Did I say storm clouds were brewing at work? The first hint of it was when Thorn EMI announced that they were moving the Nucleonics factory operations from Edinburgh down to Beenham, Berkshire, where the MD lived. This must have been late 1980 or early 1981, I think. In any event, it was far too soon for me - we had only just moved back up to Scotland and, although I could have stayed with them by moving back down south, that wasn't a realistic option for us.
So what were we to do then? What I initially thought was a wonderful opportunity came along when a young American company bought the other half of Nuclear Enterprises' Edinburgh business - the ultrasound body scanning division. Fischer Imaging I think they were called then - based in Denver, Colorado and run by two relatively young businessmen. Morgan Fischer was the more dynamic, techie/marketing type person and his partner, Kinney Johnson looked after the other stuff, like finance and admin etc. They were in the same industry sector and had apparently done pretty well with their American company, and they had heard about Thorn EMI moving out of the ultrasound imaging market and the opportunity to acquire it was too good for them to pass up.
Their plan was for Morgan to stay in USA and continue to run that operation, with occasional visits to Scotland, but a new company was set up - Fischer Ultrasound Ltd. - and this was to be Kinney's baby. They needed a management team as well and I was offered the Finance position. Up to this point in time, I had worked only in big companies since qualifying and leaving the profession, but this would be my first front line position, with nobody above me to report to in my function - only the MD.
I didn't quite fully grasp at first what this meant. It was only when Kinney called a meeting of the entire workforce (120 or so) to formally announce the acquisition and introduce themselves that the penny suddenly dropped. He formally introduced his management team to the workers - "and Ian Stewart will be our Director of Finance". Gulp - Director, did he say? I didn't realise it at the time but this was the first - but not the last - time when American terminology was slightly at odds with our understanding of the English language. However, for the time being, I took it at face value - I was now a Director of the company.
We had a photoshoot to announce the formation of the company and the fact that Fischer had acquired the business and saved the jobs:
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| Kinney Johnson at the front, with the senior Managers/Directors in the row behind: George Bowie (Sales); Brian Fraser (Technical); me & Robin Fowler (Production). In the back row, I remember Allan Cole - a real boffin - Jenny Loveland in marketing on the left and Pat, our stroppy secretary second on the right. |
I loved it - it was luxurious and massive inside - plenty of space for our ever-increasing family. Over time, however, we learnt that the soft springing, especially in the rear, contributed to our kids' travel sickness issues.
I'm not sure when exactly the penny dropped and I realised I wasn't actually a legal Director of the company. I have since learned that what we call Directors in this country - a statutory position, governed by law, with appropriate legal responsibilities - is called a Vice President/Officer of the company in America, and when Americans use the phrase "Director of ...", they are generally referring to the next most senior manager in each function, one level down from VP. Anyway, Kinney never demurred when I ordered my car, nor when it was delivered - he just wasn't the confrontational type - a trait that he could have done with a bit of, it later transpired.
The initial days of Fischer Ultrasound were interesting enough - we were starting, basically, with a blank sheet of canvas in many areas. Few staff, no systems, no computer, no bank - and very little money. I had to recruit a Financial Manager to help me out and I found Cliff Deans, a rugby lover from Gala. We got on very well and he was a big help to me - and friendly too. He invited us down to Gala to meet his family and to watch his local team play. At the time, the Borders teams - Hawick, Gala, Melrose - were the top tier of Scottish rugby, and formed the core of the international team. I had already started going to Murrayfield to see all of Scotland's home matches, so club rugby was a step further in my assimilation in to the customs of our adopted home in the East. I even spent a full day with Cliff at the Melrose Sevens, the birthplace of that particular form of rugby.
We still managed to get to France on holiday most years, despite being based 400 miles further north. We had enjoyed camping - it was all we could afford anyway - and one way of overcoming the distance was to try fly/camp holidays. This kept the price down but also gave us the opportunity of going a bit further south than Brittany and the Vendée, where we'd been before. The South of France beckoned - we found a campsite at Port Grimaud, not too far from St. Tropez. It was a newly constructed port, built as a mini-Venice, with waterways everywhere:
Our campsite was inland, away from the waterways. We used to love walking to the local hypermarché to do our shopping - it seemed so much better than our supermarkets at home - almost exotic to us. The 2 other memories I have of that holiday were going to the local disco in the evening and drying out after a huge downpour.
