Yarrow, John George

July 15th, 2005 by JCB
Posted in Obituaries | No Comments »

John George Yarrow

It is with regret that I report the death of John Yarrow on the 3^rd of January 2005. John was born in South Shields on the 5^th of May 1933. Read the rest of this entry »

Lee, Martin

April 15th, 2005 by JCB
Posted in Articles, Features, History, Obituaries | No Comments »

MARTIN LEE

Last “Grand Mat’’ of the AICH (UK branch)

View the original illustrated pdf article:

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It is with sadness that I have to report the passing away of retired Trinity House (latterly Medway) pilot Martin Lee. Many will remember Martin for his enthusiasm for the “wind ships”, one of the last of which was the Passat where Martin served much of his apprenticeship in the late 1940s. As one of a dwindling number of true “Cape Horners” who had sailed around Cape Horn in a commercial sailing ship not fitted with an engine Martin became the last “Grand Mat” of the UK branch of the L’Amicale Internationale des Capitaines au Long-Cours Cap Horniers (AICH) and had the sad task of formally winding up that Association as a result of the dwindling membership in 2003.

The evocative cartoon in the June 2004 edition of The Pilot concerning a sailing ship running at a fair speed into harbour is reminiscent of some of the manoeuvres which sailing ship masters, pilots and crews had to make in the 1930s and 1940s. Their vessels were all in the region of 3,500 to 5,000 tons deadweight, had no motive

power except their sails, no bow thrusts and two large (up to 3 tons) anchors forward. There were one or two exceptions such as the German four-masted barque Magdalene Vinnen / Kommodore Johnson (now the Russian Sedov) which, in those days had a small auxiliary diesel engine for helping in calm conditions but not much use for manoeuvring in any tide or breeze. Some vessels still had their stern anchor hawse-pipes and gear which had been used in Chilean and Peruvian anchorage ports. Erikson (Gustaf Erikson of Mariehamn in the Finnish Aland Islands) masters were

expected, like most Scandinavian masters, to avoid the use of expensive tugs when-ever possible. Incidentally G Erikson have recently sold their last reefer ship and are no longer ship owners in the accepted sense.

Pilots will readily understand the reference to a kick astern when there is no such thing available. Ports such as Port Lincoln, Wallaroo and Bunbury in Australia where ships berthed alongside were places where the master was expected to berth and unberth his ship unaided. I have a copy of the port charges for various Erikson vessels at Port Lincoln in the 1930s The four-masted barque Passat in February 1937 incurred a total of £299 13s 6d harbour dues including £63 pilotage, boatmen and mooring £12.

These charges were for berthing, shifting to and from the ballast grounds and sailing when loaded. There are no tug charges. These vessels had to have a minimum of 300 tons of solid ballast in port and over 1,300 tons for a deep sea voyage this stuff was manhandled by the crew and required shifting the ship with half the cargo loaded out to the ballast ground and dumping the material over the side before returning for cargo

completion. Berthing one of these ships required the right conditions and a great deal of skill and hard work, it could be lengthy business – it took us most of the day and a great deal of sweat and shouting to get the Passat alongside the long, winding jetty in Bunbury with no assistance. We had arrived on 4 September 1947 in ballast from East London. In East London we were head out on the south side of the Buffalo River and when the tug and pilot arrived there was an offshore breeze. Captain Hagerstrand was a man of few words, he never spoke to us in English but conversed well in that language with others; he also rarely swore. The date was 14 April 1947, I was standing by the big double wheels ready for action, the master said “we don’t need the tug, we will sail the ship out to sea.” As he spoke there was a rain squall and the wind shifted to a fresh on the berth breeze. The air then became blue with a mixture of Swedish, Finnish and English oaths – we had to take the tug to get us off the berth. The voyage was 4,331 miles in a time of 20 days 17 hours at an average speed of 8.7 knots, this compares favourably with tramp steamers making passages at 7 knots and consuming large amounts of fuel. On arrival off Bunbury the pilot came on board and said that the tug was away in Fremantle but we could use the local dredger to help us alongside. The master weighed it all up, we dropped the starboard anchor off the end of

