dock was designed to accommodate
vessels as large as battleships and carriers. Two additional existing naval
facilities underwent changes in 1940 in order to enhance their repair capabilities.
The New London, Connecticut, Submarine Base was added to so that it could
serve as a repair and overhaul facility for submarines. Likewise, the destroyer
base in San Diego was similarly modified to provide the same services to that
type of ship.
The expansion and improvement of existing naval shipyards on both coasts
generally included the enlargement of existing or construction of entirely new
facilities such as various machine, fabrication, subassembly, joiner, ship fitting,
pipe, steel erection, and pattern shops, power plants, storage warehouses,
barracks, and offices. The Boston Naval Yard had the distinction of being the
Navy’s primary manufacturer of anchor chain owing to its special facility for
that purpose. During the war additional dry docks were added for building
destroyers and destroyer escorts as well as LSTs. The Portsmouth Yard, which
built only submarines, had two new dry docks and several shipbuilding ways
added. Likewise the Charleston Yard, which had previously been utilized mainly
for the repair and overhaul of cruisers and smaller vessels, was enlarged from
350 acres to 710 by expanding its facilities south and north of the existing yard
during the war. Specifically, two 365-foot dry docks were added, as was a
smaller dry dock, several outfitting piers, and an ordnance shop. This expansion
allowed the yard to construct numerous destroyers, destroyer escorts, LSTs, and
LSMs. The remaining east coast naval yards, New York, Philadelphia, and
Norfolk, were the Navy’s primary government builders of major warships,
particularly battleships and aircraft carriers. Each of these yards underwent
major expansions beginning in the late 1930s and continuing throughout the
war. The New York Yard received the most substantial improvements, with the
addition of numerous new dry docks, shipbuilding ways, a new foundry, an
ordnance shop, a material testing laboratory, a special hammerhead crane for
installing gun turrets in battleships, numerous other smaller cranes, an entirely
new power plant, and several fitting-out piers. Similar additions and
improvements were made to the other two yards, but of particular note were the
“super dry docks” that were constructed in 1940 at both Philadelphia and
Norfolk. These 1,092-foot docks were designed for constructing Iowa- and
Montana-class battleships as well as Essex-class carriers. The Norfolk Yard also
received a hammerhead crane, and the Philadelphia Yard got a turret assembly
shop for 16-inch gun turrets. The Navy’s two preexisting yards at Mare Island
and Puget Sound also received expansion upgrades. These initiatives were
designed to enhance both the construction and repair capabilities of the two
yards. For example, at the Puget Sound Yard two dry docks were added that
were capable of accommodating battleships and carriers for repair work. Two
double shipbuilding ways were also added to provide additional space for the
construction of destroyers and destroyer escorts. A large ship fitting shop with
152 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

indoor fabrication bays was also built. At Mare Island an even more substantial
expansion was undertaken, increasing the yard’s overall area from 635 acres to
1,500 by war’s end. A large dry dock was added to the three already in
operation, as were six shipbuilding ways—mainly used for submarine
construction—bringing the total to eight.104 With the expansion of the naval
yards came a commensurate expansion of their workforces. Table 4.8 shows the
prewar and wartime peak employment totals for the civilian workforce at each
of the naval yards.

Expansion of Existing Private Shipyards

A total of 43 medium and large private shipyards (22 percent of the total
undertaking work for the Navy) that existed prior to the war built ships for the
Navy during the conflict. Of these, 30 had previous experience at building naval
vessels and 13 had not. The combined output of these yards totaled 3,060
vessels of all types, which accounted for 31 percent of all naval vessels built
between 1940 and 1945. As demands increased on these private shipyards, both
for naval and merchant construction and repair work, nearly all of them
undertook some degree of facilities expansion. Much of this expansion came in
the form of facilities enhancement and improvement such as modernizing
machine shops and power plants or lengthening fitting-out piers. Other
expansion initiatives were considerably more ambitious and resulted in
substantial increases in the capacity of individual shipyards. Financing these
improvement and expansion programs was accomplished in part through private
investments within the framework of revised tax policies that have already been
mentioned. The majority of these expansion efforts, however, were funded
directly by either the Navy (through the BofS and Bureau of Yards and Docks)
or the Maritime Commission, or in some cases both. As one might expect, most
of the government expansion funds were directed at a core group of medium to
large private shipyards. Often, these investments were made so that a shipyard
could provide for the construction of a specific type of vessel or participate in
one of the major standardized or specialized construction programs designed to
meet specific wartime strategic needs as designated by the Navy. Table 4.9
provides a list of shipyards that received major expansion funding from the
Navy and/or Maritime Commission and the amount they received.
As we saw with the naval yards, more often than not expansion of existing
private yards involved the addition of shipbuilding ways and dry docks as well
as cranes, yard infrastructure, and buildings, especially the installation of
specialized machine shops. In other cases the expansion activities were on a
truly massive scale. For example, the Maritime Commission oversaw the
addition of 20 new building ways at Sun’s Chester, Pennsylvania yard, bringing
the total number of ways there to 28, thus making it the largest shipyard in the
country. Whereas this yard was originally intended to build only merchant
vessels, this expansion of its facilities did allow it to undertake the construction
of 44 naval vessels, including eight escort carriers as well as numerous
auxiliaries. New York Shipbuilding was the other private shipyard to expand on
World War II: The Ultimate Test 153

Table 4.8
1
Naval Yard Pre-War and Peak Wartime Civilian Workforce Levels

1 Theinformation in this table is derived from a similar table in Bureau of Ships, p. 145.
2
This yard was strictly a repair and maintenance yard and did no new naval construction whatsoever.
Source: Building the Navy’s Bases in World War II: History of the Bureau of Yards & Docks and
the Civil Engineering Corps, 1940–1946, vol. 1. Washington, DC, 1947.

Table 4.9
Shipyards Receiving Major Expansion Funding

such a mammoth scale. It was decided early on that this yard would be the
Navy’s principal private builder. As such, all of its facilities were devoted to
naval work and it alone produced 188 vessels (nearly 2 percent of the total
vessels built for the Navy) of 10 different types, including a battleship, three
battlecruisers (only two were commissioned), all 11 Independence-class light
carriers, four heavy and 16 light cruisers, 48 LCTs, 100 LSTs, and four large
auxiliary ships. From the outset this was one of the largest shipyards in the
154 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

country, but the Navy invested some $20 million during the war to increase its
building capacity. Added were several dry docks and smaller building ways,
several large cranes including at least one hammerhead type, and a myriad of
new and expanded shops, fitting-out piers, and storage warehouses. As these
private shipyards expanded, so too did their workforces, although as we will see
in a subsequent section of this chapter, not always in as timely a fashion as was
desired by their managers. At their peak, many of these yard’s workforces
numbered in the thousands. The largest workforces were employed at Sun and
California Shipbuilding (Calshio), each reaching a peak force of 40,000. Among
those yards whose workforces at their peak level exceeded 15,000 were Newport
News and New York Shipbuilding, each with approximately 35,000,
Bethlehem’s Quincy yard with 32,000, Todd-Pacific Shipyards’ Seattle yard
with 17,000, and Tampa Shipbuilding with 16,000. All told, these 43 shipyards
employed nearly 1 million workers during the course of the war.

Reviving Closed Yards

Unlike the situation in Great Britain, the number of shipyards in America that
had been closed down during the interwar years that lent themselves to being
reactivated for service in World War II was relatively limited. The most
significant example of such a revival in the United States was that of the Cramp
Brothers yard in Philadelphia. This yard had been closed down in 1927 due to
lack of work and its facilities had deteriorated to a significant degree in the
ensuing years. However, the yard itself remained largely undisturbed and in
1940 the Navy decided it would be reopened. With an investment of over $22
million from the Navy, the yard was renovated and expanded and, by 1941, it
was constructing light cruisers and would go on to build a total of seven such
ships as well as 16 submarines and five fleet tugs by 1946. Another revived
shipyard was Todd’s old yard at Commencement Bay in Tacoma, Washington.
This yard had originally been the Todd Dry Dock and Construction Company
and had built Omaha-class light cruisers in the early 1920s, but was shut down
in 1925 due to lack of work. In 1939, with $15 million from the Navy, the
Seattle-Tacoma Shipbuilding Corporation was formed as a subsidiary of Todd
Shipyards and reopened the yard. By 1941 it was building escort carriers and
auxiliary vessels for both the U.S. and Royal Navies.105 In 1940, U.S. Steel’s
former Chickasaw Shipbuilding yard at Chickasaw, Alabama, was acquired and
reopened by Waterman Steamship Lines as Gulf Shipbuilding. Employed
primarily in the building of C-2 type cargo ships for the Maritime Commission,
the yard did go on to construct four attack transports and two stores ships for the
Navy in 1943 and 1944. On the Great Lakes, Walter Butler Shipbuilders
reactivated the former Lake Superior Shipbuilding yard at Superior, Wisconsin.
Initially utilized to build N-3 coastal cargo vessels for Britain, by 1943, the yard
was building frigates and cargo ships (AK) for the U.S. Navy. In addition to
these closed yards that were revived, several other yards which had been used
only for repair work during the interwar period were reactivated as construction
yards. Included among these were the Lake Washington Shipyard in Houghton,
World War II: The Ultimate Test 155

Washington, which built auxiliary vessels between 1941 and the end of the war;
Bethlehem’s Alameda yard, which was expanded to build transports for both the
Navy and Maritime Commission; and its San Pedro, California, yard that was
specifically expanded to build destroyers beginning in 1941.

Wartime Emergency Yards

Between 1939 and 1943, 30 entirely new shipyards (15 percent of the total)
were constructed that would go on to build 1,896 vessels, which represented 19
percent of the total built for the Navy between 1940 and 1945. These vessels
included escort carriers, destroyers, destroyer escorts, frigates, amphibious
ships, landing craft, patrol craft, mine warfare craft, transports, and a variety of
auxiliaries, including oilers and repair ships. Most of these new yards were built
and/or managed by existing shipbuilders such as Bath, Bethlehem, Consolidated
Steel, Federal, Todd, or Newport News. Built with funds from both the Navy
and Maritime Commission, these yards did a combination of work for both
agencies. Seven of these emergency yards were among nine yards initiated and
funded by the Maritime Commission in 1941 to supplement its capacity to build
cargo ships and tankers. These yards, including New England Shipbuilding,
Portland, Maine; Todd-California Shipbuilding Corporation, San Pedro; Oregon
Shipbuilding, Portland, Oregon; Delta Shipbuilding, New Orleans; Bethlehem’s
Fairfield yard; North Carolina Shipbuilding, Wilmington, North Carolina; and
Calship all did work for the Navy in addition to their Maritime Commission
construction. Perhaps the most famous of the wartime yards were those built and
run by Henry J. Kaiser and his team of business and construction industry
associates, virtually none of whom had previous shipbuilding experience. Kaiser
who for a period partnered with Todd, built and/or managed no less than 10
different wartime emergency shipyards, namely, the four Richmond, California
yards (referred to as Richmond’s 1–4); Calship; Kaiser Company, Inc.,
Vancouver, Washington; Todd-Houston; Walsh-Kaiser, Providence, Rhode
Island; New England Shipbuilding; and Oregon Shipbuilding.106 Kaiser not only
possessed a talent for formulating and bringing big ideas to fruition, he also had
access to the resources, both human and material, that were necessary for their
physical construction. His affiliation with various construction firms meant that
he could readily acquire the heavy machinery, trucking, and labor necessary to
construct shipyards. All told, these Kaiser-affiliated yards encompassed 92
shipbuilding ways upon which 406 naval vessels were built between 1941 and
1945. Of greatest note were the 50 Kaiser-designed and built Casablanca-class
escort carriers constructed at his Vancouver yard. This program was
representative of Kaiser’s firm belief in the benefits of standardized design and
mass production. Taking this process to as refined a state as anyone in the
business, this yard turned out all 50 of these “baby flat-tops” in the course of
exactly one year’s time. In fact, between September 1943 and June 1944 this
yard launched, on average, one CVE each week. In addition to these ships, the
ten Kaiser-related yards built frigates, LSTs, various types of transports and
cargo ships, gasoline and station tankers, as well as numerous other types of
156 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

auxiliaries. They also built many merchant vessels for the Maritime
Commission.
Geographically speaking, the selection of locations for these new shipyards
was influenced by a number of different economic, social, political, and strategic
factors. The availability of labor, necessary supporting infrastructure, and
housing were all of great concern. As such, in many instances, the locations of
these new yards tended toward areas outside the major shipbuilding
agglomerations of the northeast. In some instances, social issues surrounding the
employment of women and especially African-Americans were of concern. This
was particularly the case in southern and Gulf coast yards. Strategically, there
was motivation to locate many of the emergency yards on the west coast—in
order to provide repair facilities as well as those for construction—closest to the
major theater of operations for the Navy. We will deal in depth with all
geographic aspects of the shipbuilding industry’s expansion later in this chapter,
but a cursory examination of the geographic distribution of these new yards is
useful at this juncture. Of the 30 new yards built just prior to and during the war,
seven were on the east coast, 12 on the west coast, eight on the Gulf coast, two
on the Great Lakes, and one on an inland waterway.

Small Boat and Yacht Yards and Nonshipbuilding Firms

The enormous demand for small vessels (both steel and wood), such as patrol
craft, minesweepers, net layers, landing craft, salvage ships, and tugs, would
have overwhelmed existing shipbuilding capacity in and of itself. Therefore,
from the start of the naval buildup program in 1940, small, privately owned boat
and yacht building yards were enlisted to build such vessels for the Navy. Their
expertise in the construction of such vessels proved invaluable and the output of
many of these yards was quite prodigious. For example, Bison Shipbuilding of
Buffalo, New York, built 378 LCTs in just less than two years between 1942
and 1944. Also building landing ships were New Jersey Shipbuilding at Barber,
New Jersey, and Quincy Barge Builders at Quincy, Illinois, on the Mississippi
River, the former building 375 LCIs whereas the latter turned out 177 LCTs.
Equally impressive was the record of the Wheeler Shipbuilding Company of
Brooklyn, New York, which built 300 vessels, including wooden patrol craft,
motor minesweepers, rescue tugs, and even patrol boats for the Coast Guard. All
told, 92 small boat and yacht yards did work for the Navy and Coast Guard. This
represents fully 47 percent of all shipbuilders doing naval work during the war.
Combined, their output totaled 2,590 vessels or 26 percent of the total produced
between 1940 and 1945. These yards were located in 21 different states,
although the greatest concentrations were in California (15), New York (14),
and Washington (10). Thirty-eight were situated on the east coast, 27 on the
west coast, 14 on the Great Lakes, seven on the Gulf coast, and six on inland
waterways.
To further supplement the shipbuilding capacity available to construct naval
vessels, the Navy looked to enlisting the facilities and especially the expertise of
nonshipbuilding firms that dealt with the construction of steel structures, so-
World War II: The Ultimate Test 157

called steel fabricators such as bridge builders, as well as firms that built large
steel items such as boilers and railroad cars. Companies with names like
American Bridge, Kansas City Structural Steel, Bellingham Iron Works, Omaha
Steel, Gulfport Boiler & Welding, Savannah Machine & Foundry Company, and
United Engineering either converted their facilities into ship construction plants
or built entirely new shipyards. Even the builder of the famous Pullman sleeper
cars, Pullman Standard Car Company of Chicago, turned its facilities over to
naval work during the war. A total of 21 nonshipbuilding firms built naval
vessels during the war (11 percent of the total firms that did so). Between 1940
and 1945 they built 1,498 vessels for the Navy, a full 15 percent of the total. Ten
of these firms were specifically enlisted to participate in the LST and LCT
building programs, constructing 431 and 557 of each type, respectively.
Interestingly, all but one of these firms were located on inland waterways, often
deep in the heartland of America. Typical of these “Prairie Shipyards” was the
Chicago Bridge & Iron Company, which built 157 LSTs between 1942 and 1945
at its newly created shipyard at Seneca, Illinois, on the Illinois River, southwest
of Chicago. Another firm, Cargill, Inc. of Minneapolis, was enlisted in 1942 by
the Navy to build 18 Patapsco-class gasoline tankers, but this firm had no
shipyard in which to build these ships, being that it was an agricultural materials
firm. It ended up constructing an entirely new shipyard (known as Port Cargill)
19 miles east of Minneapolis at Savage, Minnesota, on the Minnesota River. The
largest of these firms was Consolidated Steel, which at the time the Navy
contracted with it to build destroyers and destroyer escorts was operating only a
modest-size steel fabrication plant in Orange, Texas. With money from the
Navy, Consolidated expanded its facilities into a full- fledged shipyard that built
39 destroyers and 93 destroyer escorts as well as 105 LCIs between 1941 and
1946, and at its peak employed more than 20,000 workers. The other firms built
patrol craft, minesweepers, and small auxiliary vessels such as net layers,
salvage vessels and tugs.

Use of Maritime Commission Yards

Many of the yards of all types that we have mentioned thus far were
contracted to build naval vessels directly by the Navy and most of them did
nothing but naval work during the war. However, some 14 percent of vessels
built for the Navy during the war were built in shipyards that were under the
direct jurisdiction and management of the Maritime Commission. In many
instances these yards had been created and/or expanded with the specific
intention of doing only Maritime Commission work; in other words, building
merchant ships. In fact, many of the emergency yards we mentioned in a
previous section of this chapter were established with funding from the
Maritime Commission. Many others took part in a series of five progressive
“expansion waves,” as one author referred to the Commission’s overall growth
plan, which it implemented during 1941 and early 1942.107 Between 1942 and
1945, 40 Maritime Commission shipyards built 1,366 naval vessels. These yards
constituted fully 20 percent of all the yards that did naval work nationwide. The
158 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

utilization of Maritime Commission yards became a virtual necessity once the

full naval expansion program was put into place after the attack on Pearl Harbor.
For all the varied measures taken by the Navy to expand its available
shipbuilding capacity, there was still a shortfall and production schedules would
potentially suffer if additional capacity was not found. By the middle of 1942 it
was decided that the Maritime Commission’s overall shipbuilding capacity had
expanded to a point where it could turn over some of that capacity to the
construction of naval vessels and still meet the requirements set by the
government for deliveries of merchant ships. Remarkably, the fifth wave of
capacity expansion in early 1942 had actually produced an overall excess of
building ways in Commission yards. The Navy quickly took advantage of this
excess capacity. For the most part, naval construction done in Commission yards
was divided into three categories. First was the construction of what the
Commission termed purely “military types” of vessels; namely, escort carriers,
frigates, and LSTs. Six different Maritime Commission yards completed a total
of 89 escort carriers, with the majority being built by Kaiser’s Vancouver yard
(50) and Todd-Pacific’s Tacoma yard (21). The frigate program was initiated in
1942 as a mass-producible ASW escort vessel. Based upon a modified Canadian
corvette design, the frigate design (S2-S2-AQ1) was actually credited to a team
of Kaiser naval architects working under the auspices of the Maritime
Commission. One hundred of these frigates were authorized, although only 97
were actually completed, all in Commission yards. Although their construction
was widely dispersed around the country, with nine different yards located on
both east and west coasts being utilized, the majority of these vessels were built
in yards on the Great Lakes. In fact, six such yards were involved in building a
total of 46 frigates, making this the greatest number of any single type of naval
combatant vessel built on the Great Lakes during the war. Three Maritime
Commission yards were employed to build LSTs. Combined, Bethlehem’s
Fairfield yard and Kaiser’s Richmond #4 and Vancouver yards turned out 75 of
the amphibious ships. The other two categories of naval vessels constructed in
Maritime Commission yards were the auxiliary ships and transports that used
Commission merchant ship designs. The C3 and C4 designs were used for repair
ships, seaplane tenders, submarine tenders and hospital ships. The T-1 design
was used for gasoline and station tankers as well as water distilling ships,
whereas fleet oilers and gasoline tankers were based on the T-1 and T-3 designs,
respectively. Many types of transports and cargo ships required by the Navy
(AP, APA, AK, AKA, AKN, and AKS) also utilized C-type designs. Of all the
naval vessels built by Maritime Commission yards, these two categories
constituted the largest number, 802 in all (59 percent). Thirty-seven of the forty
Maritime Commission yards that built naval vessels built ships of one or both of
these categories. Two Commission yards were also involved in the destroyer
escort program, Tampa Shipbuilding and Western Pipe & Steel Corporation. By
the fall of 1944, naval vessels occupied 41 percent of all Maritime Commission
building ways.108
World War II: The Ultimate Test 159

Challenges to Success
It is undeniable that the expansion of American’s shipbuilding industry as we
have described it thus far was a resounding success from the standpoint of it
being able to meet the demands placed upon it by the Navy and Maritime
Commission during World War II. However, the reader should not be misled
into assuming that this mammoth undertaking was anything but fraught with
challenges that at times appeared as if they would derail the entire effort. The
byword was shortages, shortages, shortages. Throughout the war, shortages of
machine tools, engineering equipment, component parts, raw materials, and
especially labor were a challenge to Navy and Maritime Commission planners
as well as to shipyard managers. Just as one shortage crisis was solved, the
supply of another critical item would fall to dangerously low levels and send the
shipyard procurement specialists scrambling once again to secure their share of
the commodity in question in the face of stiff competition from other hungry
industries and agencies. This latter point was a recurring one throughout the war
in that many of the raw materials and manufactured components that were of
vital importance to shipbuilding were equally important to other defense-related
industries such as aircraft, weapons, and tank producers. Likewise, labor,
especially skilled labor, was required by all defense-related industries, some of
which were even more labor intensive than shipbuilding. It is important to note
that these shortages tended to be cyclical and that no single item was in short
supply throughout the war, with the possible exceptions of armor plate and
skilled laborers. Shortages of some materials, such as steel, would be lessened
for a period and then reemerge at a later date. From the standpoint of
shipbuilding, this cyclical pattern of supply and demand tended to be influenced
by the requirements of specific building programs as well as changes in the
Shipbuilding Priorities List. For example, several programs, including those for
destroyer escorts and patrol and landing craft, put great pressure on producers of
diesel engines and their related components, whereas the large destroyer
program pushed to the limits manufacturers of gears and forced draft blowers. In
some cases shortages actually caused the modification of programs and
individual types of ships or, in a few cases, their outright cancellation. For
example, the shortage of turbines necessitated the installation of diesel engines
in three classes of destroyer escorts, thus negatively impacting their performance
characteristics by reducing their maximum speed by as much as three knots.
This action did, however, avoid their cancellation or significant delays in their
completion when such vessels were urgently needed to combat the U-boat threat
to merchant shipping in the Atlantic. As we have already mentioned, the most
high profile of these changes was the cancellation of the five Montana-class
battleships by Chief of Naval Operations Admiral E. J. King in July 1943.
Although King had opposed the construction of these 60,000-ton ships from the
beginning, the fact that their construction would consume huge amounts of steel
and even scarcer armor plate provided the justification he needed to cancel the
program. Other large warships, such as three of the six Alaska-class
battlecruisers, were also cancelled because of shortages of steel, but so too were
160 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

smaller vessels such as minesweepers and subchasers. In the case of the latter
types of vessels, their construction was changed to wood, thus avoiding outright
cancellation due to the shortage of steel. The government did address the issue
of shortages through the establishment of the Controlled Materials Plan, which
went into effect in 1943. This plan covered all defense-related materials and
attempted to set priorities and regulate their distribution to ensure that those
industries that needed them most were able to secure timely supplies.
In the case of the shipbuilding industry, shortages of materials and labor
impacted it in two ways. The first was in its effort to expand shipbuilding
facilities early in the war. The lack of machine tools was a critical issue
regarding the construction and equipping of new shipyards. This shortage would
persist until early 1943, but by this point most of the expansion program was
complete. However, the shortage of machine tool equipment then became an
issue in terms of equipping ships. The other impact that shortages had on the
shipbuilding industry was directly on production. With shipbuilding reaching its
peak during 1943 and into 1944, shortages of various ship component parts such
as turbines, gears, valves, fans, and forgings became a major issue. Furthermore,
these shortages were often compounded by technological and design changes on
certain items, such as valves, during the course of the war. These changes
frequently meant reworking ships already under construction, which in turn
often resulted in delayed deliveries. Shortages in raw materials also slowed the
production of ship components. Copper, rubber, wood, lead, and aluminum were
all in short supply at various times during the war. By May 1943, the War
Production Board listed eleven different raw materials as being at such critically
low levels of availability as to threaten naval production.109 However, steel was
particularly sensitive to material shortage. As we have already recounted, this
state of affairs resulted in the modification and cancellation of individual ships
as well as entire programs. The industry’s insatiable appetite for steel seemed to
know no bounds and exceeded the steel industry’s capacity for production
virtually throughout the entire wartime period. The shipbuilding industry
consumed 20 percent of all the steel made and as much as 60 percent of all the
rolled steel plate produced in the United States during the war.110 Steel mills
throughout the country steadily increased their production of steel plate between
1940 and 1943 and this relieved the shortage to some degree, but its supply
became scarce once again by the end of 1944 and the crisis was only diminished
as a result of the Allied victory in Europe in the spring of 1945.
The shortage of labor that confronted all of American industry during World
War II was never remedied to the same degree as the shortage of materials was.
Shortfalls in manpower persisted throughout the war and constituted the single
most significant threat to industrial production, including shipbuilding, that the
nation faced. Several specific aspects of the labor availability situation can be
identified in relation to the shipbuilding industry:

Shortages of skilled ship designers, shipyards managers, and shipyard craftsmen.