Lucy was in her element at the disco - the big hit of the day was the Gap Band's "Oops upside your head" and the dance that went with it involved everyone sitting in a line on the floor as if rowing a longboat, whilst leaning to one side then the other. Kelly meanwhile is being held by Jo, on her hip, sucking her thumb - I can picture the photo - must look it out.
Jo was a novice camper and didn't know that you don't rest anything against the canvas - particularly if it rains - which it did one day - in spades. Everything inside our tent got soaked. We were sleeping on foam mattresses and they became giant sponges. Every day after the downpour, we would hang them over the top of our tent to dry out in the sun, then take them in overnight to sleep on. It was alright for the first hour or so, but slowly the damp crept up through the mattress leaving you feeling cold and clammy.
Back at work, the Scottish Development Agency (SDA) had helped the new company set up and, as a result, we, of course, had to keep them involved in how the company was doing. The primary reason for the SDA's involvement was jobs, and they were aware that the new company had "inherited" under UK employment law legislation, agreements with two unions which gave them full negotiating powers for all of our hourly paid workers. The personnel expert at the SDA was none other than John Beattie - father of the current Radio Scotland sports presenter and former Scottish rugby internationalist, and grandfather of his son Johnnie, who has also played for Scotland.
At home, Jo now had the family car full-time and was able to shuttle Lucy, Gary and Kelly around a bit easier. Jo was still a fairly inexperienced - and cautious - driver, having only fairly recently passed her test. It came as a complete shock to me when I discovered she had been done for speeding one day. I don't think she's ever got over the shame (in her eyes) either.
We had come across a couple of problems in our new house. Our previous house in Broxbourne had been a brand new build, but this one was, I guess 10-15 years old and there were bound to be some signs of wear and tear. A minor one that really upset Jo for years was the bath, which had a couple of chips in the ceramic - enough to put Jo off from using it for a long while. Mind you, this was the woman who had managed to last a whole fortnight without using the loo when we were on one of our French camping holidays - the toilet block only had typically French holes in the ground, and Jo wasn't able to bring herself to use them. She was pretty bloated and jaundiced by the time we got home!
The main issue in our new house, however, was the heating, which was by hot air blown around through various grilles in each room. It was reasonably efficient, but, when it came on, it blew tiny bits of dust around the house. Kelly had developed what we thought were asthmatic symptoms and had gone from a fairly sturdy toddler to a quite poorly one who couldn't get her breath properly. It transpired that she was allergic to dust mites and it meant Jo had to develop a fairly rigorous dusting and cleaning regime each day.
Lucy had a nasty injury to her leg at school one day - she still bears the scars to this day. I also recall Dawn staying with us for a while when she was doing a course at Dunfermline College of PE.
These incidents apart, I don't have that many memories of what was happening at home from 1981 to 1983 - I was so absorbed in the issues I was facing at work. Fischer U/S were struggling to sell their scanners. Initially leaders in the technology internationally, they had struggled to update the product range and had now been overtaken by the American and Japanese competition, which came from large corporations with deep pockets. Thorn EMI knew what they were doing when they sold the division whose products looked tired and outdated. The lead product was called NE 4102 and was a huge machine - nothing like the small portables in use nowadays:
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Partly in an effort to redress this problem, Kinney Johnson decided to bring in 2 young graduates from their American set-up. Ron Shores and Carter Yates were nice guys - I got on with them both very well, but I detected a whiff of resentment from our Technical team who, a little cynically, feared that Fischer planned to use them to learn, then ultimately transfer the technology back to USA. Even if there was some truth in this, harbouring such resentment and being ultra defensive about collaborating could only result in this becoming a self-fulfilling prophesy in the long run.
I had played a bit of squash with Kinney, who was initially resident in the Dalmahoy Hotel, not far from our home in Balerno, but he was a better player than me as I was still learning to play the game. The arrival of Carter and Ron, however, gave me 2 regular playing partners who were more of a match for me then. We started off on the Dalmahoy courts but then progressed to lunchtime matches at the new Snooker & Squash Club on Slateford Road, owned by local legend Bert DeMarco, and bearing his name. We got to the stage where we were playing so regularly and getting a bit more serious - and better - that it became worth our while to join a proper squash club, so all three of us became members of Colinton Castle Squash Club (http://www.colintoncastle.co.uk/).