the jetty, swung head to wind, the gallant dredger took a line aft and at the first tow pulled her bitts out of the deck. I did not hear any language from amidships but we eventually hove her alongside with hand capstans with no further assistance. We loaded a full cargo (4,700 tons) of jarrah wood railway sleepers for Port Swettenham (now Port Klang) in Malaya, the ship was down to her marks and we sailed on 17 October 1947 with a fair wind off the berth. We had mastheaded the upper tops’ls before sailing so a good spread of canvas was immediately available and sailed quietly away with no tug and no fuss. Mooring at a single buoy in Port Swettenham was a different story, we took two

harbour tugs. We then proceeded, with sand ballast, to Port Victoria in the Spencer Gulf in South Australia to load grain in the traditional manner. Arriving there on 2 March 1948 we found the four-masted barques Lawhill and Viking loading in Hardwicke Bay. Port Victoria is an anchorage port with poor holding ground,

some Erikson masters who had been in the trade for years, detested the place and wrote of the ‘merry-go-round’ of dragging anchors round the bay. We put two anchors down and kept good anchor watches, sometimes a spanker was set and a spring attached to the weather anchor to make a lee for the ketches bringing bagged barley out.

Sailing ships had larger anchors and cables, as required by the classification societies, but, without the benefit of a kick ahead. The shores of Wardang Island in Hardwicke Bay have the remnants of several square-riggers which did not survive the ‘merry-go-round’.

Large square-rigged ships loaded phosphates and guano in remote places such as Astove Island, Nosse Be and other delightful places in the 1920s and 1930s. There were no tugs available there and great skill was required to get these ships into position in a restricted area where there was sufficient depth for anchors to hold. The four-masted barque Olivebank was chartered to load guano for Auckland, at Assumption Island, N of Madagascar, in 1928. She shipped 84 men from Mahe to do the loading and anchored in 80 fathoms, a ship’s length off the island. Two days later her anchors slipped off the ledge into precipitous depths and it took her two weeks to get back and anchor in 12 fathoms forward and 84 fathoms aft with the vessel 80 metres off the land. Captain Troberg had had enough of guano sailing after this! When the Pamir was seized in Wellington in 1941 she had just arrived from Assumption. Two pilots had leapt on board as she approached in a southerly gale and sailed her through the narrow harbour entrance off Pencarrow – she stayed under the NZ flag for a further 8 years sailing across the Pacific to NW America and Canada, with one voyage to London in 1948.

As a River Medway (ex-Thames) pilot I sailed the replica Golden Hind from Upnor to Tower Pier in the 1970s. This was (is) a small ship, she had an underpowered engine set on the starboard side. We sailed up the Thames on a rising tide for an ETA at Tower Bridge and arrived on time with cannon blazing and under full sail. I had already explained to Captain Adrian Small (we had been apprentices together on the Passat) that the next bridge does not open. We still had a following wind and flood tide and there was much shouting as we rounded the Belfast with sails flogging and finally made our way to Tower Pier. As her temporary master and pilot we shifted her a few times in the Upper Pool (always in the middle of the night of course), she had been fitted with under water buoyancy bulges which were invisible from the deck. Making the entrance lock at St Catherine’s could be quite interesting; we actually sailed in stern first on one occasion as the wind was so strong from ahead.

In 1996 and 1997 after a change of direction from piloting to other matters I spent two hurricane seasons in the Caribbean as a master on the four-masted barquentine Star Clipper. This vessel and her sister ship Star Flyer were built in Belgium in the early 1990s, their hull size was similar to that of the German ‘P’ ships –

106m x 14.7m. There the similarity ends, they carry up to 174 passengers in five-star luxury, have two swimming pools a main engine and bow thrust and comply with the very strict USCG requirements for cruise ships as well as the myriad of other needs with strange labels. Their square sails on the fore-mast are controlled by a push-button system, eg ‘lower tops’l out and lower tops’l in’. A magic device that would have amazed any watchkeeper on a proper sailing vessel. Their rigging mistakes are the massive main and mizzen fisherman sails set high up. They have to come in quickly in squalls and often jam in their tracks causing heavy heeling and ominous crashes from the galley and bar.

