My mother arrived at Corby railway station many years ago, along with her four siblings, and a determined protective mother. The six of them had made the long steam train journey south from western Scotland where some of the world’s mightiest ships were built from the steel that Stewarts and Lloyds would produce. My grandfather, who should have been with them, had died suddenly shortly before, having spent his life as a steelworker on the banks of the Clyde. The lure of a new house and better paid jobs were all the incentive my grandmother needed to give her children a fresh start in the new town of Corby. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Nimmo family, all of whom lived in various locations: Occupation Road, Thoroughsale Road, Crawford Grove, Welland Vale Road, Rowlett Road, Gilchrist Avenue, Studfall Avenue: to name but a few. Mum rarely mentioned her family’s early life in Scotland, answering only when questioned that she would take me on a trip down the Clyde: one day. Sadly, that day never came, and to my knowledge, my mum never stood on Scottish soil again from her first arrival in Corby all those years ago to her dying day in 1978. In the 80’s and 90’s I would often think of mum whilst driving past Glasgow en route to Oban to catch the ferry for Mull. It wasn’t until 2003 whilst researching detail for a book about a ship that had been built in Govan, that I got my first real taste of Glasgow and the magnificence that is the River Clyde. It was that process that made me realise just how important the shipbuilding industry was, and still is, to the people of these islands. The cynic in me can’t help but think that any planned redundancies in Portsmouth, Govan or Scotstoun would all be part of a sickening political game that does nothing but undermine the vulnerable foundations on which our industrial heritage was built.