Shortages of workers in general (within the context of the overall national shortage of
general laborers).
World War II: The Ultimate Test 161

Competition with other industries, especially the aircraft industry, for workers with
similar skill sets.
Competition within the industry between individual shipyards, especially for skilled
workers.
Competition within the industry between shipyards doing repair work and those
involved in new construction.
The loss of available labor due to military enlistments and conscription.
Shortages of labor in specific geographic areas, both regionally and within
shipbuilding agglomerations.

General labor availability was not a serious problem during the initial stages
of the shipbuilding industry’s expansion program. Millions of people in 1939–
1940 were still unemployed as a result of the Depression. Granted, most of these
workers had not been experienced shipyards workers in the past. In fact, only
about 3 percent of those workers hired by the shipbuilding industry during the
initial expansion phase had experience in the field. A slightly higher percentage
did, however, have skills that were adaptable to shipbuilding.111 One discipline
that did suffer shortages of manpower from the outset were ship design offices.
In fact, there were so few naval architects available in 1940 that central design
bureaus were set up at several of the naval shipyards (the largest being in the
New York yard) in order to pool available talent and expertise. Serious
shortages in labor did not set in until the fall of 1942. It is at this time that many
of the shipyard expansion projects were complete and some of the new yards
began operation and thus the demand for shipyard labor increased accordingly.
This initial shortage was followed by ever-rising demands for workers as all the
yards move into their peak periods of production during 1943. As we shall see,
steps were taken to alleviate as many of the shortages as possible at the time, but
these failed to prevent the shortages from reappearing in late 1944 and early
1945. They were especially acute in construction yards as the diversion of
workers to repair yards increased. Table 4.10 shows the level of employment in
the shipbuilding industry and the increase or decrease in that level each year
from 1938 through 1945, as well as the percentage of that workforce involved in
naval shipbuilding during the peak period of construction.
The shipyards themselves held primary responsibility for the hiring of
workers. The U.S. Employment Service assisted workers in learning of
vacancies, especially in geographically distant areas, but the ultimate job of
hiring rested with the shipyards and the union labor offices. What made this task
especially difficult in many of the shipyard agglomeration areas was that, owing
to the demand of other local industrial facilities (some of which had higher
priority ratings than shipyards), shipyards were not allowed to advertise locally
for workers. They could and did recruit workers from across the country on a
regular basis, however. This precipitated a significant migration of workers from
areas of labor surplus to many of the areas that supported major and minor
shipbuilding agglomerations, especially the newer ones. For example, labor was
in particularly short supply near west coast and Gulf coast yards (these areas
also experienced the greatest and most rapid growth in shipyards expansion),
162 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Table 4.10
Shipbuilding Industry Employment, 1938–1945

Source: MARAD/Bureau of Labor Statistics (SIC 3731) and U.S. Bureau of Ships, 1952, p. 176.

and shipbuilders such as the Kaiser Corporation actively recruited workers from
as far away as New York state. Further government restrictions on hiring were
placed on the shipbuilding industry in the fall of 1943 when the War Manpower
Commission established ceilings and urgency ratings for specific types of
defense-related industries. These measures established both limits on the number
of workers each industry could employ (to avoid hoarding of workers,
something some government officials had accused the shipbuilding industry of
doing) and a priority hierarchy in order to ensure the supply of necessary
workers to certain industries (such as that building aircraft).
Apart from the geographic dispersal of its recruiting efforts, the shipbuilding
industry utilized a number of other strategies to deal with the labor shortage
issue. In late 1942, shipyards began hiring women and African Americans.
Neither group had been employed to any significant degree prior to this. Women
were hired primarily as fabricators and welders. Notwithstanding the popular
image of “Rosie the Riveter,” very few women actually did this job, because
welding was better suited to the average female on account of the lesser physical
strength requirements necessary in welding as compared with riveting. The
workforces of most shipyards averaged between 10 and 20 percent women, with
the highest proportion being reported by Oregon Shipbuilding at 31 percent in
May 1945.112 The number of women employed in shipyards steadily increased
throughout the war and reached its peak in 1945. The utilization of African
Americans, although controversial in some areas, particularly in Southern and
Gulf coast shipyards, actually caused less of a stir than did the presence of
women. However, their full potential was often not fully utilized, owing to
persistent racial discrimination even outside the South.
The reality of the changing nature of the shipbuilding process that wartime use
of standardized designs and mass production of ships brought to the industry had
more to do with partially relieving the impact of labor shortages as anything
else. Prior to the war, a majority of shipyard workers were considered (and
required) to be skilled craftsmen. The individualized design and construction of
ships necessitated this type of workforce. However, the use of standardized
World War II: The Ultimate Test 163

designs that were produced in large numbers using automobile industry–style

specialized building practices facilitated the breaking down of jobs into
specialized tasks. These specialized tasks required lower skill-set levels for
workers performing them. This, in turn, allowed for shorter learning curves and
thus training times. As a result, unskilled workers could be hired and trained
relatively quickly and easily and be on the job producing in a fraction of the
time it would have taken to train skilled shipyard workers in the past. Here,
again, the adoption of welding proved helpful. This task was much easier to
learn and master than riveting. Thus, large numbers of less-skilled workers
could be trained to actually assemble ships. The other largely unforeseen
development in shipyards that significantly reduced labor shortage pressures
was the overall increase in productivity of individual shipyard workers. Granted,
hours were extended and round-the-clock shifts were instituted in many
shipyards, but the time required to build nearly every type of ship steadily
declined as the war progressed and workers became more proficient at their
jobs. Table 4.11 illustrates this fact by showing the number of months required
to construct various types of naval vessels prior to the war and after. For the four
types of ships mentioned, the average reduction in time of construction after
Pearl Harbor was approximately 10 months.
Shipyards that did new construction often found themselves in direct
competition with those that were primarily involved in ship repair. Part of the
reason for this was the fact that ship repair tended to be more labor intensive
than ship construction and the need for higher skilled labor tended to be more
pronounced in the former rather than the latter. Thus, the best and brightest often
found their way to ship repair yards, especially during 1944 and 1945 when
operational realities produced increasing numbers of damaged shipping in the
Pacific theater. Another factor that caused an internal dislocation of workers in
the shipbuilding industry, both between individual shipyards and
agglomerations, was the fact that yards doing repair work as well as those doing
naval vessel construction often paid higher wages than those involved in the
construction of merchant ships. Repair work often necessitated high levels of
overtime in order to accomplish needed repairs quickly so that the ships could
be returned to service in a timely fashion. Furthermore, naval construction,
owing to higher levels of complexity, more frequent design revisions, and
extended building times, frequently generated higher wages for workers than did
the construction of standard merchant ships. Although many Maritime
Commission yard owners and managers urged the imposition of national
restrictions on the mobility of shipyard workers, the government never saw fit to
do so and workers were free to take advantage of geographic and industrial
wage differentials. A similar situation developed in terms of competition with
the aircraft industry for certain groups of skilled workers. These workers, whose
skills were in demand by both industries, often shifted between aircraft plants
and shipyards depending on workloads and prevailing wage rates. This was
particularly the case in the Pacific Northwest and in California. This latter point
is one of many geographical aspects of the story of America’s shipbuilding
industry during World War II.
164 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Table 4.11
Months Required For Construction of Select Naval Vessels

Source: MARAD/Bureau of Labor Statistics (SIC 3731) and U.S. Bureau of Ships, 1952, p. 176.

We shall now turn our attention to a complete examination of the industry’s

geography during that conflict.

The Geographical Expanse of the American Effort

We shall open this section in a fashion similar to that of our review of the
geographical aspects of Britain’s shipbuilding industry, that is, with an overview
of the condition of America’s shipbuilding agglomerations. The shipbuilding
effort associated with World War I, although smaller than that of the latter
conflict, for the most part held true to a pattern of clustered shipyards in various
agglomerations around the country. Although lesser in both total number and in
the number of shipyards that each contained, there are some connections
between the agglomerations that operated during the first round of hostilities and
those in the second. The seven agglomerations that operated between 1916 and
1919 (Boston, Philadelphia–Camden, Chesapeake Bay, New York, San
Francisco, Seattle and Portland, Oregon) all survived the interwar period to
blossom once again between 1938 and 1945. However, most suffered losses,
some of them substantial, to their overall shipbuilding capability. The
Philadelphia–Camden agglomeration sustained the greatest decline, losing five
yards, whereas the two Pacific Northwest agglomerations each saw the closure
of two yards and the Boston and New York areas each lost one.113 The only
major yard outside of an agglomeration to close in the interwar period was Lake
Torpedo Boat Company of Bridgeport, Connecticut. We have already chronicled
the interwar period struggles of the yards that remained and suffice it to say here
that most did not exactly prosper during that time. However, the fact that some
did survive and the economic and geographical integrity of these agglomerations
was maintained meant that there was a foundation upon which to resurrect
America’s shipbuilding industry when the time came.
As we have already noted, there were 197 shipyards that constructed naval
vessels in the United States during the war. Forty-five of these also built
merchant ships. A further 14 shipyards were confined solely to the construction
of merchant ships. As was the case with 155 (79 percent of the total) of the
yards doing naval work, 10 of these exclusively merchant shipyards were
located within one of 16 shipbuilding agglomerations that existed during the
war. A total of 5,536 merchantmen of all types were built during the war, 613 of
these, or 11 percent, were constructed by those shipyards dealing only with
merchant ships. The other 4,923 were built in yards that also did naval work.
World War II: The Ultimate Test 165

Thus, the 43 dual-purpose yards built a total of 6,678 Navy and Merchant
Marine vessels, or 43 percent of the 15,472 total vessels built during the war.
Table 4.12 lists the number of shipyards in each agglomeration and
nonagglomeration geographic area (inland waterways and independent
locations) that did both naval and merchant marine work (so-called dual-purpose
yards) and yards doing only merchant construction and the number of ships they
produced. As can be discerned from this table, the greatest contribution to the
buildup of the merchant fleet came from shipyards on the west coast. Fully 43.5
percent of the total merchant ships built came from yards within the four west
coast agglomerations. Atlantic coast agglomeration and independent location
yards ranked second in merchant production with 35.5 percent of the total,
whereas Gulf coast yards accounted for another 17 percent. Rounding out the
list were the Great Lakes yards and a single inland waterway yard with
approximately 4 percent. Looking at the chronology of merchant ship
production, a pattern emerges that is reflective of the overall competition
between construction of naval and merchant shipping. A majority
(approximately 47 percent) of merchant construction by all yards was done
between 1942 and 1943. Naval production, on the other hand, reached its peak
in 1943–1944. The shifting of many Maritime Commission yards (especially on
the west coast, where a majority of merchant construction occurred) largely to
naval work from the latter half of 1943 onward explains this pattern in merchant
construction and the fact that naval vessels assumed a position of priority as the
war progressed. A final point of interest regarding merchant shipbuilding before
we move on to the realm of naval construction is the fact that 70 percent (3,896
vessels) of this work was accomplished in wartime-built yards, thus leaving the
established, more experienced yards to concentrate on naval shipbuilding.
Twenty-three of the dual-purpose yards and 10 of the exclusively merchant
yards were wartime-built yards.
We now turn our attention to the 16 naval shipbuilding agglomerations as well
as those yards on inland waterways and in independent locations that built naval
vessels. From an examination of Table 4.13 and Map 4.2 we can see the
geographical distribution of the 16 shipbuilding agglomerations in which naval
work was done.114 In addition to these clusters of shipyards, there were 21 yards
located on various inland waterways around the country and another 21 yards in
locations independent of the agglomerations. Combined, these two categories of
shipyards account for 21 percent of the total that built naval vessels during the
war and 27 percent (2,661 vessels) of the total output. Furthermore, Table 4.13
provides insight into the types of shipyards that existed in each of these
agglomerations. We have categorized the 197 shipyards that did naval work into
five types; namely, those that existed prior to the war and either had or had not
done previous work for the Navy, wartime-built yards, nonshipbuilding firms
that were recruited to build naval vessels and the naval shipyards. A few
geographical observations are worth mentioning. The Atlantic coast accounted
for 38 percent of the total yards doing naval work and 43 percent of their total
output (4,321 vessels). This is reflective of this coast being historically the
principal repository of American shipbuilding capacity. The predominance of
Table 4.12
Merchant Ship Production

166
Table 4.13
Naval Shipbuilding Agglomerations

167
168 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Map 4.2
Geographical Distribution of Shipping Agglomerations

Susan Lindberg

preexisting yards (nearly 80 percent of the total yards on this coast) is further
evidence of this fact. Conversely, the naval construction experience, on the Gulf
coast lends credence to the fact that this coast had been virtually untapped for
this purpose prior to World War II. The greatest number of wartime-built yards
was in the Pacific coast agglomerations. This is in keeping with what has
already been mentioned regarding the need to increase the shipbuilding
industry’s overall capacity for both repair and new construction on that coast.
The availability of existing shipbuilding, and nonshipbuilding firm expertise
resulted in the concentration of yards on the Great Lakes, Gulf coast, and inland
waterways. These three areas accounted for one-third (66) of all yards doing
naval work. Furthermore, their combined output of 3,730 vessels constituted
37.5 percent of the total built for the Navy. The predominance of agglomeration
shipyards is evidenced by the fact that 7,275 of the total 9,936 naval vessels
produced during the war came out of these yards, whereas only 563 (6 percent)
emanated from yards located outside of these areas on the three coasts.115 These
general patterns say little about the specific characteristics and production
accomplishments of the individual agglomerations, thus we turn to an
examination of each in some detail (see Table 4.14).
The New York agglomeration ranks above all the others in terms of total ships
produced (1,669), total number of warships built (144, 20.5 percent of the total,
including three battleships, six carriers, two escort carriers, five light cruisers,
and 128 destroyers) and major shipyards (New York Naval Yard, the two
Federal yards, Bethlehem’s Staten Island yard, and Wheeler Shipbuilding). All
of the yards in this agglomeration except Federal’s Newark yard existed prior to
the war, and five of them had done previous naval work. Eleven of the
World War II: The Ultimate Test 169

Table 4.14
Naval Vessel Production

yards primarily built only small vessels. The other major east coast
agglomerations included Philadelphia–Camden, Boston, and Chesapeake Bay.
These three turned out 506, 808, and 355 naval vessels, respectively. Forming
the backbone of the Philadelphia-Camden agglomeration was New York
Shipbuilding, Sun, the resurrected Cramp yard, and the Philadelphia Naval
Yard. The four of them built a total of 64 major warships plus 16 submarines.
The other seven yards built mainly small craft and a few transports, although
Dravo Corporation of Wilmington, Delaware, did turn out 15 destroyer escorts
and 66 LSM.116 A single nonshipbuilding firm, American Car and Foundry
Company, also of Wilmington, was enlisted to build small auxiliary and mine
warfare vessels. Boston’s eight yards included the naval yard, Bethlehem’s
170 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Table 4.14 (continued)

Quincy and Hingham yards, as well as five smaller boat yards.117 Other than
George Lawley’s yard at Neponset, Massachusetts, that built 242 small landing
ships and patrol craft, the majority of this agglomeration’s production came
from the three major yards. Combined, those three yards built 492 naval vessels,
including a battleship, six carriers, 24 heavy and light cruisers, 40 destroyers
along with 87 destroyer escorts, four submarines, 185 LSTs, and a number of
other amphibious, transport, and auxiliary ships. Although it included only six
shipyards that built naval vessels, Chesapeake Bay constituted the largest
agglomeration in terms of geographic area of any in the United States. Among
its yards were, however, two of the nation’s shipbuilding giants, Newport News
World War II: The Ultimate Test 171

and the Norfolk Naval Yard. These two yards produced no less than 34 major
warships, including three battleships, 16 carriers (the most of any
agglomeration), 11 heavy and light cruisers, six destroyers, and 10 destroyer
escorts. The “News” also turned out large amphibious and auxiliary vessels as
well as transports. Bethlehem’s wartime-built yard at Fairfield near Baltimore
and its Sparrow’s Point yard were also located here and produced LSTs, oilers,
transports, and auxiliary ships. The Coast Guard’s yard at Curtis Bay was here
as well, although it did relatively little actual construction work, only building
four vessels along with numerous small boats. The only small boat yard here,
Annapolis Yacht, was a major producer of PT boats, turning out 128 of them
along with 12 subchasers. The other two east coast agglomerations were those
encompassing the coast of Maine and the Connecticut–Rhode Island coast. The
larger of the two, Maine included 10 yards, the most important of which were
Bath Iron Works, which built 85 destroyers and six destroyer minelayers, and
the Portsmouth Naval Yard that built 88 submarines during the war. There were
also seven small boat yards that built coastal and motor minesweepers,
subchasers, and various small auxiliary vessels.118 This area also hosted one of
the Maritime Commission’s wartime-built yards, New England Shipbuilding at
South Portland. Although most of its work was for the Commission, it did turn
out seven ships for the Navy. The other coastal agglomeration included eight
yards, all but two of which were small boat yards that built only small craft.119
The only two large yards were Groton Connecticut’s Electric Boat, purveyor of
submarines par excellence (93 total, more than any other yard) and the Maritime
Commission’s Walsh-Kaiser wartime-built yard at Providence, Rhode Island.
This yard participated in the frigate program as well as building attack cargo
ships based on the Commission’s S4-SE2-BE1 design.
Of west coast agglomerations, the three that stand out as major clusters of
naval shipbuilding activity were the San Francisco Bay, Los Angeles and
Seattle–Tacoma areas. Eighteen yards were clustered around San Francisco Bay
and combined they produced 655 naval vessels. Of greatest importance besides
the naval yard at Mare Island, which turned out submarines, destroyer escorts,
landing craft, and a couple of large auxiliary ships, were Bethlehem’s San
Francisco yard, producer of four light cruisers, and 53 destroyers and destroyer
escorts, and Moore Dry Dock Company of Oakland. This yard built numerous
large amphibious and auxiliary ships as well as transports. Like other west coast
agglomerations, this one had its fare share of wartime-built yards, including
Kaiser’s Richmond #1, #3 and #4 yards, as well as the Marinship Corporation at
Sausalito. These yards built primarily transports and cargo ships, but Kaiser
Cargo (Richmond #4) also built frigates and LSTs. The other nine yards were
small boat yards and nonshipbuilding firms converted to building a myriad of
small patrol craft and auxiliary vessels.120 Further down the California coast, the
Los Angeles agglomeration consisted of 11 yards, the largest of which was
Western Pipe & Steel’s San Pedro yard which built four escort carriers as well
as 24 destroyer escorts, 32 LSMs, transports, several large auxiliaries, and 16
vessels for the Coast Guard. The other major yard at San Pedro belonged to
Bethlehem Steel and confined its efforts exclusively to building destroyers and
172 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

destroyer minelayers, of which it produced 23 and three, respectively. Three

wartime-built yards were also located here, Todd’s San Pedro yard and
Consolidated Steel and Calship, both at Wilmington. Todd built large
auxiliaries, whereas the other two turned out transports, cargo ships, and station
tankers. Consolidated also participated in the frigate program, building 18 of
these vessels. The other six yards were small boat yards that built subchasers,
motor minesweepers and a few PT boats.121 The Seattle–Tacoma agglomeration
was the focal point of Todd-Pacific’s operations. Three of this area’s yards were
among Todd’s nationwide conglomeration of shipbuilding entities. These three
yards, two at Seattle and the other at Tacoma, although technically Maritime
Commission yards, concentrated almost exclusively on naval work, turning out
58 escort carriers, 46 destroyers, and various large auxiliary vessels, transports,
and gasoline tankers. The other major shipyard was the Puget Sound Naval
Yard. Although principally charged with ship repair, this yard did manage to
turn out 18 destroyers and destroyer escorts as well as five auxiliary vessels
during the war. The majority of the yards in this agglomeration were smaller
yards whose combined efforts turned out 234 small patrol, mine warfare, and
auxiliary vessels ranging from subchasers to net layers.122 The other
agglomeration in the Pacific Northwest was that which encompassed Astoria
and Portland, Oregon. Although small in comparison with the other Pacific coast
areas, the six shipyards located here turned out an impressive number and array
of naval vessels during the war. Old navy workhorses Albina Engine and
Commercial Iron Works, both of Portland, built patrol craft, minesweepers, and
other small auxiliary vessels, but their greatest contribution was in producing
161 LCSs and LCIs for the war effort. Two wartime-built yards of importance
were also located here; namely, Kaiser’s Vancouver, Washington, yard and
Oregon Shipbuilding of Portland. Although both of these Maritime Commission
yards built transports and cargo ships based on merchant designs, the work of
the former tended more toward escort carriers (50 of them) and LSTs (30). The
remaining two yards in this agglomeration, Astoria Marine and Willamette Iron
and Steel of Portland, built an assortment of minesweepers, patrol craft, and in
the case of the latter yard, two LSVs.
The remaining agglomerations were located on the Gulf coast and the Great
Lakes. The former region had two such clusters, one centered on the Houston
area whereras the other encompassed the area from New Orleans east to the
panhandle of Florida. Five of the yards in the Houston agglomeration were
either wartime-built yards or ones created through the adaptation of
nonshipbuilding firms to such work. Foremost among the former group was
Brown Shipbuilding of Houston, which built 61 destroyer escorts and a dozen
patrol craft, but whose most significant work was in the area of amphibious
vessels. All told, Brown turned out 286 LSMs, LSMRs, and LCIs. Consolidated
Steel established a yard at Orange, Texas, in 1940 to build destroyers, although
it also ended up participating in the destroyer escort and LCI programs, turning
out 93 and 105 of these vessels, respectively. Todd acquired two yards in this
area in 1943–1944, one at Galveston and the other at Houston. Focusing
primarily on merchant construction, they did turn out four gasoline tankers and
World War II: The Ultimate Test 173