We sailed whenever possible and carried out manoeuvres such as getting under way from an anchorage under sail alone, tacking, wearing, boxing and other crew heavy (assisted by passengers) work. She was not the easiest ship to handle with her windage

aloft and a not too powerful engine. We did manage a Mediterranean moor in St Georges when both berths were occupied, two anchors down and backed up to the space between the two ships putting crossed stern lines ashore. Approaching Castries (St. Lucia), after sending an ETA for the pilot for 0600, there was no sign of the boat so, of course, we berthed the ship head in quite successfully – he came along later to apologise and get his note signed !

Hurricane Iris was avoided by staying alongside in Barbados until the newly joined passengers sent a delegation to say that they had paid for a sailing cruise and demanded to sail. The weather was moderating with fewer large seas over the breakwater, we had the hurricane movement forecast, ordered the tug and sailed round the breakwater into a heavy swell causing much sea-sickness – still they had paid for it. The difficulty then was to find a sheltered anchorage for a visit ashore but every place was occupied by other ships. Soufrierre Bay was tried but we rolled heavily and motored away. This was not exactly sailing ship stuff but was an experience of a different kind.

In this brave new world of endless lists of acronyms and the minutiae of bureaucracy there seems to be little said about the nuts and bolts of shiphandling etc. When the first generation of car carriers made their appearance at Sheerness’s new car terminal they were a conglomerate of cobbled together ex bulk carriers and passenger ships. On one occasion one of these hybrid monsters had been advised to wait for the strong N’ly wind to moderate. Early in the morning I boarded her in the Little Nore area (this was in the days of Trinity House Pilots). She was a huge slab sided thing and we had three tugs standing by, the wind was moderating as we wandered into the harbour, and then shifted to the ENE, which was fine on our port bow for the berth. It was a tight squeeze (this was the original car berth at the end of No. 3 Sheerness), after mooring up the senior tug master called up and said “you sailed that ship alongside”. This was a compliment which I have always been proud of – in fact those vessels have much the same windage as a four-masted barque under full sail and can, in a way, be treated as such. The links between ship handling and seamanship in the 1930s and 1940s in unpowered ships and the 21^st century vessel may be tenuous in terms of motive power but pilots will always have to deal competently with situations demanding a skilful response and perhaps the bean counters are not fully aware of this.

AMICALE INTERNATIONAL CAP HORNIERS

THE BRITISH SECTION

In May 1937 a group of retired French sailing ship masters held a banquet in St Malo to honour Professor George Delarney, chair of the Department of Navigation. They there and then formed the “Association Amicale des Capitaines au Long Cours Cap Horniers”, AICH. Their aims are the same today, “to promote and strengthen the ties of comradeship which bind together a unique body of men and women who embody the distinction of having sailed round Cape Horn in a commercial sailing vessel, and to keep alive in various ways memories of the stout ships that regularly sailed on voyages of exceptional difficulty and peril, and of the endurance, courage and skill of the sailors who manned them”.

There were various classes of membership; Albatross, who had commanded a sailing ship round Cape Horn, Mollyhawk, who had served in a sailing ship round Cape Horn and was subsequently a master mariner, Cape Pigeon, who had rounded Cape Horn in a sailing ship but was not directly involved in the handling of the ship. There were also sympathisers (Friends) who had furthered the interests of the Association. The first Congress was held in St Malo in 1938, this was entirely French and, in 1948, a similar congress was held. It was decided then, by the AICH council that membership should be extended to other countries thus establishing it as an international organisation with affiliated national sections. The first to join were the Belgians in 1949, followed by Sweden in 1953 and Germany in 1955.

Germany has always had a large membership as their four-masted barques Padua/ Kruzenshtern, Priwall, Peking, Passat, Magdalene Vinnen/ Kommodore Johnson/ Sedov and L’Avenir /Admiral Karpfanger in the 1920s and 30s carried at least 40 trainees on every ocean-going voyage as well as having apprentices on board the Erikson square-riggers.

