MY BIOGRAPHY. |
1. At various times it has been the policy of the RNLI to sell off decommissioned Lifeboats. A decommissioned boat being one that has outlived its usefulness, in terms of design and operational capability, within the RNLI. Lifeboats do not 'ware out' as they are rarely used in terms of hours at sea compared to their time on station. They are superseded and become obsolete the result of design and development advancements. So when a boat becomes obsolete and is replace it is taken into a pool of reserve boats where, for a short period at least, it can be used to replace those damaged in service or out of operational service whilst being overhauled or even simply upgraded within the range of their capability and design. But eventually these boats are sold off. The majority find themselves sold to other countries and in particular to those within the developing world. Those that remain in the country are sold off relatively cheaply and end up in private ownership. The main reason they are sold so cheaply, when they cost so much to design, develop and build in the first place, is primarily because of the type of boat they are and the operating costs to run them. They are deigned and built with limited purpose in mind, speed, efficiency, and reliability in the most adverse of weather conditions being the main criteria. The actual cost of running and maintaining them is a very minor consideration to the RNLI and their hulls, made of very sophisticated materials, the complex electronics fitted, the mechanical equipment and vastly oversized engines, that drink fuel as if it is going out of fashion, are rarely taken into account when calculating the cost of saving lives. Also accommodation and creature comforts on board are at a premium. The entire layout and accommodation has one purpose, to get out in the worst of conditions, do the required job, and return safely, having rendered, every possible, assistance to the casualty. Therefore they are, sadly from a private owner's point of view, so finely balanced, in their construction, that it is virtually impossible to alter the internal and to a certain extent the external, layout without making the entire vessel unstable and therefore unusable for anything other than what it was originally conceived for. A large proportion, within the confines of the hull is taken up and occupied, with the self-righting equipment, an essential part of any modern lifeboat. So to remove that or attempt to reduce the engine size or fuel tank capacity would render the whole boat unstable and no Marine Surveyor or inspector would issue any operating certificates that might suggested or even hint at any form of instability. So although many people talk about buying 'old' Lifeboats, particularly among the serving and recently retired crews, very few do, as it is almost impossible to do anything with them even if you can afford to fuel and to insure them. 2. But I, like many more before me, and no doubt many more still to come, spent hours talking about the prospects of buying and running a 'retired' lifeboat. But like all those that had gone before me it never came to anything. That was until one day, two of the lads with whom I had severed, and who were currently still serving on the Scarborough Lifeboat, as Coxswain and Second Coxswain seemed to be taking it much further than just talking about it. They were actually going and looking at these retired boats and doing their sums. I had no money, hardly after having shortly before this time gone bankrupt, but my interest in what they were doing consumed me and I began to follow their progress every inch of the way, looking over their shoulders, if you follow what I mean, and in my opinion one of them, at least appeared to be approaching the whole thing in the right direction. Claud, the then serving Second Coxswain and now, like myself, having retired, began by researching and making enquiries as to what lifeboats were available and how much they were likely to cost. It turned out that the much older designs were the most practical but they were few and far between and not many had survived. However after having spent many hours and travelling hundreds of miles to look at several boats, many of them derelict and beyond redemption, he found one. A Liverpool Class Lifeboat in poor condition but not beyond repair and renovation. It was, is, a wooden hulled boat and was built in 1949 and saw all of its service, with the RNLI, while stationed at Clovelly, North Devon and where it was credited with saving several lives. When decommissioned it was sold of to a local authority that used it as a safety boat for various outward-bound activities. When it was replaced, by them, for a more modern and practical boat, it was left to rot, and it was in this derelict condition that Claud finally came across it. Claud and his then partner, Richard, entered into an agreement to have the hull surveyed and on accepting the findings and estimates of cost, transported the boat to one of the few remaining boat repair yards capable of renovating wooden hulls, at Pinmill, near Ipswich. Work, taking many months, and costing a lot more than originally estimated continued but sadly with the passing of time so did Richards enthusiasm. His original idea that it would give him something to do when he retired somehow lost its edge and his contribution became less and less. When the boat was finally finished and launched, amid a blaze of publicity from the boat yard, Claud approached me and asked if I would like to go along with him and bring her back North to Scarborough. I didn't realise but up to that point I must have still been slightly depressed the result of the bankruptcy and everything else that had happened the results of it, and I was still very tense, nervous and excitable and talked incessantly or so I have been told since, for the boost that offer gave me can not be put into