Squash was a thirsty business and I took it as my duty to educate our American colleagues in the ways of real ale. One of our favourite haunts, which was also handy for Murrayfield matches, was the Athletic Arms, then known locally as the Diggers - it was immediately opposite a graveyard. A very traditional pub, it's a bit of a shame in a way that it's now actually changed its name to The Diggers:
In turn, our American friends tried to educate us a little in their ways too - Carter Yates, in particular. He had a bit of a crush on Brenda, the girl who acted as secretary to Kinney and I (the formidable Pat in the photo above had long gone by now) and so he invited us - and Brenda - to dinner at his flat, and that was our first introduction to the world of brownies - lovely:
Our stay in Edinburgh had allowed us to experience the joys of the Fringe close up. Of course, it was difficult for Jo and I to get out to the evening shows, but I have very fond memories of going along to weekend daytime shows, ostensibly for children, but the performers were generally smart enough to play it on 2 levels, given the number of parents there with their offspring.
Our folks would come through to Edinburgh occasionally, but generally, we would be the ones that would travel to the West most of the time. I remember going to see the Jags at Tynecastle with my Dad - but not Easter Road - I wonder why?
By 1982, Kinney had had enough of living in hotel rooms and decided to buy one of the upmarket flats in Heriot Row in the New Town - definitely one of the premier addresses in Edinburgh social circles. Kinney liked to "schmooze" - and he was very good at it. He was an impressive talker and came to be very well regarded in Edinburgh business circles. He had the right image - nice little Porsche sports car, dressed well, good address - but he came to realise he lacked just one thing - a trophy wife who could partner him at these social events. He didn't think the circles in which he was travelling regarded a man on his own as being quite right somehow. So enter Vicki, shipped in from USA, and very shortly she became Mrs. Johnson. She was very nice actually - and she made a good partner for Kinney.
However, it was all very well maintaining good business relations, but, ultimately, there had to be a good business behind all the talk, and this is where it all unravelled. The losses were mounting and cash was getting very tight - the bank were monitoring very closely and it became a really stressful time trying to somehow convince them that it would all come good in the end - all we needed was more time for new product designs to come to the market - especially when, deep down inside, I don't think I really believed it myself. The R & D boffins, the Technical team, Marketing gurus and, most of all, Kinney himself, kept telling me that the next generation of products would be wonderful. I found it really hard to formulate an opinion as the technology was beyond me and I didn't really know the market place either.
Kinney and I never had harsh words, but there was one occasion where he insisted on a bit of creative accounting. I wasn't really happy with it - it wasn't wrong, but it was a little misleading I felt, and I kept querying him about whether we should do this or not, but he stuck to his guns and I relented. It mattered not a whit anyway in the greater scheme of things - the business was leaking like a sieve and this was a relatively minor issue.
Allied to the financial pressures - only Kinney and I knew exactly how bad things were, although others suspected - was pressure from the unions. Like a lot of other stuff, Personnel/HR had landed on my lap. I had no experience, training nor skills, but I did what I could in increasingly pressurised situations. Although the company was fairly small, it had come from a larger company which had very militant union reps, and our business was going through a torrid time and needed to downsize quickly if it was to survive. A slightly absurd example of this inheritance from Nuclear Enterprises was our wiring workers, who numbered only 4. Their rep was a burly local (and a Hibs fan) called Tam Devine. I actually got on rather well with him, but it was ridiculous that they had as much say in the negotiations as the General Workers' Union who represented the majority of the hourly paid employees.
The combined financial and union pressure really got to me and I honestly thought I was going to have a breakdown at one stage. I vividly recall one particular (non-union) meeting that I was holding in my (very spacious) office when I couldn't even hold a cup of tea without trembling wildly. Even using two hands, I couldn't get the cup to my lip. I developed facial tics as well - all the classic symptoms of stress, although I didn't seem to fully recognise it myself at the time. I should have cut and run, but I felt I would be letting everyone else down, so I stuck things out to the bitter end.