In 1957 the British section of AICH was formed by Cdr CLA Woollard, the inaugural AGM was held on the HQS Wellington in London. Captain H Treaby Heale was elected as Chairman and the committee included M Lee. Finland and the Aland Islands formed two separate sections in 1961, they had the greatest number of Albatrosses, thirty in all, their square-riggers were still sailing round Cape Horn in 1949 when the Pamir and Passat made the last commercial unpowered voyages. Other countries such as Holland, America, Australia, New Zealand and Chile also became members.

Alan Villiers, the author of many books on sailing ships and our last Albatross, wrote of visiting the Bournemouth branch of the British section in 1971: “eight wonderful old boys, most of them octogenarians, except one aged 92, all with the stamp of the sea

still on their open faces, the snap of command in their speech. The talk was of great ships long gone, the hardness of the life and the astonishing way it worked out. All had been apprentices, most had been second mates in sail, all had their masters certificates before

they went into steam. They’d been senior masters in Royal Mail, Cunard and Union Castle, Trinity House Pilots, marine superintendents or surveyors, London dock masters, insurance appraisers – the cream of the profession”. The British section, at its

peak, had surviving Cape Horners from the clipper ships Thermopylae, Blackadder and Cymba. Most of them had served their time in the last steel bulk carriers such as the Kilmallie, Port Jackson, William Mitchell, Lawhill, Grace Harwar, Herzogin

Cecilie, Pamir, Parma, Passat, Olivebank etc. We also had, until their own sections were formed, Australians, New Zealanders and Americans in the British section. Irving Johnson, an American, made a film on board the four-masted barque Peking on passage from Hamburg, round Cape Horn to Talcahuano in Chile in 1929/30. This is a classic account of a large square-rigger’ sailing 8,000 tons of ship and cargo “where we want her to go, not necessarily where she wants to go”. The heavy weather photography is the best ever recorded, her decks are full of water, four men at the wheel and 00 canvas storm sails blown out. On arrival in Talcuahano the use of the local tug is turned down and Captain Jiihrs “beat the ship up the harbour like a yacht”. He then carried out a running moor under sail, a manoeuvre which Laiesz masters had carried out on many occasions. I can recall doing a running moor in Gravesend Reach (for an extra charge on the A form of course) with a powered ship – it was not easy to get it right the first time. AICH have held 52 International Congresses in ports as far apart as Sydney and Helsinki, the latter congress was partially held on board the new gas turbine powered Finnjet running between Helsinki and Travemunde. The contrast between travelling in luxury at 32 knots with our apprenticeship days was vivid. Fortunately the managing owner of Finnlines at the time, Heikki Holma, was also President of the Finnish AICH, he had sailed in their small barque Favell in the 1930s. Three international congresses have been held in the UK, at Southampton in 1967, Greenwich in 1978 and Bristol in 1990. These were all well attended and it was a pleasure to see and hear Cape Horners hauling on ropes and singing sea shanties on the Cutty Sark. In 2000 at Mariehamn, home port of the last sailing ship owner, Gustaf Erikson, it was decided at the Federal Council meeting, that as AICH members were ageing and declining in numbers, that the Amicale should be wound up in 2003. The Cutty Sark Tall Ships Race visit to the Aland Islands coincided with this congress and it was a pleasure to see the training ships and their crews mingling with ancient mariners. The perfectly preserved four-masted barque Pommern, (built on the Clyde in 1903 and moored permanently in Mariehamn, unchanged since the day she was put into service), towered over the largest of the training ships – described by one hide-bound German Cape Horner as “motor ships decorated with sails”. Two years were required to satisfy and complete the acres of paper-work required by French bureaucracy to wind up an official organisation such as this and it is with thanks to our International Secretary Captain Roger Ghys (ex-Master of the Belgium sail training ship Mercator), and his band of helpers that all was accomplished in that time.

On May 14 2003 in St Malo where it was born in 1937 AICH was formally wound up with some sadness but in a true spirit of Cape Horn. All our financial assets were used to celebrate this last congress, we went out in a splendid fashion, my wife Kate, our son Matthew and I will remember those days for a long time. Cape Horn is not dead in the UK we had formed International Association of Cape Horners (IACH) some years ago to carry forward that tradition. IACH is made up of those who have sailed round Cape Horn under sail alone, we have very strict rules concerning the manner in which this is done. The fact remains that no one can sail round Cape Horn as those large sailing ships did –everyone has to satisfy some acronymic requirement or other – but the challenge, tradition and rite of passage remain.