five cargo ships for the Navy during the war. The only other major shipyard in
this agglomeration was Pennsylvania Shipyards of Beaumont, Texas. It built
primarily stores ships. The remaining four yards in this area were small boat
yards, two of which focused their efforts principally on the production of tugs,
whereas the other two dealt with subchasers and motor minesweepers.123 The
New Orleans area was the site of several prewar commercial shipyards so it
seemed the perfect location to expand into a naval shipbuilding agglomeration.
Thus, during the early years of the war, no fewer than five new shipyards were
constructed there. Delta, Gulf, Ingalls Shipbuilding Companies, Higgins
Industries, and J. A. Jones Construction all were established here, the first and
fourth in New Orleans, the second in Madisonville, Louisiana, the third in
Pascagoula, Mississippi, and the last at Panama City, Florida. Ingalls would go
on to be the only large-scale producer of naval vessels, turning out four escort
carriers, four LSVs, five large auxiliaries and 25 transports during the war. Gulf,
the only yard other than Ingalls to produce any warships, built seven destroyers
as well as three large amphibious ships (LSDs) and numerous minesweepers.
Both Gulf’s other yard, the Chickasaw facility and Delta were given over to
transports and cargo ships based on Maritime Commission designs. Higgins was
made famous by designing and producing 214 of its “Higgins-type” PT boats. J.
A. Jones built only one ship for the Navy, while producing over 100 for the
Maritime Commission. Three smaller yards, Canulette Shipbuilding of Slidell,
Louisiana, Warren Fish Company of Pensacola, and Westergard Boat Works of
Biloxi, Mississippi, all produced various mine warfare and small auxiliary
vessels.
A handful of Great Lakes yards had done work for the Navy during World
War I, but none had engaged in such work during the interwar period. However,
upon commencement of the Navy’s and shipbuilding industry’s expansion
programs, a combination of existing yards, new wartime-built yards, and
nonshipbuilding firms were assembled to take advantage of this inland waterway
network with direct access to the ocean. It should be noted, however, that the
construction of larger vessels such as destroyer escorts, frigates, and transports
on the Lakes presented a unique dilemma, geographically speaking. These ships
were too large to pass through the locks of the Cardinal and Lachine (Montreal)
Ship canals and into the St. Lawrence River. Thus they had to use the Chicago
Drainage Canal to access the Illinois River in order to get to the Mississippi
River and hence to the Gulf of Mexico. As if this arduous journey was not
complex enough, the ship’s masts would either have to be disassembled en route
or not installed at all until they reached the Gulf in order that they could fit
under the many bridges on these canals and rivers. Even building smaller
vessels on the Lakes necessitated special considerations owing to the region’s
geography. No vessels, no matter their size, could transit past Sault St. Marie
between November 15 and April 15 due to ice conditions. Thus, shipbuilders on
Lake Superior had to time their deliveries accordingly.124 As a result of these
geographical restrictions, no naval vessels larger than destroyer escorts were
built on the Great Lakes.
174 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Four distinct agglomerations emerged on three of the five lakes (Superior,

Michigan, and Erie).125 The Southern Lake Michigan agglomeration consisted of
six yards split between the Illinois–Wisconsin and Michigan sides of the lake.126
Apart from the four frigates built by Froemming Bros., Inc. of Milwaukee, the
production of these yards was limited to minesweepers, patrol craft, subchasers,
and 44 LSMs emanating from no less a shipbuilding neophyte than Pullman
Standard of Chicago. The other agglomeration on Lake Michigan was centered
on Manitowoc and Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. Consisting of only four yards, it
nonetheless encompassed perhaps the most famous of the Lakes yards to build
naval vessels during the war; namely, Manitowoc Shipbuilding Company. This
yard, which had been building “lakers” since 1919, was adapted to build
submarines (as well as LCTs) and produced no less than 28 of them during the
war. Another well-established Great Lakes shipbuilder, Leatham D. Smith, also
produced a sizable number of naval vessels (58), including patrol craft,
transports, and net layers, at its Sturgeon Bay yard. The other two yards were
venerable wooden boat builders who had long records on the Lakes but had
done no previous naval work. Nonetheless, Burger Boat of Manitowoc and
Peterson Boat Works of Sturgeon Bay both turned to and produced subchasers,
motor minesweepers, patrol craft, and rescue tugs. Further to the east was the
Western Lake Erie agglomeration also encompassing six yards, two of which
(one at Cleveland and the other at Lorain, Ohio) were under the auspices of the
American Shipbuilding Company, a long-standing Lakes shipbuilder. Both of
these yards were participants in the frigate program, constructing 14 of the ships
as well as numerous minesweepers and net layers. The other four yards
(American Cruiser and Fischer Boat Works, both of Detroit, Stadium Yacht of
Cleveland, and Toledo Shipbuilding) of this area were small boat yards whose
talents were turned to building wooden subchasers, patrol craft, and motor
minesweepers. Lake Superior’s agglomeration encompassed the “twin-cities” of
Duluth, Minnesota, and Superior, Wisconsin. Both communities had a long
history of boat building and contributed six yards between them to the nation’s
naval shipbuilding effort. Three of these yards, Leatham D. Smith, Walter
Butler, and Globe Shipbuilding, all of Superior, participated in the frigate
program and turned out 28 of the ships as well as transports (in the case of the
latter two yards). Globe was a Maritime Commission wartime-built yard. Three
other smaller yards, Inland Waterways, Marine Iron and Shipbuilding, and
Zenith Dredge Company, were located in Duluth and built small numbers of net
layers and subchasers. The latter two yards were not enlisted to do naval work
until 1945.
Before we move on to address the nonagglomeration yards, some general
overview observations about the agglomerations are in order. There is no doubt
that the combined capacity of the six northeast Atlantic-coast agglomerations
(62 yards, 31.5 percent of the national total) stands out. A closer examination of
their achievements serves to accentuate their preeminence. All told, the
shipyards of these six agglomerations turned out 4,156 naval vessels (42 percent
of the total) during the war. Furthermore, when we examine their production of
specific types, their importance is heightened. All of the battleships,
World War II: The Ultimate Test 175

battlecruisers, fleet and light carriers, heavy cruisers and all but four light
cruisers, plus one-third of all destroyers, were built in just three of these
agglomerations; namely, New York, Philadelphia–Camden, and Chesapeake
Bay. Two other northeastern agglomerations, those on the Maine and
Connecticut–Rhode Island coasts, attained their celebrity by producing 72
percent (181) of the Navy’s 252 submarines. The Pacific-coast agglomerations
predominated in the construction of transports and cargo ships (AP, APA, AK,
AKA), producing 307 of them during the war (49.5 percent). The other ship type
dominated by west-coast yards, especially those in the two Pacific Northwest
agglomerations, was escort carriers. Alone these two areas turned out 108 (86
percent) of the small carriers. The two Gulf-coast agglomerations dominated the
production of destroyer escorts, producing approximately 40 percent of the total.
These areas also accounted for the lion’s share of major and minor auxiliary
vessels produced during the war. Finally, worthy of note was the Great Lakes
agglomeration’s role in the production of mine warfare vessels and patrol craft.
Combined, the four Lakes agglomerations produced 112 and 193 of these
categories of vessels, respectively. This is particularly a tribute to the steadfast
efforts of the many small wooden boat-building firms that were abundant on the
Lakes.
As we have already mentioned briefly, there were shipyards located outside
the boundaries of the agglomerations; namely, those on inland waterways and in
independent locations (see Maps 4.3 and 4.4). We will now take a closer look at
these shipbuilders. The extensive inland waterway system in the United States
presented a unique and valuable reservoir of shipbuilding capacity, although
much of it did not exist in 1941. Between that year and 1945, no fewer than 13
nonshipbuilding firms, mostly steel fabricating companies, were enlisted to
build naval vessels. Spread out from Lake Champlain in Vermont through the
Hudson River Valley of New York and down the Ohio and Cumberland Rivers
to the mighty Mississippi and westward along the Missouri, these firms were
converted into shipyards and thus lent their considerable steel-working expertise
to the nation’s shipbuilding effort. In addition to these firms, there were eight
preexisting inland shipbuilders that also switched their facilities to building
naval vessels.127 The primary contribution of these inland shipyards was in
building large numbers of LSTs (724, 69 percent of the total) and LCTs (734, 51
percent of the total). They also built smaller numbers of patrol craft, subchasers,
minesweepers, and minor auxiliary vessels. The largest of these inland
shipbuilders was the Dravo Corporation of Pittsburgh. This yard was the only
inland yard to turn out any large warships; namely, 12 destroyer escorts (nine of
which were completed as APDs). Although we have made it abundantly clear
that shipbuilders, in general, adhered to the advantages of clustering their firms
in agglomerations, there were those areas around the country that lent
themselves to sustaining lesser numbers of shipyards, generally less than four
and often only one or two. These independent yards are found to represent all of
our categories of shipyards. Likewise, they exhibit some degree of diversity in
their production of ship types, ranging from warships and escort vessels, through
mine warfare vessels and patrol craft, to large and small auxiliaries and transports.
176 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Map 4.3
Inland Waterway Shipyards

Susan Lindberg

In general, the overall production levels of most of these yards were relatively
modest, generally less than 30 vessels, but there were notable exceptions. Most
notable of these was the Charleston Naval Yard, which turned out a total of 174
ships during the war; that is to say, 19 destroyers, 17 destroyer escorts, eight
LSTs, 119 LSM and LSMRs, two destroyer tenders, and nine APDs. This yard
also did considerable repair work. Two Maritime Commission wartime-built
yards also were established outside of any agglomerations. The largest, North
Carolina Shipbuilding Company in Wilmington, North Carolina, was originally
developed by Newport News. It built 11 amphibious-force flagships and
ammunition ships for the Navy as well as numerous transports and attack cargo
ships. The other wartime-built yard was St. John’s River Shipbuilding in
Jacksonville, Florida. This yard was one of those created in the fifth wave of
Maritime Commission capacity expansion in 1942 and, in part, constituted a
portion of the excess capacity brought on as a result of it. Nonetheless, much of
its output was in merchant ships, but it did manage to produce 18 transports and
gasoline tankers for the Navy. Ten other independent shipyards were situated
along the Atlantic coast from Atlantic City, New Jersey, to Miami, Florida. Each
produced varying quantities of small vessels, mostly minesweepers, subchasers,
patrol craft, and minor auxiliaries.128 The west coast had far fewer independent
yards, in fact, only four. Three of these were in San Diego (Campbell Machine
Works, Lynch Shipbuilding, and San Diego Marine), and the other, Kruse and
Banks, was at North Bend, Oregon. These four yards specialized in building
motor minesweepers and rescue tugs, altogether producing 26 of the former type
and 10 of the latter. The Gulf coast hosted two independent yards, Westergard
Boat Works facility at Rockport, Texas, near Corpus Christi, and Tampa
178 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Shipbuilding Company on Florida’s Gulf coast. Whereas the former yard

confined its efforts to producing eight subchasers, the latter yard’s work was
much more ambitious and included 12 destroyer escorts, 24 minesweepers, 13
large auxiliaries, and three cargo ships. Finally, we should mention two
independent yards on the Great Lakes that each in its own right achieved
impressive records. Defoe Shipbuilding of Bay City, Michigan, was the sole
builder of destroyer escorts on the Lakes and turned out 28 of them (11 were
completed as APDs). The yard also produced substantial numbers of LCIs,
patrol craft, minesweepers, and small auxiliary vessels, and even two Coast
Guard tug boats. In all, its output totaled 133 vessels. Bison Shipbuilding of
Buffalo, New York, on the eastern end of Lake Erie, was a small boat-building
yard that was enlisted and expanded for one purpose, to build LCTs—and build
them it did. Between 1942 and 1944 this yard turned out 378 of the landing
craft, a figure that represents 26 percent of the total built during the war.

SUMMARY
As a means of concluding this necessarily lengthy but rather illuminating
chapter, we can offer up some comparative remarks regarding the British and
American experiences regarding their shipbuilding efforts during World War II.
We will begin with some points of difference between the two experiences.
Whereas both countries’ shipbuilders suffered from shortages of all kinds, that
which impacted Britain the most was the shortage of labor. This is not to say
that similar concerns regarding labor supplies did not worry American
shipbuilders, but as we have seen, it was more the shortage of materials,
especially machine tools and steel, that hamstrung shipbuilding efforts in the
United States. Regarding the expansion and utilization of shipbuilding facilities
and capacity in the two countries, a number of differences can be noted. First,
whereas the British were able to augment their existing shipbuilding capacity by
reviving a number of yards that had been shut down during the interwar period,
such was not the case in the United States where only a handful of old yards
were resurrected. In contrast to this difference was the reliance of the Americans
on building new yards to increase their overall shipbuilding capacity. Britain’s
efforts along these lines were limited to say the least. Finally, the role of
government yards was quite different in the two countries. Britain’s Royal
Dockyards were occupied mainly with repair work and did little new
construction, whereas the U.S. Navy relied heavily on its naval yards for new
construction. In fact, two new yards were built to supplement such capacity.
Turning to the features that they held in common, we can observe a number of
salient points. In both cases the use of standardized designs greatly facilitated
the construction of much needed escort, auxiliary, and transport vessels, as well
as landing craft. Moreover, such designs allowed for mass production techniques
to be utilized, which, in turn, helped to alleviate the problems presented by the
past necessity of reliance upon skilled craftsmen in shipbuilding. Further relief
from the strains imposed by limited supplies of skilled workers was derived
from an ever-increasing productivity of the labor forces in each country. Both
World War II: The Ultimate Test 179

countries were, however, constantly dogged by shortages of steel, particularly

armor plate, throughout the war. The need for large numbers of escorts and
ASW vessels drove many of the priority changes that occurred in both countries,
as did the ever-expanding demand for landing craft. Finally, we can mention that
shipbuilding industries were plagued by the ever-present competition between
demands for merchant ships versus naval vessels. The course of wartime events
would eventually alleviate this competition. The course of events as the war
unfolded would eventually alleviate this competition by establishing that the
latter was accorded first priority. Ironically, the final similarity worthy
mentioning here, and one that will be explored in some detail in our final
chapter, is the inevitable, but sad demise of each country’s shipbuilding industry
in the aftermath of the war.

NOTES

1. Bottlenecks in labor supply for the shipyards began to trouble British officials as
early as 1936. See Leslie Jones, Shipbuilding in Britain—Mainly between the Wars
(Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1957), p. 112.
2. Noted in Frederic C. Lane, Ships for Victory: A History of Shipbuilding under the
U.S. Maritime Commission in World War II (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1951), pp. 46–47, 206.
3. Hog Island alone employed 26,000 within five months of its inauguration and
34,049 by January 1919. Note William T. Hogan, Economic History of the Iron and Steel
Industry in the United States, vol. 2 (Lexington, MA: D. C. Heath, 1971), p. 742.
4. Cited in William Hornby, Factories and Plants (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery
Office, 1958), pp. 28, 43.
5. The numerical totals are gauged from Paul H. Silverstone, U.S. Warships of World
War II (London: Ian Allen, 1965), and Robert Gardiner (ed.), Conway’s All the World’s
Fighting Ships 1922–1946 (London: Conway Maritime Press, 1980), pp. 86–166. The
aggregate tonnages derive from Clinton H. Whitehurst, The U.S. Shipbuilding Industry:
Past, Present, and Future (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1986), p. 27.
6. See J. Franklin Crowell, Government War Contracts (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1920), pp. 172–184.
7. Details of these celebrated programs are available in two books by L. A. Sawyer and
W. H. Mitchell; namely, The Liberty Ships, 2d ed. (London: Lloyd’s of London Press,
1985), and Victory Ships and Tankers (Newton Abbott: David and Charles, 1974).
8. Refer to Hogan, Economic History, vol. 3, pp. 1373–1374.
9. Noted in Leonard Rapping, “Learning and World War II Production Functions,” The
Review of Economics and Statistics, 47, no. 1, 1965, pp. 81–86.
10. The early welds tended to be brittle, prompting shipowners to question the ability
of welded ships to withstand the normal stresses and strains attendant on employment at
sea. Lloyd’s Register was reluctant to classify all-welded ships, relenting only in 1935 on
condition that steel less liable to brittle fracture was used. See J. R. Parkinson, The
Economics of Shipbuilding in the United Kingdom (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1960), pp. 112–117.
11. Ludwig’s early forays into shipbuilding are discussed in Jerry Shields, The
Invisible Billionaire: Daniel Ludwig (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1986), pp. 115–133.
12. Described in Parkinson, Economics of Shipbuilding, pp. 120–122.
180 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

13. After the war alterations were enacted that were positively revolutionary. The
Avondale yard at New Orleans, for example, undertook in the 1960s to mass produce
destroyer escorts of the Knox class by having the ships built keel uppermost to facilitate
downhand welding. This resulted in inverted prefabricated hulls that were assembled off
the ways. Each hull was maneuvered sideways into four turning rings and rotated into an
upright position, whereupon it was readied for broadside launching. See Samuel L.
Morison and John S. Rowe, Warships of the U.S. Navy (London: Jane’s, 1983), p. 94.
14. Lane, Ships for Victory, p. 153.
15. Refer to Albert P. Heiner, Henry J. Kaiser, American Empire Builder: An Insider’s
View (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), pp. 120, 152.
16. The rationale for suppressing capacity is treated from a theoretical viewpoint in G.
C. Allen, British Industries and Their Organization (London: Longmans Green, 1959),
pp. 166–167.
17. See PRO, ADM.1/11892, 1942, p. 8.
18. Jack M. Davies, Belief in the Sea: State Encouragement of British Merchant
Shipping and Shipbuilding (London: Lloyd’s of London Press, 1992), pp. 141–142.
19. D. K. Brown, A Century of Naval Construction: The History of the Royal Corps of
Naval Constructors 1883–1983 (London: Conway, 1983), p. 159.
20. The new approach is recounted in Parkinson, Economics of Shipbuilding, p. 140.
21. Strictly speaking, the type designations were prefaced with PF, giving PF (A), PF
(B), PF (C), and so on. See W. H. Mitchell and L. A. Sawyer, The Empire Ships: A
Record of British-Built and Acquired Merchant Ships during the Second World War, 2d
ed. (London: Lloyd’s of London Press, 1990), pp. 15–133.
22. The figure is cited in Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol.1,”
paragraph 94.
23. The 1914 and 1920 totals are calculated from returns presented in The Shipbuilder,
12, 1915, and 24, 1921.
24. Background is provided in M. M. Postan, British War Production (London: Her
Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1952), pp. 2–27. Soon after the Anglo-Japanese Treaty
lapsed the Admiralty expressed disquiet about the state of Far East defenses. By its
reckoning the Royal Navy would need to maintain in those waters a fleet consisting of a
dozen capital ships, five aircraft carriers, 46 cruisers, nine flotillas of destroyers, and 50
submarines.
25. Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol.1,” paragraphs 60–61.
26. Postan, British War Productions, p. 60.
27. The Shipbuilder, February 1940, p. 75.
28. The nation as a whole was facing a shortfall of 20,000 skilled shipyard workers at
this time. See The Shipbuilder, April 1940, pp. 125–126.
29. The issue is discussed in Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol.,”
paragraphs 118–123.
30. See The Shipbuilder, September 1946, p. 528, and Wrigley, “Merchant
Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol. 1,” paragraph 124.
31. The episode is reported in Lewis Johnman, and Hugh Murphy British Shipbuilding
and the State since 1918 A Political Economy of Decline (Exeter: University of Exeter
Press, 2002), pp. 77–78.
32. The details of yard plant are mentioned in J. F. Clarke, Building Ships on the
North-East Coast,, Part 2 (Whitley Bay: Bewick Press, 1997), p. 358.
33. Moss and Hume, p. 352.
34. The data are described in N. S. Ross, “Employment in Shipbuilding and Ship-
Repairing in Great Britain,” Journal of the Royal Statistical Society, Series A, 115, 1952,
pp. 524–533.
World War II: The Ultimate Test 181

