Shipbuilding in Hull

I am, by nurture, a townie and have a suspicion and fear of things rural or sub-sub-urban. I take comfort in being surrounded by buildings and noise. My most fearful experience was standing in a country cottage  in deafening silence in terms of artificial and man made sounds. Apparently, people move to the countryside just to experience such peace and tranquility- weird. Although an urbanite I have also lived near rivers and other watercourses. Abingdon in my toddler years was an introduction to the Thames, Bury St Edmunds had a river. I can't recall the name but it must have been fairly major and navigable as Vikings regularly appeared in the early history of the town  to 'rape' and 'pillage', now incidentally two of Ikea's best selling open shelf bookcases. Brigg had a river that split in true bandy leg ricket style from south to north as a consequence of the old meandering course being by-passed with a canal straight to serve the marmalade factory. It was only upon moving to Hessle and Hull that I saw what a proper working river looked like. Dirty and muddy , choppy in windy weather, either full to the brim or snaking around sandbanks, dangerous with strong tides and currents, busy with shipping from the P&O passenger ferries and coastal freighters,a visiting naval frigate, huge car carriers taking Renaults up to Glews Hollow beyond Goole, low slung oil and fuel barges. With a massive river comes an equally significant history of trade, commerce, industry and shipping. I never saw the halycon days of Hull as a fishing port but heard tales and saw pictures of being able to walk from ship to ship all the way across Princes Dock- now occupied by a shopping centre. My father in law, George, Hull born and bred introduced me to the proud maritime heritage of the City. One of the many memorable experiences involved watching a sideways ship launch on the River Hull in the early 1990's. Myself and my two very young daughters got a prime viewing spot on the walkway of the blue painted metallic North Bridge with George as commentator. As a small child he had to have his head released from the riverside railings after a dare or accident. We never found the exact spot of bent ironwork. The Yorkshire Dry Dock Co had built a small freighter, a plain functional vessel and as far detached as possible from their earlier construction of The Ra, a River Nile Cruiser which, frankly, looked like a floating brothel. The excitement on the bridge and public access river bank walkways was like static in the air. The Civic representatives, ship owners and shipyard guests occupied a small red and white striped marquee on the quayside. The workforce stood suitably proud but humble either side. There must have been an official countdown on a tannoy because we joined in and then the bulk of red oxide superstructure began to edge over the dockside wall and slipped majestically into the tide swelled river. The ship rolled a bit and  like a weeble it wobbled but did not fall down. A great sight and with the added but expected bonus of a tidal wave which slapped the west bank, returned to nudge the ships hull and then repeated the cycle three or four times until diminishing to a mere ripple. A round of applause and a hearty cheer could be heard from the official party above the buzz of approval as the sizeable crowd dispersed. Sadly, I believe that was the last activity at the shipyard and business ceased shortly after.