Martin Lee

I have listed those AICH British members who were Pilots, there may be others.

Captain Bruce Bell. Southampton. Two roundings in the Mountstewart 1920/22.

Captain Hector Blemings, Gravesend Channel. Three roundings:

Wray Castle 1916/19 and Terpsichore (as second mate) 1919/22.

Captain Harry Fountain, Boston. One rounding, Monkbarns 1921.

Captain Douglas Galloway, Wellington. One rounding, Penang 1938.

Captain Victor Harbord. Humber. Five roundings, Beechbank 1907/11

Captain Andrew Keyworth, Lyttelton. One rounding, Pamir 1947.

Captain Francis Kirk, Southampton. One rounding, Monkbarns 1921.

Captain M. Lee, Orwell,Thames and Medway. One rounding, Passat 1948. President of AICH/IACH since 1982.

Captain William Liley, River Thames. One rounding, Carradale 1913.

Captain L. Peverley. Gravesend Channel. Five roundings: Robert Duncan 1905/10, Bengairn 1910/11, Beechbank 1911/12 (2^nd Mate), Kilmallie 1912/13 (Mate).

Captain John Simpson. Forth. Three roundings, Garthsnaid 1919/22.

Captain William Sutherland. Gravesend Channel. One rounding, Archibald Russell 1932. President AICH 1980-1982.

Gasperinin, Gianfranco

January 15th, 2005 by JCB
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Captain Gianfranco Gasperini (1943 – 2004)

It was a huge shock, and it was with tremendous sadness that we heard that EMPA President Captain Gianfranco Gasperini had died after a very short illness at his home in Rome on Saturday 6^th November 2004. He died just before his sixty-first birthday, being born on the 16^th of November 1943 at Ponte Buggianese (Pistoia), Italy.

How well the members of the EMPA Executive remember his joining us at the Liverpool General Meeting of 1991 as an EMPA vice-President. This quietly spoken man, always smiling, slightly shy, but who immediately and enthusiastically took on the role of EMPA Treasurer. It was my particular good fortune to have had those years on the Executive working with Gianfranco. I particularly appreciated his unstinting support during my term as EMPA President. Not only was he a hard working Executive officer, but he was also an interesting, charming, modest, scholarly man to work with.

But it was not all about work and after our daytime meetings in Antwerp it was also a real pleasure for us to enjoy the social camaraderie of his company during our evenings together. He enjoyed his tennis tremendously and was a good and enthusiastic player. He personified that attribute of most pilots, to be European, not to be parochial, and to mix convivially with his pilot colleagues from all nations.  No one who met him, as many pilots from the UKMPA did over his years on the EMPA Executive, could but immediately sense the gentle charm and courtesy of this man. Quintessentially Italian by nature he was however quietly and gently spoken and whilst, like all of us, sometimes perturbed at events in the pilotage world he never ever showed his discord by anything other then a slight furrowing of his brow and the measured use of a more serious tone of voice.

He proved to be the consummate Treasurer, always producing immaculate accounts, and from the beginning computer generated, as he was a great enthusiast for technological innovation.  And at our Executive committees he would always gently steer us in a direction to ensure that we remained within the budget whenever we considered our future activities. This was but a foretaste of his ability to act in the best interest of his European colleagues, which he was to demonstrate further when he later became EMPA President.

Although heavily committed as the Fedepiloti Secretary-General he gallantly allowed his candidature for the post as EMPA President to go forward and was duly elected, unopposed, at the Paris General Meeting in 2001. His Presidency was marked by all the qualities he had shown over his ten years on the Executive and was met by some difficult situations, not least the attempt by the Commissioner to introduce the Port Services Directive.  His successful opposition to this ill-judged Directive was a tribute to his untiring efforts on behalf of his pilot colleagues.  Then, latterly, he also became the Fedepiloti President where he ably and enthusiastically represented our friends and colleagues the Italian pilots with a dedication and commitment, which served them so well.