words and will remain as one of the greatest thrills in my life. I will try not to bore you but I must tell you that when I first saw the boat, having been driven, for several hours, down to Ipswich by Sue, Clauds wife, who took us down there and then returned home with the car, she, the boat, was moored out in the river and was in pristine condition and shining like new, and there for all the world to see, in her original RNLI livery. A classic, restored, Lifeboat! What a site. Both of us new boys, on board that class of Lifeboat, knew there were many things to do and a tide to catch, much to the dismay of the Boat Builder and all his staff and their friends and relations and goodness knows how many others who would have all loved to go on partying and celebrating but we had to leave. A strange boat, with two inexperienced, with that type of boat, crewmen on board in a large commercial river that had masses of traffic plying in all directions and hundreds of commercial and pleasure craft moored up along every inch of the river banks and uncountable numbers of navigation buoys and markers to contend with, eased, at slow speed, gently down the river. With everything so new and strange, nerves were gangling and by the time we got among the big boys, passing the North Sea Ferry Terminal, round the Hook of Holland and where HMS Ganges can be seen on the South side of the estuary, a large cabin cruiser slowly overtook us and appeared to manoeuvre confidently between the than massive array and configuration of markers. Claud very casually remarked on how he seemed to know where he was going so instead of allowing him to pull ahead we increased speed and fell in behind him, following in his wake. As the estuary widened and the navigation hazards, as we felt all the markers were, lessened, the powerboat opened up and finally threading its way through the other traffic, headed south. We had to pick and follow those markers that would take us to the North. Finally things quietened down and we felt more confident as the markers grew less and less and the area of open water got bigger. We rounded the headland on the Northern bank of the river estuary and encountered our first taste of the North Sea and how our new boat would react to it. 3. It was a bit of a shock. The boat behaved perfectly and responded well to the engines and helm as we put her head into it. It was what she put her head into that was the surprise, for the swell was incredible and so up she rose before sliding down the other side to dip her head and send one, of what would be many, huge chunks of 'Green' water over us. No time to wonder if she was up to it or if she would continue to respond to the throttles and controls. All that would have to be learnt and learnt quickly as we headed steadily north. At least the radio worked, I had double checked that and made sure it was on the International distress hailing frequency of Channel 16. Claud just grinned. He was in his element. The hours past and we battled on with little chance of doing anything other than hang on. We saw very little other shipping and the only thing that broke the monotony was when we were abeam Aldeburgh and their Mersey Class Lifeboat, whether at sea on exercise or put to sea on purpose, came to have a look at us. As the light began to fade we picked up and identified the shore-based lights and compared them with our chart and were satisfied that we knew were we were. Very shortly we would, according to Claud and the chart and the information from it, passed to me as lookout and helmsman at the time, pick up the navigation lights that marked the safe passage into Lowestoft, our first planned stop and overnight stay. What lights? There were random markers, difficult to interpret in the rough sea but certainly no lights and the next thing we knew we were throttling back as a harbour entrance loomed before us. We could tell it was a harbour but it was difficult to make out the actual entrance until almost on top of it because one complete set of navigation lights, marking the entrance, were not even lit. Fortunately the seas conditions had fallen away as we came close in under the land and there was sufficient light emanating from the harbour and surrounding town for us to make our way in. By prior arrangement, made by Claud, we had permission to go alongside the Lifeboat pen and moor there overnight, thus saving harbour dues. Cold, wet and hungry we secured and battened down the boat and then hauled ourselves up the scaling ladders on to the harbour top. The only signs of life seemed to come from the Yacht Club and so we decided that we could start from there and make enquiries about overnight accommodation. We were made very welcome and invited in for a drink. Yacht Clubs are strange places and yachtsmen even stranger for although we were invited in we were ushered into an empty 'visitors' bar and treated very politely but left to look through to the other room where all the activity was taking place and despite the fact that we were left there alone and to a certain extent ignored, it did not stop them from trooping out to have a look at our boat or gather the following morning to wave us off. The steward, of the club, indicated where we might try for accommodation and we set out to find this guest house, which we were assured was easy to find as it would be lit up. We rang the doorbell and the door opened and out trooped a group of people, one of who informed us that as they had no one in so they were going out with friends and to try up the street. The next one along, with a light on, welcomed us in, showed us to a twin bedded room and informed us that, due to the lateness of the hour, there was no food available but we could have breakfast at any time we wished the following morning. We declined informing the young lady that we would be away around six in the morning as we had a long journey in front of us