It wasn't long before the end came, although there were a few false dawns along the way. Kinney was still talking to other companies about collaborations, mergers etc., and one of these discussions led to me having to arrange a high level meeting with Livingston Council to discuss a huge, brand new factory. I'm sure I was far from convincing at the meeting - I knew deep down inside that the chances of this coming off were less than slim. If it had been a realistic possibility, Kinney himself would have held the meeting with the Council - and I suspect they knew that too.
Kinney did at least offer me the safe haven of a job at their US HQ in Denver. They had a financial man over there - name of Fred Rummenniger (or something like that). I had several telephone calls with Fred about where exactly I would fit in and what I would do if I took the job. He tried hard, but I wasn't really convinced there was an important job there for me - it seemed they were trying to create something, partly out of guilt, and/or gratitude for what I had done at Fischer Ultrasound. I didn't doubt their offer was genuine, but it didn't really feel like the right move for me, and, besides which, by now Jo was expecting again - Ross was on the way. It was a bad time to up sticks and move the family to another continent and a new home almost 4,500 miles away.
What would have been nice, however, would have been a free trip to have a look at the area, but I think they wanted me to commit to accepting the job before flying me and the family over for what would really have been just a nice little holiday break for us.
As we knew they would, all the collaboration and merger talks fell apart and Fischer Ultrasound Ltd duly went in to liquidation and whilst I would be needed for a few weeks to help wind matters up, it was time to start looking for a new job. After all, there would shortly be six mouths to feed.
I contacted an agency and they put me in touch with Continental, the tyre manufacturing company based at Newbridge, not far from our home. After the usual round of interviews, I was offered the job and I accepted. I even attended one of their management get-togethers prior to officially starting with them. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the position however. I could already detect the management style was pretty intense and all-enveloping - very much the American management style of the times - a bit like I had experienced at ITT, but even more so perhaps. I was still very fragile after my Fischer experience and I didn't need any more stress.
We also needed money - and this new job didn't have a company car, a perk we had got very used to. It would have meant us buying another car - or alternatively, me taking our family car to work every day, leaving Jo without wheels. I think that was why, when the agency got in touch with me again, saying there was another potential opportunity for me with a major UK food processing group (Unigate) who were looking for a Financial Controller for their Aberdeen based operation - and there was a car included in the package - plus removal expenses etc - that I agreed to travel up there and meet the local management of Clipper Seafoods.
I was interviewed initially by Bill Hazeldean, then Sales Director, and Dr. Francis Clark, MD, whose family had sold the business to Unigate in 1981. We got on well and so it was arranged for me to come back and meet the Unigate group personnel and this was organised for one night over dinner at the Lairhillock restaurant (http://www.lairhillock.co.uk/). I got on equally well with David Bullough and Peter Hanby and I was offered the job - and, after talking it through with Jo, I accepted and so our next house move was on the way.
Just one problem - I now had accepted 2 jobs - how could I let Continental Tyres know I wasn't coming to join them after all? I contacted the agency and they said they would break the bad news to them. The Group FD wasn't very happy with me and threatened to report me to my Institute for "improper/immoral behaviour". In the end, he didn't, but it was a concern for a while.
Ross' birth was imminent, so I arranged to start work at Clipper on Monday 19th September, 1983, which allowed me a couple of weeks at home after he was born before heading north. My work with Fischer was finished and there was to be a gap in monthly income, so, for the first time in my life, I signed on at the dole. I got one week's money, but it was a fairly chastening experience queuing up in the dole office.
Realising that we now had to put our house in Balerno on the market, I had to arrange for a long-outstanding job to be completed. We'd had patio doors fitted on to the back room of our house, but there was a drop from the house down to the back garden and, for a year or more, we'd had some loose slabs/stones there which we used to step down onto. We needed to get this sorted before trying to sell the house.
Over the summer of 1983, I managed to play a few rounds of golf at Dalmahoy with my American squash partners - they were novices too and it was good to learn the game with equally incompetent people!
Soon, however, the next chapter in our lives was to begin - and the new job could only be better than my experience in Edinburgh had been surely? The Fischer experience was the worst time in my life and I certainly didn't want any repetition of that.
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