He was an extremely hard working unselfish man who was dedicated to achieving the best for pilots and pilotage all across Europe, and also internationally through his support for IMPA. His contribution to pilotage matters not just in the interests of pilots, but equally in the interests of mariners, shipowners and port authorities will be sorely missed.

His funeral was held on Monday 8^th of November at 10.30 in the small Franciscan church of “San Francesco a Ripa”, Piazza San Francesco a Ripa, Rome. Secretary-General, Albert Cools, with his wife Mady, and Administrative Secretary, Claire van Lokerens attended the funeral on behalf of EMPA. Unfortunately, due to the very short notice of the funeral, more representatives of EMPA and the world of pilotage were unable to attend, but I am sure that like me many others were there with his family and friends if only in spirit.  I am sure that you will all share with me in the heartfelt and sincere offer of our condolences to his lovely wife Lydia and their son Paolo, following in his father’s footsteps as a pilot, and his beautiful sparkling daughter Serena. A light has gone out in their lives and they will miss him terribly, a husband and father. Our deepest condolences also go to all the staff and pilots of Fedepiloti where his loss will be felt so tremendously after all his dedicated years of service.

We mourn Gianfranco’s untimely death, the world of pilotage, and indeed the world in general is the poorer for his passing. We will remember him always with admiration and huge affection as a great ambassador for pilots wherever he went, but most of all; we will remember him just as a lovely man whom it was always huge fun and a privilege to be with.

Geoff Topp

Duhig, Joseph Thomas

January 15th, 2005 by JCB
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Joseph Thomas Duhig

Joseph Thomas Duhig died peacefully on the 17^th October 2004 after a six month illness spent in Darent Valley Hospital, Dartford, Kent.

Born in 1932, Joe spent his early years in South London. At the age of thirteen he went to the London Nautical School and subsequently joined his first ship the Harpathian of JC Harrisons, in 1949. The ship had a full Geordie crew and as a raw 16year old he joked that he found the dialect a little difficult, but reckoned he had got the hang of it after the fourteen month trip was up. Joe subsequently sailed on Harrisons’ tramps to many interesting parts of the world. True to character he kept a detailed record of his ships and the ports visited; a record his grandchildren will no doubt value in the years to come.  Joe gained his Masters ticket in 1959 and while waiting to be called to the Trinity House Pilotage Service he sailed as Master on dredgers; his last command being the Bowqueen. He was licensed as a London River Pilot in September 1966, and continued through the changes of October 1988 until his retirement in November 1996.

Joe was a modest and quiet man who lived his life at a gentle pace. He was never hurried or stressed; he drove slow ships for a living, drove slow cars for pleasure and could spend all day reading the paper and doing the crossword – he knew how to be busy doing nothing. Ships and the sea were his love, his life and his passion. His other great passion was his family. He held traditional family values and leaves behind a wife, two sons, a daughter and two grandchildren.

Joe was a humble man who always displayed a calm air of contentment about whatever cards life had dealt him- one of life’s gentlemen. It was fitting that he spent the last six months of his life in a ward with a panoramic view of the river he had served for over 30 years. In a simple ceremony attended by his family and some of his close friends Joe’s ashes were scattered on the London River from one of the Port of London Authority’s river cutters.

Mark Duhig

MacNeil, Neil

January 15th, 2005 by JCB
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Neil MacNeil

It is with sadness that I report the death of Captain Neil MacNeil of Barra on the 12^th

October at his home in Castle Bay. Neil was a most respected and well loved person, both in his private life and by his colleagues in the Trinity House Channel pilots service at Gravesend. He was born on 29^th September 1918 and went to sea when he was 17.  Whilst serving with Lyle shipping Company as Second Mate on board the SS Cape of

Good Hope he spent twelve days in an open lifeboat following the ship being torpedoed and sunk in the Atlantic before reaching landfall at the Island of Tortola. Having concluded his service with Lyle Shipping company on the 12^th September 1949, Neil joined the Ben Line where he served until he was licensed as a Trinity House Channel Pilot on 18^th August 1953. Neil leaves a wife and three children having sadly lost two other children in sorrowful circumstances. Whilst a serving pilot he will be  remembered with respect and affection. As a representative at UKPA conferences with

suspicion and apprehension! His overtures to a proposal or referendum, delivered in his soft West Highland lilt, lulled his listeners into a sense of sanguine acceptance, until, arising from a torpor of lunchtime gin and tonics they would realise that they were being led down a road that they had no wish to travel! What an orator, sadly missed.