35. Michael Moss, and John R. Hume, Shipbuilders to the World: 125 Years of
Harland and Wolff, Belfast 1861–1986 (Belfast: Blackstaff, 1986),, p. 326, 349.
36. It is not altogether surprising that the North-Western Region employed so many
repair workers, because it contained Liverpool, the country’s second port. Independent
ship-repair enterprises were inclined to spring up wherever ships engaged in trade to any
extent. In consequence, ship repair activities were more widely dispersed than
shipbuilding activities. The point did not escape Smith. See Wilfred Smith, An Economic
Geography of Great Britain 2d ed. (London: Methuen, 1953), p. 390.
37. Michael Davies Belief in the Sea: State Encouragement of British Merchant
Shipping and Shipbuilding (London: Lloyd’s of London Press, 1992), p. 151.
38. The report, “Labour in Naval and Mercantile Shipyards,” was issued on June 13,
1942. See PRO, ADM.l/11892.
39. There were particular concerns about shortfalls in alloy-steel capacity, because this
material would be in heightened demand for gun forgings and armor plate. Besides
importing U.S. alloy steels, the Ministry implemented a comprehensive domestic
expansion plan. All told, 500,000 tons of new open-hearth melting capacity emerged, to
say nothing of investment in electric furnaces. The open-hearth plant was necessary for
the first stage in the production of alloy steels and high-tensile steel (used in warship
hulls); the electric furnaces conducted the finishing stage. Production of alloy steel
doubled between 1940 and 1943, increasing from 0.8 million tons to 1.6 million tons.
Refer to Duncan Burn, The Steel Industry 1939–1959: A Study in Competition and
Planning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961), pp. 10–15.
40. See Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol. 1,” paragraphs 73–84.
41. The share of Bessemer steel in total output had shrunk from 21 percent in 1913 to 9
percent in 1920; correspondingly, the share of open-hearth steel had climbed from 79
percent to 88 percent. Acid steel had dominated output in 1913, accounting for 63 percent
of output in comparison with the 37-percent share held by basic steel. By 1920 acid steel
had been dethroned, claiming a share of only 42 percent. In World War I the Admiralty
had acceded to the use of basic steel with reluctance, preferring to take the acid variety.
See P.W.S. Andrews and Elizabeth Brunner, Capital Development in Steel: A Study of
the United Steel Companies Ltd. (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1952), p. 77.
42. The stem frame is a structure at the ship’s aft end combining the vertical rudder
post, the propeller post, and an aperture for the propeller. Traditionally, it was a casting
or forging.
43. Postan, British War Production, p. 65.
44. Ibid., p.291.
45. Brown, A Century of Naval Construction, pp. 170–172.
46. See Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol. 1,” paragraph 42.
47. Guiding the Admiralty were the recommendations from two sources: the
aforementioned Barlow report of July 1942, initiated by the Minister of Production, and a
report by Cecil Bentham, commissioned by the Machine Tool Controller and issued in
September 1942. Note Johnman and Murphy, British Shipbuilding, pp. 78–83.
48. Refer to William Ashworth, Contracts and Finance (London: Her Majesty’s
Stationery Office, 1953), p. 207.
49. To be sure, the frigates of the Loch class were expressly designed for prefabrication
in yards deprived of improved cranage. No subassemblies were envisaged that required
lifts of greater than 2.5 tons.
50. Postan, British War Production, p. 64.
51. Amphibious warfare imposed demands on industrial resources in areas other than
landing craft proper; that is to say, vessels designed, first and foremost, for delivering
troops and vehicles to the beaches. For example, a class of coastal tanker, the CHANT
182 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

type, was designed with the Normandy landings in mind. They were prefabricated vessels
of 450 dead weight tons that could be grounded on invasion beaches. Inland
constructional engineers were responsible for their fabrication, in the form of 28
subassemblies, none of which exceeded 13 tons in weight. Five yards—Scarr and Goole
on the Humber, Furness on the Tees, Readhead on the Tyne, and Burntisland in Eastern
Scotland—contrived to assemble 43 of them between February and July 1944. See
Mitchell and Sawyer, The Empire Ships, pp. 286–292.
52. Postan, British War Production, pp. 293–294.
53. Brown, A Century of Naval Construction, pp. 185–187.
54. The Royal Dockyards were not entirely bereft of new construction. Portsmouth
launched a cruiser and four submarines in the 1940–1946 period. Chatham launched 10
submarines and two sloops. Devonport was the most ambitious, launching a carrier and a
cruiser as well as six submarines. The data are derived from H. T. Lenton and J. J.
Colledge, Warships of World War II, 2d ed. (London: Ian Allen, 1973).
55. The genesis of the naval trawler is described in ibid., pp. 437–438. About 400 were
built in the Great War programs.
56. CWG inherited Cochrane’s yard in 1901 after that firm moved to Selby. See
Norman L. Middlemiss, British Shipbuilding Yards, vol. 3, (Newcastle-upon-Tyne:
Shield, 1995), p. 153.
57. It is interesting to reflect that some of these yards, celebrated for their expertise in
constructing small ships, reappear in the parallel effort to build naval tugs. The Admiralty
discovered a pressing need to bolster the number of fleet or rescue tugs, because they
were vital for retrieving ships crippled at sea by enemy forces. Fleet tugs could attain
significant size—the Bustler class, for instance, displaced 1,800 tons—and so were
assigned to yards that were tolerably well equipped. Five classes were developed by
shipbuilders adept at building tugs: the Brigand class were allocated to Fleming &
Ferguson, the Nimble class to Fleming & Ferguson and Hall Russell, the Assurance and
Envoy classes to Cochrane, and the aforementioned Bustlers to Robb. These builders
constructed 44, with Cochrane alone accounting for 27.
58. Refer to Appendix III of PRO, CAB60/41, Paper 420, April 27, 1934.
59. In the former category were Brigham & Cowan on the Tyne, the two inland firms
of Watson of Gainsborough and Crichton of Saltney, and the Clyde firm of Scott & Sons
of Bowling. In the latter category were Ardrossan, Inglis, Ferguson, and Fleming &
Ferguson on the Clyde; Robb at Leith; and Crown at Sunderland. In addition, a later
allocation exercise had included the Paisley builders of Simons and Lobnitz in the naval
trawler group, securing the first for six and the second for four. Refer to PRO,
CAB60/50, Paper 905, February 28, 1939. More pressing tasks were found for these
yards during hostilities.
60. Clarke, Building Ships, Part 2, p. 324.
61. Prefabricated sections were delivered to Meadowside from the Dalmarnock Works
in Glasgow. Arrol’s Alloa yard—which built 68 landing craft—had a self-contained plant
for all-welded construction. Refer to The Shipbuilder, May 1947, p. 341.
62. Another four were fabricated at the ex-Palmers’ yard at Hebburn on Tyne, and four
more, slightly larger at 779 gross tons, were built by Fleming & Ferguson of Paisley.
63. Canadian production was also accomplished at the expense of escorts. Davie
Shipbuilding at Lauzon, for example, completed 12 frigates in 1944 before switching to
LSTs. Eleven (out of 17 ordered) LSTs were completed in 1945. Refer to Eileen R.
Marcil, Tall Ships and Tankers: The History of the Davie Shipbuilders (Toronto:
McClelland and Stewart, 1997), pp. 239–240.
64. To be sure, naval versions of coasters were built for the Admiralty. The 300-gross-
tons FRESH class of freshwater carriers was typical, being assigned to yards that had
World War II: The Ultimate Test 183

specialized in coaster construction. Lytham Shipbuilding built a dozen between 1940 and
1945, although production was interrupted toward the end in favor of landing craft. See
Jack M. Dakres, A History of Shipbuilding at Lytham (Kendal: World Ship Society,
Kendal, 1992), pp. 31–32.
65. All in all, combined MTB/MGB production reached 742 units, with British Power
Boat accounting for 253 and Vosper credited with 101.
66. See Len Harris, A Two Hundred Year History of Appledore Shipyards (Coombe
Martin: Hargill Partners, 1992), pp. 48–52. Harris built 10 MTBs, eight MLs, and eight of
the motor minesweepers.
67. The Admiralty appointed Richards of Lowestoft as the lead yard for the MMS. It
proceeded to build 20 of the type. In all, 291 motor minesweepers were built in British
yards.
68. Brown, A Century of Naval Construction, pp. 173–174.
69. The Scottish East Coast was not immune from the recession, losing, among others,
Forth Shipbuilding at Alloa and the eponymous yard at Montrose.
70. Pembroke Dock, the other Royal Dockyard involved in new construction in the
Great War, was finally swept away as a building yard in 1926.
71. A cluster of small yards orbited Cammell Laird’s star, including the Northwich
yards of Pimblott (which turned out coasters) and Yarwood (builder of coasters, water
carriers, and dockyard craft), both on the Weaver tributary, and Lytham on the River
Ribble (producer of water carriers and landing craft)
72. Landing-craft tonnages are not included in the data reproduced in Table 4.4.
73. On the merchant front, a controversy has raged as to just how far specialization
may have blunted the Clyde’s competitiveness in the interwar years. Whereas one view
has it that the region’s yards specializing in sophisticated tonnage such as passenger ships
and cargo liners held up better than the average British yard because the markets for these
vessels proved more resilient, the counterview maintains that the most successful Clyde
firm, Lithgows (and its William Hamilton and Robert Duncan affiliates), grasped this
position precisely because it rejected sophisticated tonnage and pursued the tramp
market. See A. J. Robertson, ‘Clydeside Revisited: A Reconsideration of the Clyde
Shipbuilding Industry, 1919–38’ in W. H. Chaloner and B. M. Ratcliffe (eds.), Trade and
Transport: Essays in Economic History in Honour of T. S. Willan (Manchester:
Manchester University Press, 1977), pp. 258–278.
74. A casualty of the Great Depression, the Blyth shipyard had closed in 1930. The
yard was revived in 1937 as a direct result of rearmament; its backers justifying the
action on the strength of multiple orders for minesweepers and boom-defense vessels.
Later, it became involved in the production of escorts. Refer to Middlemiss, British
Shipbuilding Yards, vol.1, p. 142.
75. Hartlepool had been drawn into Admiralty work in World War I. In what was to
prove a false revival, William Gray received a contract for two minesweeping sloops at
the beginning of 1936. No follow-on contracts occurred, but the work came at an
opportune time for the yard. See The Shipbuilder, March 1936, p. 185.
76. Bert Spaldin, Shipbuilders of the Hartlepools (Hartlepool: Borough Council, 1986),
pp. 93–94.
77. Scott’s was the only Clyde yard to build submarines in both world wars. In World
War I several Clyde yards had indulged in submarine construction; namely, Beardmore,
Denny, Yarrow, John Brown, and Fairfield.
78. Doxford could lay claim to formulating standard ships as far back as 1891, when
the so-called Turret design had emerged. Averaging between 6,000 and 7,000 dead
weight tons, 182 of these vessels were built in the succeeding years. Note Middlemiss,
British Shipbuilding Yards, vol.1, pp. 146–158.
184 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

79. T. H. Bainbridge, “Barrow in Furness: A Population Study,” Economic Geography,

15, no. 3, 1939, p. 381.
80. For a succinct account of Barrow’s history as a defense-dependent community,
refer to Keith Grime, “The Evolution of a Naval Shipbuilding Firm in a Small Economy:
Vickers at Barrow-in-Furness” in Michael Bateman and Raymond Riley (eds.), The
Geography of Defence (London: Croom Helm, 1987), pp. 141–170.
81. Noted in John Jewkes and Allan Winterbottom, An Industrial Survey of
Cumberland and Furness: A Study of the Social Implications of Economic Dislocation
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1933), pp. 120–122.
82. Over 1,000 steel jobs had been lost between 1921 and 1931, leaving 1,570 in
employment at the plant by the latter date. Only the outbreak of war prevented a new
threat to close the steel plant. To guarantee its continued existence, the government
(through the Ministry of Supply) took over the plant in 1943. See Andrews and Brunner,
Capital Development in Steel, p. 240.
83. Barrow’s labor totals are reported in various issues of The Shipbuilder, specifically,
July 1929, p. 616; September 1935, p. 563; October 1936, p. 538; February 1937, p. 120;
and February 1939, p. 105. See also J. D. Scott, Vickers: A History (London: Weidenfeld
and Nicolson, 1962),, p. 292.
84. Something of the order of 31,000 represented the pinnacle of employment at
Vickers in World War I. Comparable employment figures for World War II are not
available.
85. See “Notes by Mr. Bentham on his visits to shipbuilding and marine engineering
firms, August to September 1942,” in Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs, vol.
II,” Appendix X.
86. As described in “80 Years of Shipbuilding and Engineering at Barrow-in-Furness,”
produced by Vickers-Armstrongs, Ltd., Barrow, February 18, 1954, and held in the
Cumbria Record Office, Barrow.
87. This Act would result in the construction of three carriers, five cruisers, 14
submarines, seven minesweepers, and approximately 20 auxiliaries. It also provided for
the overhaul of three battleships.
88. By April 1941, over 700 naval vessels were under construction in American
shipyards.
89. Eventually two carriers, two light cruisers, twenty-some destroyers, and several
submarines would be constructed under this program.
90. These were mainly private yachts and fishing vessels that were converted into
coastal ASW escorts and minesweepers.
91. Again, this figure reflects authorizations not actual tonnage of vessels eventually
constructed, which was considerably lower.
92. Ships accounted for 22.5 percent of all munitions materials built during the war. As
per Frederic C. Lane Ships for Victory: A History of Shipbuilding under the U.S.
Maritime Commission in World War II (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1951), p.10: “They formed a larger percentage than any other single item except aircraft
as measured by the War Production Board in standard 1945 munitions dollars.”
93. Approximately 2,535 and 3,200 vessels of all types were laid down in 1943 and
1944, respectively. Furthermore, approximately 2,245 and 3,600 were commissioned in
the same two years, respectively. In comparison, 1945 saw only 495 vessels of all types
laid down and slightly over 1,000 commissioned as the war came to a close.
94. The World War I program did, as we have already discussed, provide valuable
insights into production process issues, such as the use of standardized designs,
prefabricated components, and welded construction. But the realities of planning the
World War II: The Ultimate Test 185

World War II expansion program were undeniably very different in their scope and
magnitude.
95. Another issue that influenced shipbuilding planning was the requirement for ship
repair, which often competed for the same facilities required for new construction. It
would not be until after September 1944 that ship repair activity would occupy more
shipyard capacity than construction. For further details see Robert H. Connery, The Navy
and the Industrial Mobilization in WWII (New York: DaCapo Press, 1972).
96. Ironically, it was the overestimation of requirements early on that resulted in
authorizations for more than enough ships of nearly all types (except landing craft and
auxiliaries) and thus eliminated the necessity for further major authorizations after 1942.
97. See Connery, The Navy, for further details.
98. Figures are from Lane, Ships for Victory, p. 397.
99. Admiral King, CNO, also opposed the construction of the Montana-class
battleships because, with their beam of 121 feet, they would not be able to transit through
the Panama Canal. See Joel R. Davidson, The Unsinkable Fleet: The Politics of U.S.
Navy Expansion in World War II (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1996), p. 34.
100. For detailed discussion of priority changes and their impact on the Bureau of
Ship’s production planning, see, U.S. Bureau of Ships: An Administrative History of the
Bureau of Ships During World War II, vol. 2 (Washington, DC: Department of the Navy,
1952), pp. 327, 331–337.
101. Included among these were Bath I.W., Bethlehem-Quincy, Bethlehem-Staten
Island, Electric Boat, Federal, Kearney, New York Shipbuilding, Newport News
Shipbuilding, and Sun Shipbuilding.
102. This figure does not include the thousands of landing craft smaller than LCTs.
Furthermore, many of the private yards involved in naval work also built merchant
vessels for the Maritime Commission and were thus not exclusively under contract to the
Navy (although some yards were).
103. Boston Naval Yard did build four submarines at the very end of the war.
104. For an expanded description of the expansion of the naval shipyards, see Building
the Navy’s Bases in World War II: History of the Bureau of Yards & Docks and the Civil
Engineering Corps, 1940–1946 (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office,
1947), pp. 169–207.
105. In 1944 this yard’s name was changed to Todd-Pacific Shipyards, Inc., Tacoma.
106. Todd would eventually buy out Kaiser’s interest in Todd-Houston and New
England Shipbuilding whereas Kaiser did likewise to Todd’s interest in Calship and
Oregon Shipbuilding.
107. Lane, Ships for Victory, chapters 2 and 5 for details of each of these expansion
waves.
108. Ibid., p. 640.
109. Ibid., p. 303.
110. Ibid., p. 311.
111. Ibid., p. 250.
112. Lane, Ships for Victory, p. 257.
113. Seven of the yards closed were the emergency yards established by the Shipping
Board during the war.
114. Another minor agglomeration existed at Savannah, Georgia, and contained three
shipyards; namely, J. A. Jones Construction Company (Brunswick, Georgia),
Southeastern Shipbuilding Corporation, and Savannah Machine & Foundry Company.
Only the latter yard did any naval work and thus this agglomeration is not included in our
list of naval shipbuilding agglomerations.
186 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

115. A further 6 percent (571 vessels) came from independent-location yards on the
Great Lakes and inland waterways.
116. These smaller yards included Camden Shipbuilding & Marine Railroad Company;
Delaware Bay Shipbuilding, Leesburg, New Jersey; Mathis Yacht, Camden; Perm-Jersey,
Camden; Pusey & Jones Corp., Wilmington, Delaware; and Vinyard Shipbuilding Co.,
Milford, Deleware.
117. These smaller yards included Calderwood Yacht Yard, Manchester,
Massachusetts; Quincy Adams Yacht Yard, Quincy, Massachusetts; Simms Brothers,
Dorchester, Massachusetts; and W. A. Robinson, Ipswich, Massachusetts.
118. These smaller yards included Bristol Yacht Building, S. Portland; Camden
Shipbuilding, Camden; Frank L. Sample Jr., Boothbay Harbor, H. G. Marr, Damariscotta;
Hogdon Brothers, Goudy & Stevens, East Boothbay; Rice Brothers, East Boothbay; and
Snow Shipyards, Rockland.
119. These yards included Harris & Parsons, East Greenwich, Rhode Island;
Herreshoff Manufacturing, Bristol, Rhode Island; Luders Marine Construction, Stamford,
Connecticut; Noank Shipbuilding, Noank, Connecticut; Perkins & Vaughn, Wickford,
Rhode Island; and Warren Boat Yard, Warren, Rhode Island.
120. These yards included Anderson & Critofani; Basalt Rock, Napa; Colberg Boat
Works, Stockton, Florida; Fulton Shipyard, Antioch; General Engineering & Dry Dock
Co., Alameda; George W. Kneass; Pollock-Stockton Shipbuilding, Stockton; United
Engineering, Alameda; and William F. Stone Co., Oakland.
121. These yards included Al Larson, Terminal Island; Fellows & Stewart,
Wilmington; Harbor Boat Building Co., Terminal Island; Peyton Co., Newport Beach;
and Wilmington Boat Works.
122. These yards included Associated Shipbuilders, Seattle; Ballard Marine Railway,
Seattle; Bellingham Iron Works; Everett-Pacific Shipbuilding & Dry Dock Co.; J. M.
Martinac Shipbuilding Corp., Tacoma; Lake Washington Shipyards, Houghton; Mojean
& Ericson, Tacoma; Northwestern Shipbuilding, Tacoma; Puget Sound Bridge & Dry
Dock Co., Seattle; Tacoma Boat Building Co.; Western Boat Building, Tacoma; Winslow
Marine Railroad & Shipbuilding Co., Seattle; and Seattle Shipbuilding and Dry Dock.
123. These were Gulfport Boiler & Welding Works, Port Arthur, Texas; Levingston
Shipbuilding Co., Orange; Seabrook Yacht Corp., Houston; and Weaver Shipyards,
Orange.
124. Lane, Ships for Victory, p. 615.
125. There were shipyards on the other two lakes, Huron and Ontario, but they were
independent locations not constituting agglomerations in their own right.
126. The other yards in this agglomeration included Henry C. Grebe & Co., Chicago;
Dachel-Carter Shipbuilding and Robinson Marine, both of Benton Harbor, Michigan; and
Victory Shipbuilding of Holland, Michigan.
127. The inland waterway shipyards included American Bridge Co., Ambridge,
Pennsylvania.; Cargill Inc., Savage, Minnesota.; Chicago Bridge & Iron, Senecca,
Illinois; Darby Production of Steel Plate Corp., Kansas City, Missouri; Decatur Iron &
Steel, Decatur, Alabama.; Dingle Boat, St. Paul, Minnesota; Donovan Construction,
Burlington, Vermont; Dravo Corp., Pittsburgh; Hiltebrant Dry Dock Co., Kingston, New
York; Island Docks, Kingston, New York; Jefferson ville Boat & Machine Co.,
Jeffersonville, Indiana; John E. Matton, Waterford, New York; Jones & Laughlin Steel
Co., Pittsburgh; Kansas City Structural Steel Co., Kansas City, Missouri; Marietta
Manufacturing Co., Point Pleasant, West Virginia; Missouri Valley Bridge & Iron,
Evansville, Indiana; Mount Vernon Bridge Co., Mt. Vernon, Ohio; Nashville Bridge,
Nashville, Tennessee; Omaha Steel Works, Omaha, Nebraska; Pidgeon-Thomas Iron Co.,
Memphis, Tennessee; and Quincy Barge Builders, Quincy, Illinois.
World War II: The Ultimate Test 187

128. These 10 yards included Barbour Boat Works, New Bern, North Carolina;
Charleston Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Co.; Daytona Beach Boat Works; Dooley’s
Basin, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida; Elizabeth City Shipyard, Elizabeth City, North Carolina;
Fogal Boat Yard, Inc., Miami, Florida; Gibbs Gas Engine Co., Jacksonville, Florida;
Huckins Yacht Co., Jacksonville, Florida; Savannah Machine & Foundry Co., Savannah,
Georgia; and Ventnor Boat Works, Atlantic City, New Jersey.
 5