and would make out own arrangements for breakfast. We then went out looking for something to eat that evening as we were starving. The town, around the harbour area, was closed and the only directions we got, from our enquiries of passers by, was for a MacDonald's some distance away. I know it was late and there were only a few dozen youngsters in the place making a noise and in general being unruly but what we got for a ridiculous amount of money was disgusting. Stale bread buns, rubbery burger and dried up straw chips washed down with watered coke through a straw blocked with ice slush. I have not been in a MacDonald's since and have no plans to do so. 4. Back in the digs we draped our wet cloths over the central hating radiators and crashed out. At 5-30 in the morning a knock at the door told us that breakfast would be ready when we were. We thought that was fantastic at that time in the morning and what turned out to be on offer was incredible and we had, as a result, a first class breakfast. 5. We got underway sometime after seven having been delayed slightly while I went in search of a base ball cap to replace my old fur lined Coastguard hat that had been blown off and ended up in the sea and lost on the run up to Lowestoft. We were waved off by quite a large group in front of the Yacht Club, including some who, we assumed, had gone to great lengths to isolate us and keep us at arms length the night before. 6. The weather was the same as the night before, cold and overcast but the sea conditions had improved considerably and so we were able to move about more freely on deck and in general test and sort things out. Everything seemed fine except the Satellite Navigation System, which although it lit up and changed the display regularly didn't offer any information we could use, so it was back to the old fashioned method of chart and compass but most importantly the engines purred on as if they were brand new and not just reconditioned. 7. After a while the trip along the coast became a bit boring as we took turns on the wheel and waited for land marks and marker buoys to slip slowly past and drift away into the distance astern. 8. We talked a lot, or I suppose I did, and ate Sue's Cornish Pasties and made tea on a small spirit stove brought along for the purpose. 9. Several interesting things happen along that leg of the journey. At one point, according to chart and time, we were, according to our calculations, making very good progress and were pleased with the boat's performance, when it dawned on us that a particular landmark appeared to stand still and was taking its time to slip past. We came to the conclusion that it was the result of the very strong tides that ebb and flow north to south round the area of Cromer Point and we were heading north and at that particular time straight into it. That was only the start, for a few agonisingly slow miles further north and we were off the WASH and against the full flooding tide. For what seemed like forever but was never the less several long hours we were obliged to put the head north east and using full power struggle just to hold our position. The race into the Wash on a full flood tide and with a strong breeze behind it meant we had all on to hold against it never mind make any headway. As the tide slacked, prior to turning, the landmarks once again began to slowly slip past and we were again underway. 10. When it got dark we were obliged to become more compass and chart conscious and keep a sharp lookout for marker buoys and where they lay on our projected course. 11. We were approaching the Humber Estuary and as we got closer I took the wheel and Claud, chart in hand, gave directions and course to steer and pointed out the different illuminated buoys to head for or pass on this side or that. Things became quite tense as we steered among the very large commercial vessels that were all laid waiting for the right tide conditions and to be called by the Pilots into the estuary to complete their journeys to Hull, Immingham, Grimsby or Goole or wherever they were destined. More than once we had to take evasive action to avoid collision with trawlers that wove among them having little or no regard for anyone and on more than one occasion not even showing navigation lights or indicating, with hoisted cones, that they were indeed trawling. I was only because we could tell they were trawling, based on our own experience and something you become familiar with, that we were obliged, whether we had right of way or not, to take some quick evasive action to avoid them. 12. We had almost got through this mass of vessels and were beginning to breath a little easier when at random and slowly at first, more and more vessels began to show more and more deck and working lights. We then realised that they were all on the move and those that lay at right angles and on our Starboard side (right) were beginning to move across our bows. I increased or decreased speed and swung the wheel this way or that, according to the shouted instructions from Claud. Then without warning Claud came flying back from the bow and shouted that I needed to go hard to Port. I looked at the compass and informed him I was on the course he had given and it was clear ahead. 