BLACK MOLLY AND THE CROCODILE FIGHTER.

Black Molly was white, very white. She was so named because of her coal black dyed hair. A stark contrast to her pale Irish skin. A woman in her 60s, all surmised in reality it must be grey. But there never was as much as a hint to this, such was her attention to appearance.

Molly was a shipyard cleaner. Thin and delicate of form, she would have been more suited to tending tables in a 1930s Lyon's tea shop…perfectly matched to the black and white uniform 

Shipyard cleaners had the job of keeping the place tidy..welding rod ends …oily rags…burning slag, and any other working debris, small in nature, were swept up and placed in a bucket for disposal. Molly had style…. she carried her bucket like a Gucci handbag.

John Browns Shipyard had its own fire brigade. Stipulated by industrial law, it existed but was rarely used. The fire engine is now an exhibit in Glasgows Transport Museum. 

This service was manned by individuals from a broader spectrum of society. A shipyard is a dangerous place and management searching for a safe environment. …assigned them to the fire department. 

For the most part kept it kept the crew out of harms way. They had little else to do but polish the engine and maintain the equipment. Hence the engine, immaculate, evolved into a perfect museum exhibit. The engine hadn’t seen daylight in twenty five years and to combat boredom the crew were allowed to patrol the yard looking out for potential fire hazards.

The crew were uniformed…. two outfits between six. Shared by Charlie the Goul…Deeffy Bob…big Maxi…Wee Harry McCann…Dougie the Crab…and the Crocodile Fighter. Their attire was supplemented by personal purchases from the local Army and Navy stores. The only co-ordinating  items…John Browns standard issue ‘industrial wellies’ with steel toe caps.

The Crocodile Fighter stood out from this silver buttoned mishmash of grey and black because of his panache, exemplified by his unique interpretation of a fire service uniform. His physique shadowed the barrel-like body of Johnny Weissmuller…famed for his Hollywood role as Tarzan…

Pre, Vivian Westwood or John Paul Gaultier, the Crocodile Fighter had chose the string vest as iconic attire ..worn raw….and uncovered…..tucked into a pair of ex police trousers, in turn, tucked into standard issue wellies…At waist level… the whole lashed into place by a double stud row belt.. the trousers tops protruding like the end of a Christmas cracker. 

Hang a genuine 1940s fireman’s double breasted silver buttoned jacket, top it with a SMT bus inspectors cap. The bus badge removed and replaced by a Royal Scots Fusilier’s flaming grenade emblem..And behold… the Crocodile Fighter… a self defined image of a hero…

For reasons needing separate attention…the final touch to this ensemble… on his right flank …from the belt hung his weapon of choice…a bowie knife .. 9 1/2 inches of polished steel blade sheathed in a leather. The Bowie knife derives its name and reputation from Jim Bowie a notorious knife fighter who died at the battle of the Alamo in 1836.



There can only be two interpretations of a man compelled to carry a Bowie knife…..daft or dangerous. or a mixture of both. Regardless, this deadly weapon was to play a key role in the unfolding story…

In 1965 this Clydeside shipyard was commissioned to build a assault ship…the ‘Intrepid’. Nearing completion she was docked for her final fit-out. Designed to speedily reach her destination she then partly submerged filling her aft section  …a door would drop at her stern and an array of assault craft would emerge.

On her port and starboard sides two gantries ran from midship to stern overlooking the landing craft area and the dock.…It was the starboard side that Molly chose, strolling to the end every day just before 10am (pre tea break) to tip her bucket loaded bits into the dock. 

This was the ideal vantage point for the Crocodile Fighter to acquaint himself …and in relative silence prompt a date with his dream girl. He appeared almost every day…His attempts at chat up were abismal…tongue tied and clumsy…to many failures and diminishing hopes.

Under normal circumstances the Crocodile Fighter strutted around tightly clad in his attire…hat to brow. The close proximity of Molly prompted a peacock transformation. The hat would take a 30 degree list to starboard and a considerable backward slip. The double breasted jacket slung wide. Held apart by one hand noncholantly placed in the ample police trouser pocket …the other slung over the bowie knife…held in place by a firm grip on its handle. Thus was revealed in all its glory the barrelled body, stressing the string vest, looking like net wrapped roast beef in a butcher shop display.

There was only one way the two would form a bond of everlasting love…and thus an ideal story was formed…

The spring was high…bright but still, a slight chill hung in the air. Molly, bucket filled, stood at the gantry end. With a swing to gain momentum she slipped …screamed and plunging headlong into the chilly water of the dock. …the receding tide quickly caught her tiny struggling body, sweeping her towards towards the main river course and certain death. 

The Crocodile Fighter, who had appeared on cue …witnessed the tragedy unfolding. In a flash his welles and double breasted jacket were discarded. …running to the gantry’s end he lept into the air, formed a heroic dive and spectacularly sliced into the chilly waters …

Twice Molly had been dragged under by the cruel current…once more and she would be surely doomed…he reached her just in time…it was her black black hair that saved her…grasped as she sank into the murky depths for the last time. Against fierce current he dragged her limp body to a nearby dock punt and relative safety….

All this commotion had not gone unnoticed, attracting a crocodile which had escaped from Glasgow zoo and had been hiding in the river Cart.  It surfaced near this scene …read to strike …jagged toothed jaws wide… it lunged towards the limp body of Molly… 

With lightening speed the honed blade was unsheathed and the Crocodile Fighter dived beneath the predator …rising from the depths he plunged the knife into the soft underbelly of the great beast…the crocodile, not best pleased, turned on the hero and a savage battle ensued…twisting, thrashing and writhing, teeth and blade cut, slashed and stabbed…the murky dock waters turned blood red as the pair sank from sight…. the water stilled… marked only by the crimson of  rising blood. …and the flotsam of a shredded string vest…

Molly, semi conscious, had witnessed this great battle …tears filled her dark Irish eyes…her hero…sacrificed, had he died for her love…?

In waters stilled by rivers ebb 
no rushing tide to hear…
sun glint upon a blooded knife
gave hope to hearts despair
like excalibur from waters broke
a blade to heavens point 
and at its end a hero rose
and her soul was thus anoint 

It transpires that it was the string vest that saved the day. The crocodile, in its first attack got its jaws enmeshed in the netting. Unable to bite the Crocodile Fighter took advantage and killed the beast with multiple stabs and a swipe, slashing its throat. The only lasting damage a hole in the bum of his trousers and his vest ripped to shreds. Rescued from the dock the happy couple go on to live a blisfull life in social housing in Dalmuir…or so the story ends.

To quote the late Andy Warhol “Fantasy love is much better than reality love”

One day Molly simply disappeared. Simultaneously the head of the, perhaps aptly named caulkers department, went AWOL. It was  rumoured that both sought refuge and happiness in the Emerald Isle… never to return.

The news devastated the Crocodile Fighter. He swore never again to patrol and gave his beloved jacket and hat to Dougie the Crab. He sought sanctuary in the fire station, his days spent polishing the engine, enveloped in the incense of Brasso.

At the bottom of John Browns dock, buried in the mud, lies a rusting knife…deeply etched in its blade, a story of unrequited love.

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