Aftermath: The Legacy of British and

American Wartime Shipbuilding Industries
A BRAVE NEW WORLD
Peace brought with it profound changes for the naval shipbuilders of Britain and
America; in short, after such Herculean efforts, activity languished. Perhaps it
was inevitable that an intense bout of frenetic activity, unsustainable in the long
run, should be succeeded by a pause for much needed retooling. At any rate, the
armies of shipyard workers—especially the element composed of dilutees—
welcomed the reduced tempo, because many individual workers were
approaching the end of the tether. The idea of inevitability needs to be qualified,
however. True, World War II had witnessed an unprecedented level of shipyard
activity in both countries, powering the industry to new heights. But a
comparable zenith had occurred in the closing phases of World War I and the
end of that conflict had not resulted in an immediate curtailment of naval work.
On the contrary, the Armistice was scarcely noticed in the yards as they finally
got into their stride. For world shipbuilding as a whole 1918 did not have much
to recommend it as a banner year presaging dislocation. Whereas the immediate
aftermath of World War I may have meant rapid demobilization of land forces,
that was far from the case with navies, for new great-power rivalries threatened
a fresh naval race, one promising to buoy up the warship yards of Britain,
America, and Japan for years to come. Providence, as they say, intervened,
sanity prevailed, and limits on naval ambitions were enforced through the
Washington Treaties of 1921–1922. Fundamentally different global
circumstances prevented the naval world of 1945 from following suit. For a
start, the would-be contenders for the naval crown were all but eliminated,
leaving America standing head and shoulders over all others, a state of affairs in
which Britain acquiesced. The remaining sea powers were either under Allied
control or preoccupied with the much more pressing task of rebuilding their
190 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

economies. Only the Soviet Union was in a position to defy Anglo-American

hegemony, and the Soviets, for all their military might, seemed in 1945 to
present few challenges to the Western blue-water navies. Within a decade Soviet
aspirations to naval power began to manifest themselves in earnest, posing
several obstacles to Western freedom of the seas, but few naval planners in 1945
were cognizant of this looming threat. Certainly, no authority figure at this time
could use putative Soviet ambitions to justify a fresh round of new naval
construction. Yard managers, contemplating this strangely placid naval scene,
had little choice but to come to terms with an absence of warship work once the
backlog (already sharply reduced in consequence of late-war cancellations) had
been tackled. Symptomatic of this relaxed approach was an Admiralty directive,
dated November 1945, that laid out plans for new warships. The Admiralty was
reconciled to a dearth of naval programs. Priority was to be given to completion
of a few warships already started—replacements for sorely missed war losses—
but no urgency was expressed for pressing ahead with the mass of ships sitting
on the ways (many of which would be scrapped incomplete so as to make way
for merchant keels), and new projects were most emphatically discouraged.
Moreover, the British naval staff appeared to have made common cause with the
shipbuilding industry, openly declaring that naval work should be used as a
contracyclical tool, the cushion to mitigate slackness in yard activity occasioned
by business downturns.1 Clearly, the naval side of new construction was
expected to play a subordinate part in postwar shipbuilding, vital only insofar as
it could be judiciously manipulated to smooth disruptions in work levels.2
Initially, paucity of naval work scarcely disconcerted anyone in the industry,
for into the breach stepped shipowners eager to get merchant tonnage at almost
any price. Save for a few specialists committed to naval niches, commercial-
yard managers could confront the future with equanimity, secure in the
knowledge that a huge pent-up demand for merchantmen was waiting to be
filled, and that few suppliers outside America and Britain remained to fill it.
Confidence even extended to the managers of those American yards that had
preceded the wartime neophytes, managers with vivid memories of being
chastened by the curse of high production costs. A heady feeling of wartime
accomplishment tended to overcome any misgivings on costs, and the work in
hand throughout 1946 appeared to vindicate this attitude. In that year American
yards turned out 83 merchant ships (of over 2,000 gross tons), amounting to
933,787 dead weight tons.3 To be sure, this performance seemed paltry when set
against the mammoth annual outputs achieved in the war years, but it bore
respectable comparison with the anemic record of the 1930s. Ominously,
however, the specter of international competition soon began to emerge,
inserting a dampening effect that was reflected in a sharply diminished output in
1947 (54 percent below that of the previous year). Output slippage continued
apace, barely reaching 119,000 gross tons by 1955. Besides shattering morale,
this gloomy trend served unequivocally to demonstrate to industry leaders that
merchant demand was a weak reed to lean on. Well before then, though, the
industry’s difficulties had induced its leaders to unleash a barrage of complaints
about the external conditions hampering its operations. Many thought it high
Aftermath 191

time to call for assistance from government, reverting to the time-honored

practice of seeking the security blanket afforded by defense contracts. The
captains of industry were left to take solace from the enriched shipbuilding
infrastructure that had sprung up as a result of wartime expansion. Even the
workforce numbers were standing up well, recording 77,867 at the beginning of
1949. That total was only marginally less than the 80,100 on the industry’s
books in June 1939.4 By the onset of the 1950s, then, American shipbuilding had
assumed its characteristic that persists to this day; namely, it occupied a position
of being an implicit ward of the state, a singular anomaly in a society scornful of
government-dependent manufacturing enterprises. Its staple workload—that
which kept the industry alive—derived from two sources, both ultimately
hostage to the whim of politicians: “Jones Act” coastwise tonnage from the
merchant flank and “Buy American” warship tonnage from the naval flank.
From first to last, the succeeding half-century witnessed little variation in these
sources of demand, allowing the industry to shy away from competing in the
global merchant market. As it was, chronically high cost structures—now
blamed on extravagant wages, now ascribed to inefficient plant retained beyond
its useful life—continued to blight the industry’s competitiveness, even in the
protected markets.5 Business cycles did intrude on the industry’s work levels,
injecting an element of uncertainty; for example, merchant output amounted to
no more than 340,000 gross tons in 1970 before recovering to soar to 1 million
tons in 1975.
British contentment with the state of merchant demand outlasted that of the
Americans, for managers in Britain were firmly convinced that their yards were
not saddled with the high fixed costs circumscribing shipbuilding operations
across the Atlantic. Peak wartime outputs of merchant ships that the British had
strained to achieve were now viewed as unexceptional targets for peacetime
attainment; indeed, many managers felt that the industry, now stripped of the
burden of excessive naval work, could aspire to a much higher plane of activity
in the merchant arena. To all appearances, these elevated expectations were not
misplaced, as merchant output quickly reached 1.2 million gross tons (in 1947),
rose to 1.3 million (in 1949), and was only prevented from climbing higher by
the advent of steel-supply difficulties. In the event, this supply bottleneck,
ironically an affliction not of shipbuilding’s own making but migrating from a
linked industry, was to constitute a stumbling block of major proportions, one
never satisfactorily overcome by the iron and steel industry. The upshot was that
by 1950 it was evident that ambitious plans to boost shipbuilding capacity were
bound to miscarry, compromised in the first place by steel shortages, second by
the old bugbear of labor difficulties, and third by an industry outlook marked by
a reluctance to grasp innovation.6 All these were problems intrinsic to the
industry, but a further difficulty emanating from beyond Britain’s shores was
beginning to tell; namely, the reappearance of old competitors in the guise of
reinvigorated German and Japanese yards blessed with even lower factor costs.
By common consent, though, it was the complacency of management and its
refusal to consider radical reorganization that condemned British shipbuilding to
a future of decline. Risk avoidance became the hallmark of the industry. It had
192 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

been established by hard experience in the 1920s and upheld by even harder
experience in the 1930s, so it was no surprise when it reasserted itself as soon as
the war clouds dispersed. As a result, the industry seemed to rest content with an
annual merchant new construction figure that leveled out at just over 1 million
tons. This level, which persisted until 1977, masked Britain’s withdrawal from
the international market, because the country’s share of global output plunged
from 57 percent in 1947 to 21 percent in 1956 (when Japan burst onto the stage,
usurping Britain as the leading shipbuilder), dropped to 13 percent in 1962, and
to just over 5 percent by 1971. Britain’s precarious grip on the merchant market
dipped and bobbed thereafter, but the trend was remorselessly downward. The
downturn in global demand, which had begun with the 1974 crisis in tanker
trades, gathered momentum in the years that followed, negatively impacting all
shipbuilders but devastating those in Britain. In 1981, for example, Britain
launched 339,000 gross tons, a far cry from the 1,341,000 gross tons produced
in 1975. This output accounted for barely 2 percent of all shipping launched in
1981 and was greatly overshadowed by the 8,857,000 gross tons achieved by
Japan, to say nothing of the sterling performance displayed by South Korea
(1,229,000 gross tons).7 Government involvement rose in proportion to the
industry’s mounting difficulties. Extreme government interference in the war
years had left a legacy of concern, and an inclination on the part of officials to
proffer advice. As the postwar period unfolded advice was soon to be followed
by subsidies and direct participation in the industry’s affairs. Eventually, in
1977, resort was had to all-out nationalization. Although this bold gesture came
to nothing, making a bad financial outlook even worse, it at least had the merit
of distinguishing the few yards with prospects from the many without hope.
Recognized as a patent failure, the nationalized British Shipbuilders was
dismantled in the 1980s and with it went most of the country’s shipbuilding
capacity. The solution to the industry’s woes, visible for all to see in the 1990s,
was a small core of yards that lived or died on their ability to command naval
orders. Merchant shipbuilding was all but shunned by these specialists and, in
consequence, was virtually extinct in Britain.
Implicit in all this is the fact that agglomeration benefits, so prominent in the
rise of shipbuilding, had gone entirely to pieces. The ties that had bound
shipbuilders to marine engineers and both to steel producers—the same ties that
had laid the foundation of modern shipbuilding in the nineteenth century—were
seen to be increasingly irrelevant in Britain and America. The three stood, and in
the event, fell together. As we have remarked elsewhere, the first inklings in
Britain came in the 1920s when the integrated armaments manufacturers were
partially dismembered and the likes of Vickers, Cammell Laird, and John Brown
erected organizational barriers between their marine and steel-making branches.8
That process was taken to its logical conclusion after the war, eventually leading
to the formation of two monolithic state enterprises, one dedicated solely to steel
production and the other given over to shipbuilding and marine engineering. In
America the process took a different turn, but to the same end. Rather than
succumb to powerful steel interests as in the old days, shipbuilders fell prey to
firms of a different stamp, those that had blossomed on the strength of aerospace
Aftermath 193

orders. These companies were inspired by the example of General Dynamics,

ironically an offshoot of naval shipbuilding, which had contracted the habit of
bundling together various defense industries. Beginning with a core competence
in submarine construction by courtesy of Electric Boat, the man behind the
venture, John J. Hopkins, took possession of Convair in 1954, gaining at one fell
swoop a major manufacturer of military aircraft. Hopkins’s successors would
push into land armaments, granting General Dynamics a dominant position in
the supply of army tanks. Thereafter, it was the turn of the aerospace companies
to reciprocate, buying into shipbuilding. Lockheed (now Lockheed Martin) led
the way, purchasing Seattle’s Puget Sound Bridge and Dry Dock Company in
1965.9 By century’s end, two huge defense contractors, General Dynamics and
Northrop Grumman, had a firm grip on U.S. naval shipbuilding, controlling all
the production facilities of any consequence. In sharp contrast, the pattern steel
integrator, Bethlehem, was singing a very different tune. By the 1970s it was
looking askance at any involvement in shipbuilding. Its withdrawal from the
industry was most spectacularly demonstrated by the sale of Quincy, the famed
Fore River yard, to General Dynamics in 1964.10
These Anglo-American trends were occurring at the same time as the
Japanese steel and shipbuilding industries were propagating together and
generating something of a revolution in the scale of shipping output. The
Japanese record threw into bold relief the postwar performances of British and
American shipbuilding. It most assuredly showed them in a less than favorable
light. As latecomers to modern shipbuilding, Japanese interests had never been
wholly reconciled to the operation of marine-engineering establishments
independent from shipbuilding firms, and the two had grown in tandem. Both,
moreover, had been open to the involvement of the steel industry from their
inception. From the 1950s the steel and marine industries flourished as never
before, occupying the same coastal industrial complexes.11 Evidently, there was
much to recommend industrial agglomeration of this kind in Japan—a fact not
lost on Michael Porter and the cluster proponents—notwithstanding its woeful
demise in Britain and America. On one level—that of logical consistency—this
decidedly mixed outcome compels the student to question whether the cluster
concept rings true.12 On a more practical level it leads the seeker after truth to
ponder why the benefits of agglomeration continued to hold good in Japan (and,
in due course, South Korea), but not in the older shipbuilding countries. To do
the issue justice would call for a major inquiry, culminating in a substantial
dissertation. It is not within our province in this book to delve into that topic,
dealing as it does with global shipbuilding in the decades following World War
II. What will repay inquiry here, however, is an overview of the erosion of the
agglomeration phenomenon in Britain, its progenitor.
In truth, a whole battery of circumstances, some economic, some
technological, and others of a more personal, company-based kind, were
responsible for the fading potency of agglomeration benefits. It will be
remembered that agglomeration benefits are known to stem from the integration
of economic activities that happen to be geographically localized.
Agglomeration takes on the imprint of clustering when the complex explicitly
194 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

foments innovation, acquiring a dynamic that promises continued prosperity. It

is possible to extract indicators from this rather nebulous concept in order to
trace the health of the dynamic that prompts the flood of economic benefits.
Practically, the object reduces to a measure for relating the fortunes of marine
engineering to the robustness of shipbuilding, its most intimate industrial
associate and cotenant of agglomeration centers. Before coming to grips with the
measure, a few preliminaries are in order. In the first place, a statistical
procedure for gauging the strength of the geographical linkage between
shipbuilding and marine engineering, the essence of agglomeration, is called for.
Recourse to statistical analysis, in turn, sets limits on the interpretation that can
be given to the results, for all statistical tools are circumscribed by the rigid
conditions applied to data fed into them, and specific statistical methods are
hampered by restrictions imposed on their freedom to manipulate those data.
Caveats aside, the exercise is worthwhile because in injects an element of
objectivity into the agglomeration debate. Details of the methodology need not
detain us; suffice it to say that our use of the tool abides by all the technical
assumptions required for its fulfillment.13 Despite misgivings about the
methodology, the results thrown up by its application are unequivocal in
showing how far marine engineering in an agglomeration was incumbent on
local shipbuilding. For the entire period from 1912 to 1966, they reveal that
marine engineering on the North-East Coast was heavily reliant on neighboring
shipyards, whereas engineering activity on the Clyde was only a little less
dependent on local shipbuilders. Although we have surmised this relationship all
along, the statistical findings clinch the matter.14 The relationship was more
ambiguous for the miniagglomerations of Barrow, Birkenhead and Belfast. To
be sure, naval shipbuilding made a meaningful contribution to local marine
engineering in all three instances—in marked contrast to the insignificant impact
of merchant shipbuilding on engineering activity—but the strength of the
relationship was consistently weaker than that obtaining in the major
agglomerations.15 All five regions were at least conditioned to the kind of
interindustry linkage adjudged appropriate for agglomeration economies, but the
same could not be said for the last region, the South Coast, which was devoid of
any valid statistical relationship between shipbuilding and marine engineering.16
This region seemed to spurn the agglomeration idea altogether, adhering instead
to an unreconstructed “pre-modern” brand of shipbuilding.17
Ironically, the example set by the South Coast became the national pattern
after 1966, when the linkages began to falter before vanishing in the succeeding
two decades. This trend becomes startlingly clear when we examine simple
ratios of the proportion of locally built ships (measured in tonnage terms)
powered by engines made in the vicinity. The ratios range from to zero to unity,
with the lower limit indicative of no local linkage between yards and engineers,
and the upper limit representing a situation in which all propulsion plant is
found from local sources. Upon focusing on diesel machinery, the prime mover
that came to dominate marine engineering, it is possible to trace regional
differences for the years 1939, 1957, and 1980. To take 1939 first, it appears that
only Belfast was fully self-sufficient, although the Tyne and Wear, with ratios of
Aftermath 195

0.93 and 0.95, came close. The Clyde scored a respectable 0.86, but all other
shipbuilding districts registered zero. By 1957 the situation had deteriorated for
the Tyne and Wear, respectively slipping to 0.67 and 0.49, but remained firmly
at unity for Belfast and steady (at 0.87) on the Clyde. By 1980, however, the
linkages had been utterly transformed, with the unity applying to Belfast
converting to zero. The disappearance of interindustry linkages was replicated
on the Tyne and Wear, leaving only the Clyde with a relationship (0.75) that
could be construed as agglomeration. The virtual collapse of British
shipbuilding might have been signposted with these indicators. The remnants of
the industry that managed to persist in the face of adversity did so in spite of the
severance of such linkages. There is nothing to be gained by laboring the point,
but some value may be got from a perusal of the postwar record of yards
building for naval accounts.

BRITISH SHIPBUILDING AND THE NAVAL LIFELINE

The eventual inability of yards to compete in the global merchant market may
have sealed the fate of much of British shipbuilding, but by no means all, for in
the final analysis the naval option remained. The yards that concentrated on
naval work were the ones most likely to survive, although not all yards that
followed this course were destined to endure. Some yards in 1945 were glad to
forsake Admiralty work altogether, placing their faith entirely in commercial
markets; others viewed the instability attending commercial markets in a less
than favorable light and elected to retain a foothold in the defense field. As a
rule, private yards could adopt a risk-aversion strategy of pandering to the
market of the moment offering the most opportunities. Not so, however, for the
government yards, or those like the Shipbuilding Corporation that had been
formed at government behest.18 The Royal Dockyards had no choice but to
persevere with Admiralty work; unfortunately for them, the Admiralty at the
time was disinclined to sanction new construction. In fact, new naval
construction was now at a premium for any yard, government or private. Despite
its good intentions, the Admiralty’s 1945 plans for a major balanced fleet got
nowhere. Financial constraints, together with the uncertainty engendered by the
atomic bomb (to say nothing of shrinking imperial responsibilities), conspired to
throw into disarray any long-term developments. Soon the naval staff bowed to
the inevitable, postponing any new construction until the service’s future could
be settled. In the meantime, the leisurely pace of construction characterizing the
vestiges of the war programs was replete with mixed blessings for the yards. The
tardiness associated with work on the larger ships, the cruisers and carriers,
became something of a trial for them. It came about in part because of the
Admiralty prevaricating as to how these ships should be modified to accord with
the new nuclear environment. It can also be imputed to the contractors’
unwillingness to assign to them the necessary skilled labor, for the same workers
were sorely needed for new merchant construction. Harland’s Belfast
establishment was acutely aware of the dilemma posed by this skill shortage,
and some of the carriers on its hands took a decade to complete.19 In the event,
196 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

these vessels would be the last large-hulled warships that the contractors would
work on until the 1970s. By the time the navy had reconciled itself to a postwar
role that combined an ASW thrust with power projected through aircraft
carriers—an approach rendered material with new construction orders for the
former—budgetary limits had obtruded with a vengeance.20 Matters came to a
head in 1965 when conflicting defense demands sealed the fate of carrier-
replacement plans. Severe cost overruns for the planned CVA–01 and its support
force proved to be the last straw, leading not only to its cancellation in 1966 but,
in the next few years, to the Royal Navy being compelled to relinquish all its
existing fleet carriers.21
How, then, did the yards fare in this highly uncertain environment? The Royal
Dockyards received short shrift, their shipbuilding capabilities sacrificed on the
altar of economy at the same time as the Navy underwent the throes of
restructuring in the late 1960s.22 The rationale for retaining them as a
shipbuilding resource—to serve as a check on contractor costs—had begun to
unravel in the 1950s, undermined both by their own excessive costs (the
consequence of limited production opportunities) and by the Navy’s inability to
curb contractor bids in a seller’s market. Ironically, in a tight supplier situation
in which there was commercial work aplenty, the private yards most disposed to
condescend to naval work were those comparatively unsuccessful at winning big
merchant orders. Symptomatic of this seller’s market was the Admiralty’s
failure to impose prewar-style competitive tendering: By default it was obliged
to tolerate a continuance of wartime contracting practices whereby the Warship
Group of the Shipbuilding Conference advised on yard availability and the
suitability of cost-plus-profit awards. Only in 1959, with the abrupt change in
the wider shipbuilding environment to a buyer’s market, did it become possible
for the Admiralty to insist on genuine competition between the yards on price
grounds. The upshot was that, through to the 1960s, the distribution of warship
orders reflected yard willingness to countenance naval work rather than yard
excellence in accomplishing it. Among their number, as we have said, were
yards found wanting in commercial markets that intentionally sought respite in
naval work. When the quantity of naval work diminished, these yards began to
falter, and many had gone before the industry was nationalized. If we confine
our attention for the moment to the years 1960 and 1961, effectively the
watershed between the seller’s and buyer’s markets, we find that a dozen yards
participated in the construction of warships of frigate size and larger.23 Only one
yard that had been inducted into the frigate builders in the mid-1950s had
dropped out of the list, never to reenter it, and that was Denny of Dumbarton on
the Clyde. Denny’s involvement had been half-hearted at best, confined to a
single vessel launched in 1957. Its future indifference to naval orders can be
imputed to its demise in 1963. The combined effect of competitive tendering
and a dearth of merchant orders began to tell on the industry by the mid-1960s.
The long-established destroyer builder, White’s of Cowes, launched its last
warship (a frigate) in 1963, a sad prelude to its last vessel of any kind in 1965.
Stephen’s on the Clyde soon followed suit, despite turning to the Admiralty for
an increasing proportion of its workload. All told, it launched four frigates for
Aftermath 197

the Royal Navy in the 1960s (to say nothing of another for the South African
Navy), and prior to its closure in 1968 switched to a pair of landing ships. This,
however, was to no avail, because the new firm to which it subscribed in 1967—
Upper Clyde Shipbuilders (UCS)—saw fit on the recommendation of the
government-sponsored Geddes committee to concentrate all its naval work at the
Yarrow yard.24 That same undertaking also denied John Brown the option of
participating in naval work when the Clydebank yard adhered to UCS in 1968.
By any measure a prime naval constructor, John Brown had nevertheless been
preoccupied with merchant shipbuilding in the 1950s. It had returned to
soliciting for naval work with the onset of the 1960s, gaining orders for a
destroyer, a frigate and an assault ship (LPD). However, its new masters, in their
wisdom, committed it to offshore oil platforms, depriving it of work on liners
and bulk carriers as well as warships. Clydebank’s last commercial ship slid
down the ways in October 1972. Another celebrated Clyde yard, Fairfield’s at
Govan, was embroiled in difficulties in 1965, difficulties that threatened to drive
it out of business. At any rate, its brush with dissolution and subsequent
incorporation into UCS kept it away from naval work for many years (although
not before it completed two destroyers and a LST).25
A comparable rationalization process was instituted among Tyne shipbuilders,
and with similar consequences; namely, the removal of capacity devoted to
warships. Rather than follow Clyde practice and organize two new firms (the
aforesaid UCS for the yards near Glasgow and Scott-Lithgow for those in its
lower reaches), it was the destiny of all Tyne yards to fall into the hands of
Swan Hunter, an act accomplished in 1968. Under Swan’s auspices the Walker
Naval Yard, inherited from Vickers, was given over to cargo ships and
passenger liners.26 Thus ended the Armstrong legacy that had persisted through
the 1950s and 1960s with a destroyer and a string of frigates for the Royal Navy
and export customers. Also falling prey to Swan’s exercise in rationalization
was another yard with a distinguished warship pedigree, that of Hawthorn Leslie
at Hebburn. Its future was to be tied to tanker construction. By default, Swan’s
combined Neptune and Wallsend establishments assumed responsibility for
warship work. Together, these yards had since 1949 completed a light fleet
carrier, a cruiser, and two destroyers, to say nothing of four frigates. They were
to go on to launch another two destroyers and three naval stores ships before the
1960s were out. Ironically, the turn of events since the 1970s and the mounting
crisis in British shipbuilding left the newly privatized Swan Hunter with only
government contracts for its sustenance in the 1980s. These proved insufficient
to defray its overhead cost, leaving the firm to declare bankruptcy in 1993. The
Tyne, once Britain’s second major shipbuilding agglomeration, was bereft of
new construction, naval and merchant.
These deletions apart, several yards active in naval construction in the 1960s
soldiered on as defense contractors into the 1970s and beyond. Four that have
figured prominently in these pages eventually succumbed to failure in the harsh
business environment afflicting shipbuilding of all stripes. Besides Swan
Hunter, whose record has just been touched on, the yards at issue were Scott’s,
Cammell Laird, and Harland & Wolff. The industry’s ills were first visited on
198 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