Donald McLean,

Chairman, Trinity House Channel Pilots’ Society.

TORPEDOED & ADRIFT FOR 12 DAYS

One of the sadder aspects of being the editor of The Pilot is the regular receipt of obituaries which frequently reveal remarkable careersundertaken by pilots, especially those who served during the war. Neil MacNeil, was one such pilot who following being torpedoed in the Atlantic survived for 11 days in an open lifeboat prior to reaching the Caribbean island of Tortola. The British Virgin Islanders appear to have offered full hospitality to the survivors and prior to leaving some two weeks later to return home Neil wrote an article for the British virgin Islands bulletin. A masterful understatement of what must have been an appalling ordeal, Neil’s account provides a vivid description of survival at seain an open lifeboat. I therefore feel that it is worthy of inclusion unedited. It is somewhat sobering to think that following what must have been two weeks of paradise, the survivors returned to face the rigours of war in the merchant navy for another three years!

“In my school days I often read thrilling adventure stories such as Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe but little did I realise then that I would one day have to undergo

a somewhat similar ordeal. The morning of the 11^th May was uneventful. Our ship plodded her way through the crystal clear tropical waters of the Atlantic in perfect peace and quietness. As usual I took over my watch at noon from the third Officer and determined the ship’s position by Solar observations. All that afternoon I had a peculiar feeling that something was going to ‘happen’, although I was almost certain that we were well clear of the real danger area. At 1450 the ship was shaken by a terrific explosion which flung me fully four feet into the air and landed me flat on the bridge deck. Explosions in war time are a common occurrence and therefore none of us was caught really unawares. Emergency signals were immediately sounded and orders were given to abandon the vessel as it was clear by now that she was sinking fast. Everyone took up his respective station on the boat deck and the two lifeboats were lowered without anyone displaying the least sign of panic. As the last boat pulled away from the sinking ship the long grey hull of a submarine was observed to surface

approximately 2000 yards distant. By now the ship was, well down by the head and sinking fast although apparently not fast enough for the Sub Commander. He manoeuvred into a position abeam and opened fire with his 4.7 inch gun on the

ship’s superstructure until finally the inevitable happened – a tremendous explosion, followed by a huge cloud of thick black smoke – another of Britain’s Merchant Ships sent to the bottom or should I say sent to the skies The sub then steamed slowly towards us with her two machine guns trained on each lifeboat. Everyone thought his fatal hour had come but still no one budged. The bearded, shorts-clad and sun burnt

commander stood inside the conning tower. He was a tall, slender and well-muscled

individual, of unmistakable Italian origin. As he came closer he hailed us in the most

fluent English and asked if there was anyone injured. Fortunately we had no casualties and did not require his services in that respect. He then summoned us alongside and after holding a brief consultation he rather apologetically wished us a safe landfall and then made off at high speed leaving us at the complete mercy of the wind sea and scorching sun in an open boat some 700 miles from land with no navigational instruments whatsoever at our disposal. There were 18 in our boat, including the Captain, and 19 in the other. This was the entire ship’s complement of 37 men.

Before we set sails it was agreed that the boats were to keep within sight of each other as long as possible and so at length we started on our voyage to an unknown destination. The first night passed without incident. The men’s spirits were very high as everyone was certain they had a good chance of being sighted by a plane or rescue ship which  may have been dispatched in response to the distress message sent out before the ship was abandoned. We reckoned that we had enough food aboard to last 7 days but fresh water was our greatest problem. Soon, however, we settled down to our daily routine and meals of corned beef, hard biscuits and condensed milk. So far the weather had been very favourable to us. A light NE breeze prevailed throughout the night and the next day, enough to-give the boat ample steerage-way with full sail set. The sky was

of its perennial blue, and the sea was almost flat calm, with a long peaceful swell. About

1030 on the third day Bowyer (our gunner) was sitting up in the bow. Suddenly he said,