'Look behind you,' he bellowed and I glanced over my shoulder. Towering above us and bearing down on top of us was the bow of a Container type vessel that filled my entire field of vision. I think that if I had had the time I would have either been sick or filled my trousers or both, but by the time I swung the wheel full over and he slipped by, rocking us violently with his bow wave, it was too late to do anything but recompose and watch out for the changing scene ahead. Claud, always as calm as a cucumber, casually remarked that if he had run us down he would not even have been aware of the fact that he had done so. 13. Clear of all the shipping and once again out in comparatively open water and with the Spurn Light on our Port Quarter the weather began to deteriorate and as the wind got up, so did the swell. In a short time we were wallowing about and there were vast volumes of water everywhere and it was cold. In the deteriorating conditions using coastal observation for navigation became almost impossible and so for the end of that leg of our journey and our run up to Bridlington we had to rely more and more on the chart and compass, the GPS still giving out unintelligible information. We had discussed this problem and blamed the failure on our inability to use it, although it was straight forward enough and we were both familiar with it. We also blamed the satellites or the fact that the set had not tuned into the signals and anything else you might think of. The only thing that we did know was that it kept on shutting down and opening up again with an entirely different set of information to that which it should have been showing for the area we were in. Later we would discover that the aerial had gone down, perhaps it had never worked in the first place and we were the first to try and use it and find this out in the open sea. We considered the possibility that it had been knocked out in the heavy seas on the run up to Lowestoft. Either way it was the old fashioned method of compass, chart, time and landmark observations that finally got us back to Scarborough. 14. On the section of the trip between the Humber Estuary and Bridlington I saw one of the most remarkable sights that I think it is possible to see out at sea and off the coast of the UK. The gas fields with their tremendous towers and platforms, which in the dark look a lot bigger than they probably are and I truly regret not having a camera with me for most of them were burning off the surplus gas, as these rigs do, and the light from them turned the whole cloud base into an eerie purple blue. What a sight. 15. Having left the Gas Fields behind and ploughing steadily forward we continued north. 16. But where were we? It was very dark and our chart told us little but for the fact that Flamborough Light was someway ahead and with a beam of nineteen miles should be seen well before we reached Bridlington. The run up seemed to drag. It was the early hours of the morning and in the dark and in some pretty rough sea and weather conditions, and it was well over twenty hours since we left Lowestoft, and where neither of us, since then, had been able to ease back and really have a rest. However we felt confident that when daylight broke we would recognise the coast as we were approaching familiar territory, especially to Claud who had served for many years on the Bridlington Lifeboat before joining the Scarborough crew. But before then Claud thought it necessary to try and calculate when we could expect to pick up Flamborough Light. Nineteen miles is all well and good on a clear dark night but in the wind and rain and on a boat that pitched and rolled in every direction that distance maybe greatly reduced. The only, very small, covered area, on the boat, is forward of the steering position under the 'Cuddy,' which basically forms the housing for the engines and which is totally open and exposed towards the stern. As far back as he could get, Claud, knelt down, in all his oilskins, with his back to the bulkhead door and with his knees spread wide apart, trapped the chart down onto the deck. With a torch in his mouth he worked on the chart the best he could and each time the bow of the boat went down and into a wave a large volume of water was lifted aboard and it swirled round the deck covering the cart in anything up to six inches or more of water. Something had to give and it was the chart that finally disintegrated and pieces of it floated about on the deck before finding its way into the scuppers and getting washed out into the sea. Claud, as usual, casually remarked that he hoped I knew where we were, as we no longer had a chart. I knew exactly where we were; we were off the east coast of England and somewhere in the north sea between Ipswich and Scarborough and with a bit of luck getting near to Bridlington. How's that for a close and detailed appraisal and fine example of 'Dead Reckoning' Navigation? 17. Using a compass bearing that would or should keep us well off the land we knew that eventually we would pick up the light on Flamborough Head. It is two miles north of Bridlington and so when we picked it up we should be somewhere between nought and seventeen miles south of Brid. 18. The weather backed off and the sea became calm and a beam of light swept the horizon ahead. We counted the strobe frequency to verify it was Flamborough and steered towards it. When it became strong and bright we were confident we were close to Bridlington but decided that due to fatigue and the possible effects of hunger we would stand off until daylight before attempting to enter the harbour. When daylight came at about seven in the morning we were, more by luck than management, where we believed we should have been and all we had to do was come on up under Hornsea and then cross the south bay and into Bridlington. 19. Moored up and battened down in Bridlington Harbour and having paid our dues to the Harbour Master we tumbled, tired and numb, into a harbour-side 'Tea Shack' at about 10-00 am. Twenty-seven hours since we had last felt firm ground underfoot, no wonder we staggered. From there Claud rang Sue and as we sat and nodded off she drove the twenty odd miles down from Scarborough to pick us up. 20. The plan was that we would go home, for that night, and return the following morning for the last leg of the journey, round Flamborough Head, to arrive in Scarborough for a Mayor, band and TV reception organised by Clauds partner, Richard. 21. I showered, ate and slept most of that day and following night. |
CHAPTER 54. The Boat. |
MY BIOGRAPHY. |