Scott’s, which suffered the ignominy of having its submarine expertise

discounted (it had built eight between 1947 and 1966, together with two
frigates). Although it did take on a few auxiliary vessels, the Greenock yard
never launched a warship again and was closed in 1984. Cammell Laird had
outdone Scott’s, acquiring the capacity to build nuclear submarines, something
that promised to arrest its decline. Its skills in any event had been fully tested
completing a fleet aircraft carrier, a destroyer, three frigates, and seven diesel-
powered submarines, and they were found equal to the task of building three
nuclear boats by 1971. Freed from state control in the 1980s, the Birkenhead
yard was kept going on destroyer and frigate work. As a subsidiary of Vickers it
returned to submarine construction (albeit of the conventional kind), but its new
owners abandoned it in 1993 upon the truncation of the Navy’s program.
Harland’s Belfast establishment persevered with new construction for another
decade, resigning itself to ship repair in 2003. As we have hinted, its postwar
commitment to warship work had been less than whole-hearted and this
ambivalence did not waver with the years. Prior to 1966 it had launched two
carriers, one destroyer, four frigates (including one for New Zealand), and an
assault ship, to say nothing of significant numbers of minesweepers and coastal
craft. After 1966 the naval presence became less discernible, though there was
no length to which the yard management would not go to drum up business from
across the maritime spectrum. A frigate was the most tangible evidence of
warship work in the late 1960s, but the yard’s most spectacular defense contract
of later years, undertaken in 1993, was a large replenishment ship. To round out
the list of 1960s contractors it is necessary to mention the select few that
withstood all adverse circumstances and persevered in supplying warships
through to the end of the century. The yards in question are Thornycroft at
Southampton,Yarrow at Scotstoun, and Vickers at Barrow, the latter two
nowadays owned by Britain’s biggest defense firm, BAE Systems.27 Barrow will
be enlarged on here, because it has disproportionate importance for the Furness
region hosting it. A brief overview of the postwar record of the other two is first
in order. Thornycroft (or Vosper Thornycroft as it became in 1970) maintained
its stance as a specialist in what had once been styled flotilla ships, launching
one destroyer and six frigates (one of which was for New Zealand) by 1966. It
went on to build a minelayer, three destroyers, and three frigates in succeeding
years, switching to minehunters in the 1980s. As the new century dawned it
instituted a relocation strategy, erecting a new construction hall within the
Portsmouth naval base and earmarking its old Southampton site for closure in
2004.28 The Scotstoun yard rivaled, indeed surpassed, Thornycroft in the
production of destroyers and frigates, building two of the former and eight of the
latter by 1966. From then until the mid-1990s it built a further 27 frigates,
besides several minor vessels such as survey ships and minehunters. Essentially,
Thornycroft and Yarrow stood together as exemplars of naval specialization that
traded on a narrow range of surface combatants. The same could not be said of
the Barrow complex, which boasted a far more comprehensive capability,
including an unequalled reputation for submarine construction.
Aftermath 199

Barrow had emerged in the postwar era as a crucible for nuclear-submarine

technology, launching Britain’s first boat of this type, the symbolically named
Dreadnought of 1960. However, yard management did not think the time ripe
for concentrating solely on submarines, nuclear or otherwise. Throughout the
late 1940s and 1950s Vickers-Armstrongs (renamed Vickers Shipbuilding from
1965) had vigorously pursued a diversification policy that entertained all kinds
of merchant shipbuilding at Barrow. A string of spectacular passenger liners
appeared between 1947 and 1960, providing the outfitting trades with adequate
compensation for the want of major warship orders. More basic fare came in the
form of oil tankers, of which a steady stream of increasingly larger examples
came off the ways. Diversification was all the more necessary because it was not
until 1953 that a major naval initiative arose, the launching of a light fleet
carrier. Thereafter, save for a single frigate launched in 1962, the naval presence
down to 1966 was confined to submarines; namely, eight diesel boats and four
with nuclear propulsion. The beginning of the 1970s saw a reinforcement of the
naval presence, a corollary of the inexorable tendency of British shipbuilders to
price themselves out of global commercial markets. Fortunately, plentiful naval
work filled the void, because export orders for conventional submarines were
complemented by work on the Royal Navy’s Type 42 destroyers and a long
series of nuclear submarines. In particular, 1977 was a banner year, for, besides
seeing Vickers fall under the sway of state-owned British Shipbuilders, it
witnessed the launch of Invincible, the Navy’s first carrier in a generation.
Barrow’s commitment to nuclear submarines was signaled in the 1980s by the
erection of a shipbuilding hall that occupied part of the Devonshire Dock, one of
the hallmarks of Ramsden’s grand vision of Barrow at the time of its inception.
This pledge to a future inextricably linked to naval shipbuilding was endorsed
by the privatization of Vickers in 1985, a privatization that saw the complex fall
into the hands of a defense-electronics conglomerate (GEC). That enterprise, in
turn, was consolidated into BAE Systems, the onetime British Aerospace. For a
spell in the late 1990s Barrow again countenanced merchant shipbuilding,
admittedly more to demonstrate the relevance of its workers skills to cognate
fields than to signal its intent to divert from its chosen specialty. Those skills,
honed on oil-product tankers, were put to good use immediately afterwards
crafting replenishment tankers and assault ships that conformed to Lloyd’s
standards rather than the more stringent (and costly) naval specifications
previously in force. All these organizational and functional adjustments were
accompanied by a steady shrinkage in the number of workers employed in the
yard, and this had grave implications for the economic health of the Furaess
region. The reduction in demand for labor gathered momentum in tandem with
the precipitous decline in British shipbuilding in the 1980s. Remarkably, in the
two decades dividing 1956 from 1977 the employment rolls of Vickers actually
grew, climbing from just over 11,000 to reach 14,000 (a total not far short of the
14,500 on the company’s books in 1946). Exaggerating the importance of any
alteration to this workforce was its disproportionate grip on Barrow’s job
structure, because it amounted to about 44 percent of the entire male
occupational structure.29 By 1981 the numbers had fallen to 11,277, still enough
200 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

to account for 43.3 percent of all male employment in the community and to
maintain Barrow’s status as one of the most defense-dependent places in the
country.30 Two decades later the workforce stood at 3,800, just a pale shadow of
its former magnitude.31 The impact on Barrow, which experienced neither a
corresponding cut in population nor a surge in alternative employment to defray
the lost jobs, was unsettling in the extreme.

America’s Postwar Naval Shipbuilding Industry

The end of World War II brought the building frenzy that had been underway
for nearly seven years to an abrupt halt. A return to peace meant not only that
the vast armada of warships that had been assembled (and was still being
assembled in August 1945) would not be needed any longer, but that there was
instantly a very great excess of shipbuilding capacity in the country. As shipyard
workers, many of whom were far from their original homes, left the yards in
droves and the Navy began canceling orders, the shipyards scaled back their
operational levels. Shifts were reduced dramatically, overtime ended and the
necessity to employ women and African Americans had vanished and thus their
fates were sealed. In reality, the process of cutting back on excess naval strength
had actually begun in early 1945. The Navy realized, even with the potential
invasion of Japan looming on the horizon, that with the end of hostilities in
Europe its requirements for warships of certain types would be less. Thus, in
March 1945, eight carriers, 36 destroyers, and 18 submarines were cancelled.
However, it was in August of that year that the greatest number of cancellations
occurred. Within days of Japan’s surrender, 68 ships were cancelled, some of
which were already on the building ways.32 A further 41 cancellations would
follow between November 1945 and January 1946. In all, 171 large naval
vessels were cancelled in the six months following VJ-Day.33 Along with these
ship cancellations came the reduction in shipbuilding capacity. The first to go
were the wartime-built yards. With almost no exceptions, these yards were
closed down within a year or two of war’s end. A couple, namely, Associated
Shipbuilders in Seattle and Brown on the Gulf coast, were bought by established
firms, but these cases were very much the exception.34 In addition, several
established yards (Federal’s Kearny yard, Wheeler Shipbuilding, Western Pipe,
and Cramp) also saw the writing on the wall and closed down or were sold off
within a short time after the war. This meant that, almost overnight, the
American shipbuilding industry lost no fewer than 25 shipyards from its rolls. In
addition, virtually all of the nonshipbuilding, steel fabrication, and construction
firms that had been recruited to naval work during the war returned to their
prewar activities. Thus, shipyards that had sprung up in places like Savage in
Minnesota, Evansville in Indiana and Seneca in Illinois vanished into history,
often without a trace remaining. For the multitude of small boatyards and yacht-
building firms that had turned to so valiantly to building thousands of small
vessels for the Navy during the war, peace brought a return to the more modest
(but certainly more lucrative) activity of building fishing and pleasure boats.35
Aftermath 201

Thus, the American shipbuilding industry quickly found itself in a much

reduced state following the war and, like its counterpart in Britain, it eventually
found itself largely excluded from the global merchant shipbuilding business.
However, world events would paint a different picture in the United States
regarding its naval shipbuilding industry. Unlike Britain, America had emerged
as the major world power from the war. Its global responsibilities and interests
required it to maintain a relatively large and capable navy, even though this was
not necessarily understood by all concerned in the immediate postwar period. It
was with the onset of the Korean War that it became obvious that the United
States would be engaged throughout the world in the second half of the
twentieth century and that it would have to maintain a power-projection
capability, largely through naval means. As a result of this realization and
associated policy adjustments, the United States actually experienced a
succession of naval buildups during the 1950s, 1960s, and again in the 1980s.
This strategic reality provided the sustaining life blood of a select group of
shipbuilders that had managed to survive the post–World War II drawdown.
With this transition from the postwar period to the Cold War period,
American naval shipbuilding settled into a pattern of steady work punctuated by
short-lived surges associated with Korea, Vietnam, and the Reagan “600 ship
navy” resurgence in the 1980s. Throughout this period, the shipbuilding industry
embarked on a process of industrial contraction. The nation’s shipbuilding
capacity (especially regarding naval work) became concentrated in the hands of
a smaller and smaller group of shipbuilders to the point where today there are no
more than six major and a handful of minor shipbuilders doing such work. We
have already mentioned the intrusion of the aeronautics and general defense
industries into shipbuilding with the likes of Lockheed, Northrop-Grumman, and
General Dynamics acquiring several long-standing yards of note. Beyond this
fact, however, shipbuilding firms such as Bethlehem and Todd have gradually
reduced the size of their operations by either selling off or closing various
entities within their once large shipbuilding empires. By 1990, after closing its
San Pedro yard that completed its last naval vessel in 1989, the only surviving
remnant of Todd was its Seattle yard, which completed its most recent naval
vessel in 1985. Bethlehem’s Sparrow’s Point yard gave up on naval work in
1986 and after attempting to survive on repair work was sold to Veritas Capital
in 1997, but has since declared bankruptcy. Bethlehem’s other surviving yards,
in San Francisco and San Pedro, were sold off and now operate as San Francisco
Drydock and Southwest Marine, respectively. Neither has undertaken any naval
construction work for some time, although both have done repair work. Several
other major wartime shipyards did manage to survive into the second half of the
century either by tapping into what little merchant work was available; for
example, Dravo Corporation, Levingston Shipbuilding, Moore Dry Dock, J. M.
Martinac Shipbuilding and Sun Shipbuilding, or participating in the naval
programs of the 1950s and 1960s, but then succumbing when competition in this
arena eventually became too intense. Included in this latter group were the likes
of Defoe Shipbuilding (closed 1968), Tacoma Boat Building (1989), Peterson
Boat (1998), and American’s Lorain yard (1982). Even a giant of the World War
202 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

II shipbuilding era, the likes of New York Shipbuilding, was not immune. With
the last naval vessel coming off its ways in 1967, this long-standing powerhouse
of American shipbuilding closed its doors for good.
The naval yards faired somewhat better in the postwar/Cold War period, but
only up to a point. The construction record of these yards between 1952 and
1972 was 92 new ships, ranging from carriers to landing craft, and several
conversions of World War II-era cruisers into guided missile cruisers.36 The
most prolofic of the naval yards was the Puget Sound yard, which turned out 20
ships between 1953 and 1970. The Portsmouth and Mare Island yards built
almost exclusively submarines, whereas the New York yard occupied itself with
the largest ships, three carriers and six LPDs. The Boston, New York, and San
Francisco (formally Hunter’s Point) yards had all ceased building naval vessels
by the end of the 1960s. By 1972, new constructed had ended at all of them,
owing to a desire to preserve private naval shipbuilding capacity and to the fact
that a government investigation had revealed that ships built at the naval yards
cost, on average, 30 percent more than those built at private yards. Several of
these yards, including Boston, New York, and San Francisco, were closed in the
late 1960s and early 1970s, whereas Charleston, Mare Island, Philadelphia, and
Terminal Island were shut down as part of the Navy’s base reduction program of
the 1990s.37 Today only Norfolk, Portsmouth, and Puget Sound remain, serving
as basing and repair facilities for the Atlantic and Pacific fleets, respectively.
Which of the World War II–era shipbuilders have survived? Those that have
handled the lion’s share of naval work in the Unites States during the past 40
years include Newport News, Ingalls, Bath, and Electric Boat. Two other firms,
Avondale Industries of New Orleans and National Shipbuilding and Steel
Corporation of San Diego, have also joined the list. The former is actually
associated with Ingalls through their parent company, Litton (now a division of
Northrop Grumman), whereas the latter is currently held by General Dynamics.
Newport News has assumed the role of the Navy’s sole provider of aircraft
carriers as well as a secondary yard to Electric Boat for the construction of
nuclear-powered attack and ballistic missile submarines. The yard has also
turned out cruisers, amphibious ships, and auxiliaries, as well as numerous
merchant ships since 1945. Electric Boat has remained the Navy’s prime
submarine builder, turning out 110 boats of all types since 1952. Ingalls’ World
War II–era yard on the east side of the Pascagoula River was supplemented with
a new yard on the west bank after Litton bought the company in 1961. This new
enlarged facility has built a wide array of ships for the Navy over the past 50
years. The east bank yard facilities have been shared between merchant and
naval work, whereas those of the west bank yard have largely, although not
exclusively, been devoted to naval work. The specialty of both yards has been
large amphibious ships, including LSTs, LPDs, LHAs, LPHs, and LHDs. The
east yard has also built several submarines as well as auxiliaries, whereas the
west yard has supplemented its amphibious vessel work with a sizable number
of destroyers and cruisers. In all, Ingalls has built 142 ships of various types for
the Navy as well as handling the modernization and reactivation work for the
battleships Wisconsin and Iowa in the 1980s. Bath Iron Works has changed
Aftermath 203

hands several time in the post–World War II era, but finally found a stable
situation under the auspices of General Dynamics in 1996. Although continuing
to build destroyers, its longtime specialty, the yard has branched out and built
LSTs, frigates, and guided missile cruisers as well over the past 50 years.
Avondale has turned out a variety of surface combatants, amphibious and mine
warfare vessels, and auxiliaries for the Navy, whereas National Steel has
confined itself largely to producing many of the Navy’s larger auxiliary vessels.
Naval shipbuilding has also survived, barely, on the Great Lakes. Like its
coastal counterparts, the Lakes shipbuilders of the wartime period have
undergone consolidation. American Shipbuilding acquired Toledo Shipbuilding
(being renamed Toledo Ship Repair to reflect the nature of its work) and was
then acquired in turn by the Manitowoc Marine Group, which itself is the
reconstituted wartime entity known as Manitowoc Shipbuilding. Having closed
its venerable yard at Manitowoc in 1968 (although the yard has since been
reopened), this enlarged firm further acquired Christy Corporation of Sturgeon
Bay which was the former Leatham D. Smith Shipbuilding Company that had
been renamed in the wake of its namesake’s death in 1948. The group added
Marinette Marine of Marinette, Wisconsin, in 1999. Combined, the Manitowoc
Group operates seven different shipyards on Lakes Michigan and Erie.38 Of
these, Christy did some limited naval work in the 1950s and 1960 building a few
LSTs and several research vessels, whereas Sturgeon Bay Shipbuilding
constructed a number of Coast Guard buoy tenders in the mid-1960s. Marinette
has turned out numerous tugs, patrol craft, landing craft, and mine
countermeasures vessels for the U.S. Navy, as well as several foreign navies
(including those of South Vietnam, Burma, and Iran) over the past 45 years.
As can be discerned from this discussion of surviving naval shipbuilding
firms, America, like Britain, has ceased to adhere to the agglomeration concept
regarding its naval shipbuilding industry. Scarcely a one of the 16 World War II
naval shipbuilding agglomerations remains intact today. Although some of the
yards that made up those agglomerations remain, almost none, as we have seen,
have engaged in naval work for some time now. Those yards that do handle such
work today are scattered far and wide. The closest thing to a true cluster of naval
shipbuilders is along the Gulf coast from Avondale’s New Orleans yards east to
Ingalls’s twin yards at Pascagoula. This, however, is not a true shipbuilding
agglomeration because it lacks the significant presence of any firms ancillary to
shipbuilding. Again, this is reflective of the pattern that has emerged in both
countries during the years since the war of decoupling virtually all interindustry
linkages.

CONCLUSION
We began this book with a discussion of the influence of geography upon the
location of shipyards and the clustering of such establishments under the
precepts of agglomeration theory. We have shown how this theory has governed
the shipbuilding industries (especially naval shipbuilding) in both Britain and
America through the two World Wars. All of the advantageous garnered from
204 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

the clustering of shipyards and their ancillary industrial firms held true in regard
to wartime naval and merchant shipbuilding, but so too did some of the inherent
drawbacks of the diseconomies of scale associated with such clusters. This,
coupled with the magnitude of the demands placed on the industry necessitated
the expansion of the concept to include new and enlarged agglomerations in
both countries. We also have seen how geographical dispersal of some shipyards
existed side by side with the agglomerations and that these independent location
yards not only thrived, but were vital to the ability of both countries to fully
utilize their shipbuilding capacities for the war effort. In spite of these facts,
however, few naval shipbuilders, whether located within the agglomerations or
on their own in independent locations, survived the postwar rationalization of
the Anglo-American shipbuilding industry. Agglomeration theory, although still
applicable to certain industries, holds little relevance to the naval shipbuilding
industry of the twenty-first century.

NOTES

1. Refer to George Moore, Building for Victory: The Warship Building Programmes of
the Royal Navy, 1939–1945 (Gravesend: World Ship Society, 2003), p. 126.
2. The contracyclical justification proved futile. By the time the yards began to seek
naval orders to compensate for vanishing merchant demand—after 1959—the navy was
ordering no more than four frigates a year. Each frigate occupied 250 workers, giving a
total of 1,000 for the program. This was a trivial annual labor requirement for an industry
that employed well in excess of 100,000 workers. Refer to Anthony Gorst and Lewis
Johnman, “British Naval Procurement and Shipbuilding, 1945–1964,” in David J. Starkey
and Alan G. Jamieson (eds.), Exploiting the Sea: Aspects of Britain’s Maritime Economy
since 1870 (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1998), pp. 118–147.
3. William T. Hogan, Economic History of the Iron and Steel Industry in the United
States, vol. 3, (Lexington, MA: D.C. Heath, 1971), pp. 1948–156.
4. Two sources are relevant: H. Gerrish Smith, “The Shipbuilding, Ship–Repairing,
and Shipping Industries,” in J. G. Glover and W. B. Cornell, The Development of
American Industries: Their Economic Significance, 3d ed. (New York: Prentice–Hall,
1951), pp. 734–749, and Daniel Levine and Sara Ann Platt, “The Contribution of U.S.
Shipbuilding and the Merchant Marine to the Second World War,” in Robert A. Kilmarx,
America’s Maritime Legacy, (Boulder: Westview, 1979), pp. 175–214.
5. High wages are not detrimental to factor costs when they go hand in hand with
proportionate productivity levels. By the 1960s, however, some alarm was being
expressed at falling American productivity levels. For instance, in the United States 164
man-hours were required to work a ton of steel into a ship (an average for 1960–1965).
The corresponding values for Japan and Sweden were 70 and 82. Britain, though, fared
even worse than America, scoring 187. See Daniel Todd, World Shipbuilding Industry
(London: Croom Helm, 1985), pp. 85–88.
6. The inflexible attitude of shipyard workers in Britain—a legacy of the traditions of
the craft unions to which they belonged—has often been blamed for the industry’s patchy
productivity record in the postwar years, especially when set against the record of labor
relations in France and Scandinavia. More flexible work practices in Britain (if hardly
more harmonious relations) only became prevalent in the later 1960s after the closure of
Aftermath 205

several major yards. Note Edward H. Lorenz, “An Evolutionary Explanation for
Competitive Decline: The British Shipbuilding Industry, 1890–1970,” Journal of
Economic History, 51, 1991, pp. 911–935.
7. Daniel Todd, Industrial Dislocation: The Case of Global Shipbuilding (New York:
Routledge, 1991), pp. 35–36.
8. The first two merged their steel interests into the English Steel Corporation in 1929,
whereas John Brown transferred its steel-making operations to a joint venture with
Thomas Firth in 1930.
9. Jacob Goodwin, Brotherhood of Arms: General Dynamics and the Business of
Defending America (New York: Times Books, 1985), p. 6 and Robert J. Winklareth,
Naval Shipbuilders of the World: From the Age of Sale to the Present Day (London:
Chatham, 2000), p. 206.
10. Its rival, United States Steel, retreated from shipbuilding in 1948 with the sale of its
Federal subsidiary of Kearny, New Jersey.
11. For a review of the Japanese case, see Tomohei Chida and Peter N. Davies, The
Japanese Shipping and Shipbuilding Industries: A History of their Modern Growth
(London: Athlone, 1990), and Yoshie Yonezawa, “The Shipbuilding Industry,” in
Ryutaro Komiya, Masahiro Okuno, and Kotaro Suzumura (eds.), Industrial Policy of
Japan (Tokyo: Academic Press Japan, 1988), pp. 425–149.
12. Contrasting sharply with the Japanese experience is that of Poland. The Polish
shipbuilding industry, which progressed rapidly after 1950, displayed little in the way of
geographical association between shipyards and steel suppliers. This was owing less to
the planners disparaging agglomeration and more to their making use of existing inland
industry by fostering arrangements whereby the yards were spared the transport costs
associated with the dispatch of materials from inland steel mills. The resultant lengthened
supplier links of 450–600 kilometers were a burden on society but did not interfere with
the rise of shipbuilding, borne up by offsetting cheap labor costs. See Ewa Adrjanowska,
“Interregional Links of the Shipbuilding Industry in Poland,” Geographia Polonica, 21,
1972, pp. 5–16.
13. The tool used was the Cochrane–Orcutt regression procedure, which produces
Durbin–Watson and first-order rho statistics fully compatible with zero autocorrelated
observations. Marine engineering output (in horsepower) is established as a dependent
variable and merchant and naval shipbuilding output (in tons) act as two independent
variables. The data are ordered on the basis of six regions. The technique is explained in
Robert S. Pindyck and Daniel L. Rubinfeld, Econometric Models and Economic
Forecasts (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1976), pp. 111–112.
14. The level of explanation for the North-East Coast, deduced from the coefficient of
multiple determination, reached 64 percent, with merchant shipbuilding and naval
shipbuilding contributing about equally to the well-being of marine engineering (because
both variables were significant at the 0.01 level). The two constituents of shipbuilding
were equally potent on the Clyde as well, although the overall level of explanation dipped
to 55 percent.
15. The respective levels of explanation stood at 17 percent, 44 percent, and 36
percent. The particularly low showing for Barrow suggests that its marine-engineering
establishment was mainly devoted to fulfilling orders for propulsion machinery that
originated outside the Vickers yard. In fact, Barrow was a principal supplier of propelling
machinery to the Royal Dockyards.
16. Its level of explanation registered a meager 8 percent.
17. In any event, to suppose that the South Coast abides by the geographical terms of
an agglomeration is to stretch the bounds of credibility. It will be recollected that it
206 Anglo-American Shipbuilding in World War II

