The era of silent film coincided with one of the most frenetic periods of activity for British shipping and shipbuilding. The rivalry between Imperial Germany and Britain led to a major naval arms race resulting in the commissioning of new classes of warship (most notably the dreadnoughts), submarines, cruisers, torpedo boats and ancillary naval vessels. A significant propaganda war accompanied this increase in production. Events such as ship launches and fleet reviews became elaborately stage-managed pieces of naval theatre, courting the press and other media, of which newsreel companies such as Topical Budget and Gaumont British Instructional were a key part. The launch of the HMS Dreadnought by King Edward VII in 1906 is a good example of the way that ceremonies, which had become increasingly formalised in the nineteenth century, were co-opted by the government for propaganda purposes. Once, the launch - even of a warship - had been a matter for the shipyards, its workers and the local community; now it was presided over by royalty, the Admiralty and local dignitaries, as well as the Church of England, who developed special services including the reading of Psalm 107, containing the famous line 'They that go down to the sea in ships'. The launch itself, when not presided over by the monarch, became more commonly the preserve of women - admirals' wives or local aristocracy - and involved the 'christening' of the ship, a pagan rite, and the all-important cutting of the rope that would release the ship onto the water. A launch was an event peculiarly suited to early film. Although the party could go on all day, the main event was of short duration; given the limitation of camera technology in terms of the length of rolls of film stock and the manoeuvrability of the camera, this was helpful. Furthermore, a huge vessel sliding down the slipway and crashing into the water was naturally dramatic. All the cameraman had to do was take up a good position: at the launch of HMS Dreadnought, the Urban Company cameramen cover the event from two different angles - one at the foot of the slipway, to make the most of the close-up effect of the ship blocking out the sky as it passes the camera, and one from the top of the slipway, to see the ship crashing into the sea in a kind of instant replay. Shots of the King on his decorated platform and of the crowds (consisting of many thousands of people) complete the picture. In addition to this visual spectacle, these films would create a certain tension in the audience. There was an always element of risk involved in launches, and accidents did happen, perhaps most famously with the launch of HMS Albion in 1898. An estimated 39 people drowned when the wash from the ship hit a gantry crowded with spectators. Although Prestwich's film The Launch of HMS Albion at Blackwall does not show the accident itself, there was outrage in the press about the lack of taste shown by the film companies in exhibiting footage of the event at all. For shipyard workers and their families, a launch was often a bittersweet occasion. There was the great public celebration of the achievement, the years of work, and a job well done, but the launch could also signal the end of regular work. The industry's cyclical nature could have a significant impact on whole communities dependent on work in the shipyards. The sheer numbers of men employed on these grand projects were caught on film by early filmmakers like Mitchell and Kenyon, who were commissioned by travelling showmen to capture as many local people on film as possible, in order to attract audiences to their fairground film shows. Mitchell and Kenyon's factory gate films of Vickers and Maxim's and of Scott's shipyards show masses of workers spilling out of the yards, boys fascinated by the camera and preoccupied men in flat caps and hobnailed boots hurrying by. As the war with Germany approached, pressure on the shipyards commandeered for war production mounted. The 1913 film of the launch of HMS Lowestoft notes comfortingly that the cruiser will form part of Britain's 'first line of defence'. The darkest days of the war were so intense that the King himself was sent to the shipyards of the North East of England to boost morale. The unusually informal film of the event shows the workers on the bow of a ship cheering; an intertitle reads 'Sunderland workers vow to their King "We will deliver the ships"'. They did, but it was the end of this era of patriotic optimism, and trouble was coming for the shipbuilders. Bryony Dixon
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