embraces widely separated Royal Dockyards at Chatham, Portsmouth, and Plymouth, to

say nothing of specialist destroyer builders around the Solent.
18. The Corporation’s Wear and Tyne yards were both wound up in 1947 upon
completion of their last cargo ships. See J. F. Clarke, Building Ship on the North-East
Coast, Part 2 (Whitley Bay: Bewick Press, 1997), pp. 358–359.
19. Moore, Building for Victory, pp. 129–130.
20. Britain followed America in granting carrier-strike forces high priority. Whereas
the United States embarked on new carrier construction in 1952 as a result of funding
made available during the Korean emergency, Britain abandoned ambitious warship
plans as unaffordable. See Norman Friedman, The Fifty–Year War: Conflict and Strategy
in the Cold War (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2000), pp. 157, 223.
21. Ibid., p. 292.
22. Portsmouth launched its last warship, a frigate, in 1967, whereas Devonport
followed suit in 1968. Chatham’s last warship, a submarine for Canada, was completed in
June 1968. See Philip MacDougall, Royal Dockyards (Newton Abbott: David and
Charles, 1982), p. 188.
23. These yards are listed in Gorst and Johnman, British Naval Procurement, p. 143.
Interestingly, one yard seemingly dormant in 1960–1961, Hawthorn Leslie, had launched
a frigate in 1955 and was to do so again, in 1966. Its absence is misleading, for at the turn
of the 1960s it began building four oilers (naval auxiliaries), to be followed in the mid-
1960s by three LSTs.
24. For a review of the implications of the Geddes Report, see Todd, World
Shipbuilding Industry, pp. 263–264.
25. Fairfield’s subsidiary at Chepstow, the erstwhile National Shipyard, reverted to
structural engineering in 1945, turning its back altogether on shipbuilding.
26. An exception was made in the 1970s in the form of a large replenishment ship for
the Imperial Iranian Navy. Moreover, the yard was pressed into service for outfitting
aircraft carriers in the early 1980s. It closed in 1985.
27. A third yard belonging to BAE Systems is the ex-Fairfield enterprise at Govan.
Restored to private ownership in 1988, the yard returned to naval work in the mid-1990s,
launching the hull of a helicopter carrier that was towed to Barrow for outfitting.
28. Impetus for the relocation move came from the firm’s participation in the Royal
Navy’s new Type 45 destroyer program.
29. To be precise, Vickers was responsible for between 43.2 percent and 45.6 percent
of Barrow’s male workforce between 1951 and 1971. Note Keith Grime, “The Evolution
of a Naval Shipbuilding Firm in a Small Economy: Vickers at Barrow-in-Furness,”
(London: Croom Helm), pp. 163–166.
30. As reported in Peter J. Hilditch, “Defense Procurement and Employment: The Case
of U.K. Shipbuilding,” Cambridge Journal of Economics, 14, 1990, pp. 483–496.
31. See SSA Yearbook (Egham: Shipbuilders and Ship Repairers Association, 2002), p.
14.
32. Included in the August 1945 cancellations were one battleship, two fleet carriers,
15 escort carriers, six heavy and 10 light cruisers, 11 destroyers, six submarines, one
LSD, and 16 auxiliaries.
33. Thirty-seven minesweepers were cancelled in November 1945, whereas two
destroyer escorts and 18 submarines followed in January 1946. In addition to these
cancellations, thousands of landing craft were also cancelled at the end of the war. It
should also be noted that 129 ships laid down before the war’s end were completed in the
years that followed.
34. Associated was bought by Puget Sound Bridge, and Brown went to Todd.
Aftermath 207

35. Although some of these yards would, on occasion, build vessels for the U.S. or
foreign navies during the postwar years. For example, Astoria Marine, Colberg Boat
Works, Florida, Fulton Shipyard, Harbor Boat, South Coast, Wilmington Boat Works,
and Frank L. Sample, among others, would all build minesweepers and or patrol craft
between 1953 and 1990.
36. This total included three carriers, three cruisers, 14 destroyers and frigates, 16
diesel-electric submarines, 14 nuclear-powered attack submarines and 10 fleet ballistic
missile submarines, 21 amphibious ships and craft, six mine warfare vessels, and five
auxiliaries.
37. Two of the building ways at the Philadelphia yard were turned over the Kvaerner
Philadelphia Shipyard in 1998.
38. These are Christy Shipbuilding, Sturgeon Bay Shipbuilding, and Bay Shipbuilding,
all in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin; Marinette Shipbuilding, Marinette, Wisconsin; Cleveland
and Toledo Ship Repair yards; and Manitowoc Shipbuilding, Manitowoc, Wisconsin.
 Selected Bibliography
Adrjanowska, Ewa. “Interregional Links of the Shipbuilding Industry in Poland.”
Geographia Polonica, 21, 1972.
Albion, Robert G. Forests and Sea Power: The Timber Problem of the Royal Navy,
1652–1862. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926.
Allen, G. C. British Industries and Their Organization. London: Longmans Green, 1959.
Andrews, Michael. “The Development of the Furness Railway.” In R. Battye and M.
Peascod (eds.), Furness Railway 150: A History of the Furness Railway, Celebrating
One Hundred and Fifty Years of Railways in Furness. Grange-over-Sands: Cumbrian
Railways Association, 1996, pp. 5–16.
Andrews, P.W.S., and Elizabeth Brunner. Capital Development in Steel: A Study of the
United Steel Companies Ltd. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1952.
Arnold, A. J. Iron Shipbuilding on the Thames, 1832–1915: An Economic and Business
History. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2000.
Ashworth, William. Contracts and Finance. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office,
1953.
Aviation Week & Space Technology, Special Advertising Section, June 24, 2002.
Bainbridge, T. H. “Barrow in Furness: A Population Study.” Economic Geography, 15,
no. 3, 1939.
Banbury, P. Shipbuilders of the Thames and Medway. Newton Abbot: David and Charles,
1971.
Banks, A. G. H. W. Schneider of Barrow and Bowness. Kendal: Titus Wilson, 1984.
Bauer, K. J. “The Golden Age.” In Robert A. Kilmarx (ed.), America’s Maritime Legacy:
A History of the U.S. Merchant Marine and Shipbuilding Industry since Colonial
Times. Boulder, CO: Westview, 1979, pp. 27–63.
210 Selected Bibliography

Bell, Isaac Lowthian. Principles of the Manufacture of Iron and Steel. London: George
Routledge and Sons, 1884.
Bentham. “August to September 1942.” In C. C. Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and
Repairs,” Vol. 2, appendix X.
Brown, D. K. Before the Ironclad: Development of Ship Design, Propulsion and
Armament in the Royal Navy, 1815–1860. London: Conway, 1990.
Brown, D. K. A Century of Naval Construction: The History of the Royal Corps of Naval
Constructors 1883–1983. London: Conway, 1983.
Building the Navy’s Bases in World War II: History of the Bureau of Yards & Docks and
the Civil Engineering Corps, 1940–1946. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing
Office, 1947.
Burn, Duncan. The Steel Industry 1939–1959: A Study in Competition and Planning.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961.
Buxton, Neil K. “The Scottish Shipbuilding Industry between the Wars: A Comparative
Study,” Business History, 10, no. 2, 1968.
Carr, J. C., and W. Taplin. History of the British Steel Industry. Oxford: Basil Blackwell,
1962.
Chida, Tomohei and Peter N. Davies. The Japanese Shipping and Shipbuilding
Industries: A History of their Modern Growth. London: Athlone, 1990.
Chisholm, George. Handbook of Commercial Geography. London: Longmans, Green,
and Co., 1889.
Cho, Dong Sung, and M. E. Porter. “Changing Global Industrial Leadership: The Case of
Shipbuilding.” In M. E. Porter (ed.), Competition in Global Industries. Boston:
Harvard Business School Press, 1986, pp. 539–567.
Clarke, J. F. Building Ships on the North-East Coast, Part 1, c.1640–c.1914. Whitley
Bay: Bewick Press, 1997.
Clarke, J. F. Building Ships on the North-East Coast, Part 2, c.1914–c.1980. Whitley
Bay: Bewick Press, 1997.
Clarke, J. F. Power on Land and Sea: 160 Years of Industrial Enterprise on Tyneside.
Newcastle: Smith Print Group, 1977.
Connery, Robert H. The Navy and the Industrial Mobilization in WWII. New York:
DaCapo Press, 1972.
Cooling, Benjamin F. Benjamin Franklin Tracy: Father of the Modern American
Fighting Navy. Hamden, CT: Archon, 1973.
Cooling, Benjamin F. Gray Steel and Blue Water Navy: The Formative Years of
America’s Military–Industrial Complex, 1881–1917. Hamden, CT: Archon, 1979.
Crowell, J. Franklin. Government War Contracts. New York: Oxford University Press,
1920.
Dakres, Jack M. A History of Shipbuilding at Lytham. Kendal: World Ship Society, 1992.
Selected Bibliography 211

Davidson, Joel R. The Unsinkable Fleet: The Politics of U.S. Navy Expansion in World
War II. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1996.
Davies, Michael. Belief in the Sea: State Encouragement of British Merchant Shipping
and Shipbuilding. London: Lloyd’s of London Press, 1992.
Dicken, Peter. Global Shift: Industrial Change in a Turbulent World. New York: Harper
and Row, 1986.
Director of Naval Construction Department, “Warship Construction During the 1914–
1918 War.” Public Record Office (PRO), File ADM. 1/8547/340 London: Kew.
Dodds, Madelaine H. A History of Northumberland. Vol. 13. Newcastle: Andrew Reid,
1930.
Dougan, David. The History of North East Shipbuilding. London: George Allen and
Unwin, 1968.
“80 Years of Shipbuilding and Engineering at Barrow-in-Furness.” Document produced
by Vickers-Armstrongs Ltd., Barrow, February 18, 1954, and held in the Cumbria
Record Office, Barrow.
Erickson, Charlotte. British Industrialists: Steel and Hosiery, 1850–1950. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1959.
Estall, Robert C. “Some Observations on the Internal Mobility of Investment Capital.”
Area, 4, 1972.
Fahey, James C. The Ships and Aircraft of the United States Fleet: Victory Edition, War
Edition, Two-Ocean Fleet Edition and 1939 Edition. Annapolis, MD:Naval Institute
Press, 1994.
Fik, Timothy J. The Geography of Economic Development: Regional Changes, Global
Challenges. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2000.
Friedman, Norman. The Fifty-Year War: Conflict and Strategy in the Cold War.
Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2000.
Friedman, Norman. U.S. Submarines through 1945: An Illustrated Design History.
Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1995.
Friedrich, C. J. Alfred Weber’s Theory of the Location of Industries. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1929.
Gardiner, Robert (ed.). Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships 1922–1946. London:
Conway Maritime Press, 1980.
Goodwin, Jacob. Brotherhood of Arms: General Dynamics and the Business of
Defending America. New York: Times Books, 1985.
Gordon, G. A.H. British Seapower and Procurement between the Wars: A Reappraisal of
Rearmament. London: Macmillan, 1988.
Gorst, Anthony, and Lewis Johnman. “British Naval Procurement and Shipbuilding,
1945–1964.” In David J. Starkey and Alan G. Jamieson (eds.), Exploiting the Sea:
212 Selected Bibliography

Aspects of Britain’s Maritime Economy since 1870. Exeter: University of Exeter Press,
1998, pp. 118–147.
Grant, Allan. Steel and Ships: The History of John Brown’s. London: Michael Joseph,
1950.
Gray, Randal (ed.). Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships, 1906–1921. London:
Conway Maritime Press, 1985.
Greenhill, Basil. “Steam before the Screw.” In Robert Gardiner (ed.), The Advent of
Steam: The Merchant Steamship before 1900. London: Conway Maritime Press, 1992,
pp. 11–27.
Greenhut, M. L. Plant Location in Theory and Practice. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1956.
Grime, Keith. “The Evolution of a Naval Shipbuilding Firm in a Small Economy:
Vickers at Barrow-in-Furness.” In Michael Bateman and Raymond Riley (eds.), The
Geography of Defence. London: Croom Helm, 1987, pp. 141–170.
Haas, J. M. A Management Odyssey: The Royal Dockyards, 1714–1914. Lanham, MD:
University Press of America, 1994.
Hall, P. Von Thuenen’s Isolated State. Oxford: Pergamon, 1966.
Hallsworth, H. M. “Shipbuilding.” In J. H. Jones (ed.), Britain in Recovery. London:
Pitman, 1938, pp. 339–360.
Halpern, Paul G. A Naval History of World War I. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press,
1994.
Harris, Len. A Two Hundred Year History of Appledore Shipyards. Coombe Martin:
Hargill Partners, 1992.
Heiner, Albert P. Henry J. Kaiser, American Empire Builder: An Insider’s View. New
York: Peter Lang, 1989.
Herrick, Walter R. The American Naval Revolution. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State
University Press, 1966.
Hessen, Robert. Steel Titan: The Life of Charles M. Schwab. New York: Oxford
University Press, 1975.
Hilditch, Peter J. “Defense Procurement and Employment: The Case of U.K.
Shipbuilding.,” Cambridge Journal of Economics, 14, 1990.
Hogan, William T. Economic History of the Iron and Steel Industry in the United States,
vols. 2, 3, 5, Lexington, MA: D. C. Heath, 1971.
Holland, A. J. Ships of British Oak: The Rise and Decline of Wooden Shipbuilding in
Hampshire. Newton Abbott: David and Charles, 1971.
Hoover, Edgar M. Location Theory and the Shoe and Leather Industries. Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1937.
Hornby, William. Factories and Plants. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1958.
Selected Bibliography 213

Irving, R. J. “New Industries for Old? Some Investment Decisions of Sir W. G.

Armstrong, Whitworth & Co. Ltd., 1900–1914.” Business History, 17, 1975.
Isard, Walter. Location and Space Economy. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1956.
Isard, Walter, and Thomas Vietorisz. Industrial Complex Analysis and Regional
Development. New York: John Wiley, 1959.
James, F. Cyril “Cyclical Fluctuations in the Shipping and Shipbuilding Industries.”
Ph.D. dis., University of Pennsylvania: Philadelphia, 1927.
Jewkes, John, and Allan Winterbottom. An Industrial Survey of Cumberland and
Furness: A Study of the Social Implications of Economic Dislocation. Manchester:
Manchester University Press, 1933.
Johnman, Lewis, and Hugh Murphy. British Shipbuilding and the State since 1918: A
Political Economy of Decline. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002.
Johnston, Ian. Beardmore Built: The Rise and Fall of a Clydeside Shipyard. Clydebank:
District Libraries and Museums Department, 1993.
Jones, Leslie. Shipbuilding in Britain—Mainly between the Wars. Cardiff: University of
Wales Press, 1957.
Lane, Frederic C. Ships for Victory: A History of Shipbuilding under the U.S. Maritime
Commission in World War II. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1951.
Lenton, H. T., and J. J. Colledge. Warships of World War II. 2d ed. London: Ian Allen,
1973.
Levine, Daniel, and Sara Ann Platt. “The Contribution of U.S. Shipbuilding and the
Merchant Marine to the Second World War.” In Robert A. Kilmarx (ed.), America’s
Maritime Legacy, Boulder: Westview, 1979, pp. 175–214.
Lindberg, Michael, and Daniel Todd. Brown-, Green- and Blue-Water Fleets: The
Influence of Geography on Naval Warfare, 1861 to the Present. Westport, CT:
Praeger, 2002.
Lindert, Peter H. “U.S. Foreign Trade and Trade Policy in the Twentieth Century.” In S.
L. Engerman and R. E. Gallman (eds.), The Cambridge Economic History of the
United States. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, pp. 407–462.
Lischka, Johannes R. “Armor Plate: Nickel and Steel, Monopoly and Profit.” In B. F.
Cooling (ed.), War, Business, and American Society: Historical Perspectives on the
Military–Industrial Complex. Port Washington, NY: Kennikat, 1977, pp. 43–58.
Lorenz, Edward H. “An Evolutionary Explanation for Competitive Decline: The British
Shipbuilding Industry, 1890–1970.” Journal of Economic History, 51, 1991.
Lyon, Hugh. “The Relations between the Admiralty and Private Industry in the
Development of Warships.” In Bryan Ranft (ed.), Technical Change and British Naval
Policy 1860–1939. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1977, pp. 37–64.
MacDougall, Philip. Royal Dockyards. Newton Abbott: David and Charles, 1982.
214 Selected Bibliography

MARAD/Bureau of Labor Statistics (SIC 3731) and U.S. Bureau of Ships, Washington,
DC, 1952.
Marcil, Eileen R. Tall Ships and Tankers: The History of the Davie Shipbuilders.
Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1997.
Marshall, Alfred. Elements of Economics of Industry. 3d ed. London: Macmillan, 1920.
Marshall, Alfred. Industry and Trade. 3d ed. London: Macmillan, 1920.
Marshall, J. D. Furness and the Industrial Revolution. Barrow-in-Furness: Library and
Museum Committee, 1958.
McCloskey, Donald N. Economic Maturity and Entrepreneurial Decline: British Iron
and Steel, 1870–1913. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973.
McKercher, B.J.C. Arms Limitation and Disarmament: Restraints on War, 1899–1939.
Westport, CT: Praeger, 1992.
Middlemiss, Norman L. British Shipbuilding Yards. Vol. 1: North–East Coast.
Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Shield, 1993.
Middlemiss, Norman L. British Shipbuilding Yards. Vol. 3: Belfast, Merseyside, Barrow
and All Other Areas. Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Shield, 1995.
Mitchell, W. H. and L. A. Sawyer. The Empire Ships: A Record of British-Built and
Acquired Merchant Ships during the Second World War. 2d ed. London: Lloyd’s of
London Press, 1990.
Moore, Charles W. “Industrial Linkage Development Paths: A Case Study of the
Development of Two Industrial Complexes in the Puget Sound Region.” Tijdschrift
voor Economische en Sociale Geografie, 64, 1973.
Moore, George. Building for Victory: The Warship Building Programmes of the Royal
Navy, 1939–1945. Gravesend: World Ship Society, 2003.
Morison, Samuel L., and John S. Rowe. Warships of the U.S. Navy. London: Jane’s,
1983.
Moss, Michael, and John R. Hume. Shipbuilders to the World: 125 Years of Harland and
Wolff, Belfast 1861–1986. Belfast: Blackstaff, 1986.
Muckle, William. Strength of Ships’ Structures. London: Edward Arnold, 1967.
National Maritime Museum (NMM). Shipbuilding Conference, File S37.
NMM, Shipbuilding Employers’ Federation. “Position of Shipbuilding Industry.”
Pamphlet, January 1937.
NMM, Shipbuilding Employers’ Federation, “Position of Shipbuilding Industry.”
Pamphlet, October 1937.
Parkinson, J. R. The Economics of Shipbuilding in the United Kingdom. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1960.
Peden, G. C. British Rearmament and the Treasury: 1932–1939. Edinburgh: Scottish
Academic Press, 1979.
Selected Bibliography 215

Peebles, Hugh B. Warshipbuilding on the Clyde. Edinburgh: John Donald, 1987.

Pindyck, Robert S., and Daniel L. Rubinfeld. Econometric Models and Economic
Forecasts. New York: McGraw–Hill, 1976.
Pollard, S., and P. Robertson. The British Shipbuilding Industry, 1870–1914. Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1979.
Pollard, Sidney. “Barrow-in-Furness and the Seventh Duke of Devonshire.” Economic
History Review, 2d ser., 8, no. 2, 1955.
Pollard, Sidney. “The Economic History of British Shipbuilding, 1870–1914.” Ph.D. dis.,
University of London, 1951.
Pool, Bernard. Navy Board Contracts, 1660–1832. London: Longmans, 1966.
Porter, M. E. “Clusters and the New Economics of Competition.” Harvard Business
Review, 76, November–December 1998.
Porter, M. E. The Competitive Advantage of Nations. New York: Free Press, 1990.
Postan, M. M. British War Production. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1952.
Pounds, Norman J. G. An Introduction to Economic Geography. 4th ed. London: John
Murray, 1970.
PRO, ADM. 1/11892 “Labour in Naval and Mercantile Shipyards.” 1942.
PRO, CAB 102/440. C. C. Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs in the Second
World War, vol.1.”
PRO, CAB 102/441, C. C. Wrigley, “Merchant Shipbuilding and Repairs in the Second
World War, vol.2.” Appendix 2, Table 1. 1945.
PRO, CAB60/41. Paper 420, April 27, 1934.
PRO, CAB60/41. Paper 493, February 22, 1935.
PRO, CAB60/44. Paper 591, and CAB60/46, Paper 713, April 28, 1936 and November
30, 1937.
PRO, CAB60/45. Paper 697, July 26, 1937.
PRO, CAB60/48, Paper 831, July 8, 1938.
PRO, CAB60/50, Paper 905, February 28, 1939.
Rapping, Leonard. “Learning and World War II Production Functions.” Review of
Economics and Statistics, 47, no. 1, 1965.
Richardson, Alex. Vickers, Sons and Maxim Limited: Their Works and Manufactures.
London: Offices of Engineering, 1902.
Ripley, William Z. (ed.). Trusts, Pools and Corporations. Boston: Ginn, 1905.
Robertson, A. J. “Clydeside Revisited: A Reconsideration of the Clyde Shipbuilding
Industry, 1919–38.” In W. H. Chaloner and B. M. Ratcliffe (eds.), Trade and
216 Selected Bibliography

Transport: Essays in Economic History in Honour of T. S. Willan. Manchester:

Manchester University Press, 1977, pp. 258–278.
Ross, N. S. “Employment in Shipbuilding and Ship–Repairing in Great Britain.” Journal
of the Royal Statistical Society, Series A, 115, 1952.
Sawyer, L. A., and W. H. Mitchell. The Liberty Ships. 2d ed. London: Lloyd’s of London
Press, 1985.
Sawyer, L. A., and W. H. Mitchell. Victory Ships and Tankers. Newton Abbot: David and
Charles, 1974.
Schubert, H. R. “The Steel Industry.” In C. Singer, E. J. Holmyard, A. R. Hall and T. I.
Williams (eds.), A History of Technology. Vol. 5: The Late Nineteenth Century c.1850
to c.1900. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958, pp. 53–71.
Schumpeter, J. A. The Theory of Economic Development. Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1934.
Scott, J. D. Vickers: A History. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1962.
Scott, W. R. The Industries of the Clyde Valley during the War. Oxford: Clarendon, 1924.
Shields, Jerry. The Invisible Billionaire: Daniel Ludwig. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
1986.
Silverstone, Paul H. U.S. Warships of World War II. London: Ian Allen, 1965.
Silverstone, Paul H. U.S. Warships since 1945. London: Ian Allen, 1986.
Singer, C., E. J. Holmyard, A. R. Hall, and T. I. Williams (eds.). A History of
Technology. Vol. 5: The Late Nineteenth Century c.1850 to c.1900. Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1958.
Slaven, A. The Development of the West of Scotland: 1750–1960. London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1975.
Slaven, A. “A Shipyard in Depression: John Browns of Clydebank 1919–1938.” Business
History, 19, no. 2, 1977.
Smith, David M. Industrial Location: An Economic Geographical Analysis. New York:
John Wiley, 1981.
Smith, H. Gerrish. “The Shipbuilding, Ship-Repairing, and Shipping Industries.” In J. G.
Glover and W. B. Cornell (eds.), The Development of American Industries: Their
Economic Significance. 3d ed. New York: Prentice–Hall, 1951, pp. 734–749.
Smith, Wilfred. An Economic Geography of Great Britain. 2d ed. London: Methuen,
1953.
Snow, Ralph L. Bath Iron Works: The First Hundred Years. Bath: Maine Maritime
Museum, 1987.
Spaldin, Bert. Shipbuilders of the Hartlepools. Hartlepool: Borough Council, 1986.
SSA Yearbook. Egham: Shipbuilders and Ship Repairers Association, 2002.
Selected Bibliography 217

Still, W. N., G. P. Watts, and B. Rogers, “Steam Navigation and the United States.” In R.
Gardiner (ed.), The Advent of Steam: The Merchant Steamship before 1900. London:
Conway, 1992, pp. 44–82.
Sumida, J. T. In Defense of Naval Supremacy: Finance, Technology and British Naval
Policy, 1889–1914. London: Unwin Hyman, 1989.
Sawyer, L. A., and W.H. Mitchell. Ships and Tankers. Newton Abbott: David and
Charles, 1974.
Sawyer, L. A., and W. H. Mitchell. The Liberty Ships. 2d ed. London: Lloyd’s of London
Press, 1985.
The Shipbuilder, August 1916, January 1920, January 1921, December 1929, March
1936, February 1940, April 1940, May 1947.
Thomas, P. N. British Ocean Tramps. Vol.1: Builders & Cargoes. Wolverhampton:
Waine, 1992.
Todd, Daniel. “Clustering for Shipbuilding: Panacea or Nostrum?” Shipyard Technology
News, October–November 2001.
Todd, Daniel. Defense Industries: A Global Perspective. New York: Routledge, 1988.
Todd, Daniel. Industrial Dislocation: The Case of Global Shipbuilding. New York:
Routledge, 1991.
Todd, Daniel. “Regional Variations in Naval Construction: The British Experience,
1895–1966.” Regional Studies, 15, no. 2, 1981.
Todd, Daniel. The World Shipbuilding Industry. London: Croom Helm, 1985.
Trebilcock, Clive. The Vickers Brothers: Armaments and Enterprise 1854–1914. London:
Europa, 1977.
Walker, Fred M. Song of the Clyde: A History of Clyde Shipbuilding. Cambridge: Patrick
Stephens, 1984.
Warren, Kenneth. Armstrongs of Elswick: Growth in Engineering and Armaments to the
Merger with Vickers. London: Macmillan, 1989.
Warren, Kenneth. Steel, Ships and Men: Cammell Laird, 1824–1993. Liverpool:
Liverpool University Press, 1998.
Whitehurst, Clinton H. The U.S. Shipbuilding Industry: Past, Present, and Future.
Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1986.
Williams, David L. White’s of Cowes. Peterborough: Silver Link, 1993.
Winklareth, Robert J. Naval Shipbuilders of the World: From the Age of Sail to the
Present Day. London: Chatham, 2000.
“The Works at Barrow-in-Furness of The Naval Construction and Armaments Co. Ltd.
Historical and Descriptive.” Office of Engineering, 1896
218 Selected Bibliography

Yonezawa, Yoshie. “The Shipbuilding Industry.” In Ryutaro Komiya, Masahiro Okuno,

and Suzumura, Kotaro (eds.), Industrial Policy of Japan. Tokyo: Academic Press
Japan, 1988, pp. 425–449.
 Index
15 Cruiser Bill, 90 Atlantic, 108, 140, 143, 159, 165, 167–
1799 Vessel Act, 140 170, 175, 176, 191, 202
Ayre brothers, 57
Admiralty, 14, 16, 21, 23, 24, 30, 69, 73,
75, 76, 79, 81–83, 86, 100–106, 108, Barclay Curie, 103, 120, 123
112–117, 119–121, 124, 125, 133–135, Barlow, Robert, 101, 111, 112
180, 190, 195, 196 Barrow Shipbuilding Co., 28
Agglomeration, 3–12, 15, 16, 19, 20, 22, Barrow-in-Farness, 9, 25
24, 25, 29, 30, 36, 39–12, 44, 45, 47, Battle-cruisers, 42, 45, 51, 79, 85, 87, 89,
50, 57, 62, 68, 79, 88, 95, 96, 99, 105, 97
107, 108, 125–128, 130–132, 145, 148, Battleships, 22, 28, 30, 42, 46, 58, 60, 83,
156, 161–176, 192–195, 197, 203, 204. 85, 89, 97, 104, 113, 116, 117, 119,
See also names of agglomerations 120, 131, 139, 145–149, 151, 152, 154,
AlamedaYard, 61, 175 159, 164, 169, 171, 175, 202
Albina Engine & Machine Works, 89, 172 Beardmore, William, 21, 42–44, 49, 55,
Alloa yard, 55, 70, 122, 182 75, 76, 83, 101, 114, 123
America(n), 13, 14, 18–20, 30, 3 7,41, Belfast, 24, 25, 49, 51, 55, 65, 71, 78, 79,
45–49, 57, 58, 60–62, 85–88, 90, 96– 81, 83, 103, 106, 109, 114, 119, 123,
100, 115, 118, 123, 124, 138–141, 143, 125, 127, 129, 130, 132, 194, 195, 198
145–148, 154, 156, 157, 159, 160, 162, Bellingham Iron Works, 157
164, 168, 170, 174, 178, 189–193, 200– Bethlehem Quincy Shipyard, 85, 87–89,
204 90, 143, 149, 153, 160, 170
American Bridge, 157 Bethlehem San Francisco yard, 87, 89
American International Shipbuilding BIW (Bath Iron Works), 46–18, 59, 87
Corporation, 62, 96 Blyth, 43, 121, 123, 134
Ardrossan Dockyard, 122 BofS (Bureau of Ships), 143, 144, 145,
Armstrong, William George, 21, 22, 25, 147, 150, 152
197 Boston, 18, 19, 87, 89, 149, 151, 153,
ASW (anti-submarine warfare), 50, 51, 164, 166, 167, 169, 170, 202
58–61, 85, 104–106, 108, 114, 115, Bristol Channel, 51, 53, 82, 127, 128
117, 118, 120, 121, 134, 135, 140, 145, Britain, 13-15, 20–22, 40, 42, 45, 46, 48,
149, 158, 196 50, 58, 62, 67, 68, 70–72, 76, 78, 82,
85, 86, 88, 90, 97, 98, 100, 102, 104,
220 Index

109, 114, 115, 118, 121, 125, 136, 137, Daniels, Josephus, 58
154, 155, 164, 178, 189–193, 197–199, Delaware River, 19, 47, 48, 62, 89
201, 203, 204 Delaware River Iron Shipbuilding and
Brown, John, 23–25,42–44, 49, 55, 73– Engine Works, 19
75, 83, 84, 107, 114, 119, 120, 192, Destroyer, 30, 44–46, 48–50, 58–61, 67,
197, 198 73,97, 105, 114, 116–120, 123–125,
Bureau of Yards and Docks, 150, 152 129, 132–135, 137, 139, 140, 145–152,
Burntisland Shipbuilding, 56, 57, 103, 155, 157, 159, 164, 169–176, 178, 196–
121 200, 202, 203
Detroit, 10, 59, 174
Calship, 155, 172 Devonport, 16, 42, 49, 82, 83, 131
Cammell Laird, 22–25, 42, 43, 45, 49, 74, Doxford, 43, 44, 71, 83, 103, 135
79, 82, 83, 119, 123, 132, 192, 197, 198 Dreadnoughts, 42, 43, 45, 48, 50, 73, 87,
Chandler, William, 19 199
Charleston Naval Yard, 88 Duthie, J. F., 88
Chatham, 16, 45, 49, 50, 64, 75, 77, 83,
131 Eagle boats, 58–60
Chepstow’s National Shipyard, 51, 52, Eastern Shipbuilding, 47
54, 57, 71–73, 76, 82, 108, 123, 126 E-class boat, 49
Chicago Bridge & Iron Co., 157 Economies of scale, 5, 38, 39, 96
CID (Committee of Imperial Defense), Electric Boat, 46, 89, 149, 171, 193, 202
80, 83 Eleven Percent Act, 140, 146
Clark shipbuilder, 71 Elswick, 21, 22, 56, 74, 84
Cleveland Dockyard, 81 Emergency Construction Program, 140
Clyde, 20, 21, 23–25, 29, 30, 43–46, 49– Emergency Fleet Corporation, 62, 96
52, 55, 71, 76, 77, 78, 82, 83, 85, 105, Emergency Landing Craft Program, 141
106, 108, 119–123, 125–130, 132, 135, Emergency Ship Yards, 62, 86, 88, 144,
194–197 149, 150, 155–157
Clyde agglomeration, 42, 55 English Channel, 16
Clydebank, 21, 24, 73, 75, 107 English East Coast, 82, 127, 128
Collis Potter Huntington, 46 English Steel Corporation, 75, 84
Columbia River Shipbuilding, 88 Europe, 45, 62, 67, 139, 146, 160, 200
Connecticut, 46, 47, 60, 87, 151, 164,
167, 171, 175 Fairfield, 21, 23, 42, 44, 49, 55, 71, 73,
Connell, Charles, 103, 123 83, 108, 119, 120, 123, 155, 158, 171,
Consolidated Steel, 149, 155, 157, 172, 197
173 Federals’ Kearny, 87, 89, 143, 149, 153,
Controlled Materials Plan, 160 200
Coral Sea, battle of, 145 Five Percent Naval Expansion Act, 140
Cramp Brothers, 86, 87, 149, 154, 200 Five Powers Naval Treaty, 67, 86, 89, 90,
Crescent Shipyard, 47 Flanders coast, 49
Cruisers, 28, 42, 44–46, 48, 50, 51, 58, Ford Motor Company, 59
60, 67, 73, 74, 79, 83, 87, 89, 90, 97, Fore River, 46–48, 59–61, 193
104, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 129, Forth Shipbuilding, 55
132–134, 139, 145, 148, 149, 151, 154, France, 16, 67, 97, 140
169, 171, 175, 195, 197, 202, 203 Furness Shipbuilding, 57, 71, 198, 199

Dalmuir Naval Construction Works, 101, General Board, 58,60, 89, 90

107 Geneva Naval Limitations Conference of
Dalmuir yard, 21, 55, 75 1927, 67
Index 221

German, 2, 4, 42, 45, 47, 49, 50, 57, 58, Lend-Lease Program, 140
70, 85, 108, 113, 124, 130, 137, 140, Leslie, Hawthorn, 43, 45, 83, 119, 120,
191 123, 125, 197
Govan yards, 20–23, 49, 83, 106, 119, Liberty Ships, 98
120, 123, 197 Light cruisers, 44, 45, 50, 58, 60, 86, 149,
Gray, William, 55, 70, 103, 106, 134 154, 169, 171
Graythorp-n-Tees yard, 55, 70 Location theory, 2, 3, 5, 12, 13
Great Britain. See Britain Lodge, Henry Cabot, 58
Great Lakes, 60, 148, 154, 156–158, 165, London, 15, 20, 30, 47, 71, 79, 108, 123,
167–170, 172–175, 178, 203 124, 136, 151
Great War. See World War I Londonderry, 55, 70, 108, 126
Greenfield sites, 22, 40, 41, 47, 102 London Naval Conference, 67
Gulf Shipbuilding, 149, 154 London Naval Treaty, 67, 75, 90
Gulfport Boiler & Welding, 157 Los Angeles Shipbuilding & Drydock, 88,
89
Hamilton, William, 85 Low Walker Merchant yard, 74
Hampshire yards, 17, 18, 45, 82, 83, 120 Ludwig, Daniel K., 99
Hannay, Robert, 26
Harlan & Hollingsworth, 46, 47, 87 Machine Works, 89
Harland & Wolff, 49, 52, 55, 79, 81, 83, Mackay, Donald, 19
103, 106, 108, 119, 122, 123, 125, 127, Maine, 13, 12, 46, 155, 166, 167, 169–
198 171, 175
Harvey, Augustus, 46 Manitowoc Shipbuilding, 87, 149, 166,
Haverton Hill, 57, 120 174, 203
H-class boat, 49 Mare Island Naval Yard, 18, 48, 59–61,
Hog Island Yard, 62, 88, 96, 99 85, 87–90, 149, 151–153, 171, 202
Holland, John Philip, 46 Maritime, 8, 9, 14–16, 19, 20, 25, 30, 32,
Hudson River, 60, 151, 175 50, 96, 115, 118, 198
Hunter, Swan, 43, 45, 49, 55, 70, 83, 105, Maritime Commission, 98–100, 141–144,
108, 119, 123, 134, 150, 197, 202 146–150, 152–159, 163, 165, 171–174,
176
Internal production economies, 5, 8 Marshall, Alfred, 2, 9–11
Isaac Rice Electric Boat, 46 Martin, Gavin, 101
Isambard Kingdom Brunel, 15 Maryland Steel, 47
Isard, Walter, 8, 26 Maryland Yards, 89, 143
Merchant Marine Act of 1936, 100
Japan, 11, 45, 47, 58, 67, 70, 89, 90, 100, Merchant yards, 43, 49, 74, 81, 104, 114,
118, 140, 143, 189, 191–193, 200 116, 120–123, 133–135, 165
Jutland, battle of, 58 Midway, battle of, 116, 145
Milford Haven, 16
Kaiser, Henry J., 100, 155, 156 Ministry of Shipping, 101
Kansas City Structural Steel, 157 Ministry of Supply, 112
Keiretsu, 11 Ministry of War Transport, 101
Kennebec River, 14 Monitor, 120
King, E. J., Admiral, 159, 160 Monmouth Shipbuilding Co., 71, 72
Moore, Charles, 10
Laing and Short, 103 Moore, Samuel, 47
Lake Torpedo Boat Corporation, 60, 87, Moore Shipbuilding, 87, 89
164 Moran, Robert, 10, 11, 46
League of Nations Naval Disarmament MTP (Minimum transport cost point), 3,
Conference, 67 5–7, 11, 13, 40
222 Index

Musgrave Channel, 55 Palmers’ Jarrow yard, 42, 43, 45, 49, 55,
75, 76, 101, 108, 134
National Industrial Recovery Act, 139 Parkhead Forge, 20, 75
National Shipyards, 48, 52–54, 102, 108, Patrol boats, 50, 114, 156
202 Pembroke Dock, 16, 45, 75, 78, 108, 129
Naval Affairs Committee, 139 Philadelphia, 18, 19, 46–48, 61, 62, 86,
Naval Construction Works, 75, 101 87, 96, 148, 149, 151, 153, 154, 164,
Naval Emergency Fund, 59 166, 167, 170, 175, 202
Naval Expansion Act of 1916, 58, 60, Philadelphia-Camden agglomeration, 88,
139, 140 169
Navy, 9, 16–19, 22, 28, 45–49, 58–61, 80, Philadelphia Naval Yard, 90, 170
86, 89, 102, 113, 114, 116, 123, 138– Pickersgill, William, 106, 121, 123
144, 146–159, 168, 171–173, 175, 176, Pigott, William, 11
178, 196–203. See also Royal Navy Plant Site Board, 143
Navy Board, 17 Plymouth, 16, 18
Navy yards, 18, 19, 58–69, 123 Pollard, Sidney, 20, 43
NCA (Naval Construction and Porter, Michael, 8, 10–13, 20, 193
Armaments Co.), 26 Portsmouth Dockyard, 17
Netherlands, 16 Portsmouth Naval Yard, 60, 61, 149, 171,
New England, 47, 155, 171 198, 202
New Jersey, 46, 47, 89, 124, 143, 151, PSOC (Principal Supply Officers
156, 167, 169, 170, 176 Committee), 80, 84
New London, 47, 151 Puget Sound, 60-61, 87, 90, 149, 152,
Newport News shipbuilding, 46, 48, 59, 153, 172, 193, 202
85, 87, 88, 90, 153, 202
New York, 18, 19, 47, 48, 60, 62, 85, 87, Rendel, George, 21
96, 148, 151, 153, 156, 161, 162, 164, Risdon Iron Works, 61
166, 167, 169, 170, 175, 178, 202 Roach, John, 19, 46
New York Naval Yard, 46, 61, 88, 90, Robb, Henry, 70, 121,122
151, 169 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 88–90, 138–140,
New York Shipbuilding, 46, 48, 59, 61, 144
85, 87, 89, 90, 143, 149, 153, 154, 202 Royal Dockyards, 16, 30, 42, 45, 49, 75,
Nixon, Lewis, 47 77, 81–84, 105, 119, 131, 178, 195, 196
Norfolk, 18, 48, 59–61, 85, 87, 89, 99, Royal Navy, 24, 42, 47, 73, 76, 154, 196,
148, 149, 151, 153, 202 197, 199
Norfolk Naval Yard, 59, 88, 171
North-East Coast agglomeration, 42, 81, San Francisco, 46, 59–61, 143, 149, 164,
121, 125, 126 166, 167, 171, 201, 202
Northumberland Shipbuilding, 71, 72 Santa Cruz, battle of, 145
Northwest Steel, 88 Savannah Machine & Foundry Co., 80–
NSS (National Shipbuilder’s Security), 85, 157
74, 76, 81, 84, 101 SC3 (Supply Committee III), 101–104,
119, 122, 123, 126, 135
Office of Procurement, 144 Schneider, Henry, 26
Oregon Shipbuilding, 155, 162, 172 Schwab, Charles Michael, 47, 49
Scottish East Coast, 70, 121, 122, 126–
Pacific coast, 46, 167, 168–170, 172 128, 130
Pacific Northwest, 87, 164, 172, 175 Scott’s Greenock yard, 42, 44, 49, 119,
Pacific Northwest agglomeration, 88, 164, 120, 123
175 Sea power, 1, 45, 189
Pallion High Yard, 55
Index 223

Seattle, 10, 46, 88, 149, 154, 164, 167, USS Augusta, 90
169–172, 193, 200, 201 USS Chester, 90
Seventy Percent Naval Expansion Act, USS Chicago, 90
139, 140 USS Houston, 90
Shipbuilding Conference, 101, 103, 105, USS Louisville, 90
106, 116, 126, 196 USS Pensacola, 90
Shipbuilding Priorities List, 144, 159 USS Ranger, 90
Shipping Board Corporation, 62, 86–88, USS Salt Lake City, 90
98
Skinner and Eddy, 88 V-Boats, 89
Smith, Leatham D., 203 Venn diagram, 6
Smith, Wilfred, 13, 19 Versailles Treaty, 67
Social agglomeration, 5, 6 Vickers, 42, 43, 45, 49, 50, 55, 70, 73–75,
Southwick Yard, 55, 70, 105 79, 82–84, 119, 122, 123, 132, 134,
Sparrow’s Point, 47, 89, 201 136, 137, 199
Squantum Yard, 59, 61 Victory Ship, 98, 148
Standard Shipbuilding & Engineering, 51, Vinson, Carl, 139, 140
52 Vinson-Trammel Act, 139
Submarine Act, 140 VJ Day, 141
Submarine Boat Shipbuilding, 88, 96
Submarines, 28, 44–46, 48–50, 55, 58, 60, Walsh-Kaiser, 155, 171
61, 67, 73, 75, 83, 87, 89, 97, 104, 105, War Manpower Commission, 162
113, 116–120, 130–134, 137–142, 146, War Production Board, 143, 160
148, 149, 151, 152, 154, 158, 164, 170, War Shipping Act of 1916, 62
171, 174, 175, 180, 193, 198–200, 202 Washington, DC, 18, 154, 155, 157, 172
Sun Shipbuilding, 89, 143, 153, 201 Washington Naval Conference of 1921,
Swan, Charles Sheriton, 21 67
Swan, Henry Frederick, 21 Weber, Alfred, 2-8, 10–12, 15, 39, 40, 95,
Swanson, Claude A., 58 96
Welding Shipyard, 99
Tampa Shipbuilding, 153, 154, 159, 178 Western Front, 58
Thames, 1, 3, 15, 16, 18, 29, 30, 42, 124 Western Pipe & Steel Corp., 143, 153,
Thames agglomeration, 42 159, 172, 200
Thornycroft, John Isaac, 30, 44, 83, 120, Whitworth, Armstrong, 22, 25, 42, 43, 45,
123, 124, 198 49, 55, 73,–76, 105, 134, 136
Todd Shipbuilding, 86, 87, 154 Wilson, Woodrow, 58, 138
Trade Facilities Act, 75, 79, 100 Workforce, 3, 5, 9, 28, 37, 40, 52, 80, 87,
Triggs, William, 46 88, 96, 105, 109, 111, 133, 136, 138,
Two-Ocean Navy Act, 140, 146 146, 148, 152–154, 161–163, 191, 199,
Thuenen, Johann Heinrich von, 2, 3 200
World War I, 13, 22, 37, 38, 40, 48, 56,
U.S. See United States 60, 68–70, 73, 76, 83–85, 88, 95, 96,
U-boat, 51, 54, 58, 62, 102, 105, 108, 99, 101-103, 112, 114, 121, 124, 126,
140, 143, 145, 159 128, 130–137, 189
UIW (Union Iron Works), 46–48 World War II, 13, 37, 38, 60, 68, 76, 90,
United Engineering, 157 95, 100, 103, 121, 124, 128, 130–135,
United States, 18, 19, 45, 47, 58–61, 67, 138, 140, 154, 159, 160, 164, 168, 178,
68, 70, 85–87, 89–91, 96, 97, 114, 138– 189, 193–203
140, 144, 154, 155, 160, 161, 164, 171, Wye River, 52
175, 178, 193, 201, 203
United States Shipbuilding Company, 47 Yarrow, Alfred, 30, 44, 83, 125, 198
 ABOUT THE AUTHORS

MICHAEL LINDBERG is an associate professor of Geography at Elmhurst

College in Elmhurst, Illinois. His interests include naval and military geogra-
phy, geopolitical analysis and naval history. He is currently a LCDR in the US
Naval Sea Cadet Corps and is author of Geographical Impact on Coastal De-
fense Navies: Brown, Green and Blue-Water Fleets and Shipbuilding Indus-
tries (both with Daniel Todd) and The Persian Gulf Naval Arms Race: Myth or
Reality?

DANIEL TODD is a professor in the Geography Department at the Univer-

sity of Manitoba. He is the author of nine books, including two with Michael
Lindberg, and numerous journal articles. His research interests include eco-
nomic geography with a strong concentration in East Asian topics.