“I can see a plane right ahead”. All eyes immediately turned in that direction. Sure enough it was a plane and heading towards us. He circled round us for fully ten minutes as if checking up on our course. He then swooped close to us and dropped two tins containing emergency rations and a very encouraging message in which he assured us that assistance was en route and would arrive that night or the next morning. I regret to have to say that this assistance never turned up. After the plane flew away we all sat down and indulged in what I may describe as the heartiest meal we had had since we left the ship. It consisted of corned beef, biscuits and chocolate dropped by theplane and of course nearly all the fresh water we had on board as we were expecting to be picked up that night or the following morning. That night passed and at the first streak of dawn everybody was awake and active in anxious anticipation of the rescue. Eighteen keen eyes constantly scanned the horizon in the hope of seeing any rescue ship or planes but alas our hopes were doomed to disappointment. When that day passed and night fell my heart sank and a moment of deep black fear entered. I fell into contemplation for a while and thought there is a war on – total war. I knew that the American Navy had more to do and contend with than spend their time searching the ocean for one or even two lifeboats with survivors. For us it was a hard pill to swallow but it was simple military logic. Having contemplated all these gloomy possibilities for a while I soon thrust them aside with determined optimism. The next day predicted a still gloomier outlook. The wind which had so far been in our favour had shifted round and come in from the South West with much greater force. This made it necessary for us to tack in order to make a little headway in the right direction or even hold our own. Dark clouds gathered round us and by noon it was deemed necessary to heave to as it was now blowing a moderate gale. To stop drifting in the wrong direction and keep the boat’s head to the wind a sea anchor was

put over the bow and an oil bag attached to it. This helped to smooth the frothing billows. During the night we lost our rudder, presumably due to the constant pitching and pounding of the boat. With this the situation became more serious. The boat was now unmanoeuvrable under sail except with the assistance of a steering oar on which we could not greatly rely. We were now of course at the complete mercy of the wind. When it blew from an Easterly direction our spirits rose because we knew that it would eventually blow us to safety but when it shifted-round to the South West, as now, we were depressed for then we were heading for disaster and probably death. We were now two days hove to and still there were no signs of any assistance forthcoming. The weather had now moderated slightly so it was decided to set sail once again although the breeze was not

very favourable. In view of the obvious fact that we were growing weaker and weaker

every day we considered it feasible to put four oars out, and cover as much distance

as we could while we were still able to row. It was on this evening that we lost sight of

the other boat. On about the eighth day the lack of water began to bother us seriously.

The wind had been blowing us along at a fast clip in the general direction of Southwest but we had no rain. Our salivary glands dried up and our mouths were parched, making swallowing difficult. All that morning we had watched showers approaching and then fading away. Hour after hour we sat in the broiling sun. We were surrounded by sharks and didn’t dare venture over the side for a swim so instead we kept our clothes soaked with salt water, rewetting them every few minutes to keep our bodies cool. All that morning we sat and waited for rain. We knew that if we did not get any we would not last long and that death by thirst is one of the most terrible forms of torture. Still, most of the men were in fairly high spirits with the exception of one or two who were firmly convinced that we were doomed and that there was no use in trying to put up a struggle. One constantly predicted disaster and neither of them could tell direction from the stars and they would ask every few minutes how she was heading. It was on the morning of the 9^th day that someone suggested that we should pray for help. Later that afternoon; the wind shifted abruptly to the North East, a tremendous black cloud appeared overhead and soon, to our great joy and relief, down from the heavens poured the rain. To acquire the full benefit of the deluge we took off all our clothes and sat stark naked. This lasted for about half an hour and we had our first real drink in days. Just before dark that night I heard a scratching noise on the top of the mast. I looked up and saw what then looked to be a huge black bird hovering around the sail and you may imagine with what admiration everybody on board gazed at this wonderful bird that had come to keep us company. Like most seamen I am

inclined to be slightly supersticious. The recent prayer and the resultant rain and favourable wind had made me both more religious and superstitious. My mind

wandered back to my school days and Coleridge’s Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner,

especially the part that goes: At length did cross an albatross Through the fog it came

As if it had been a Christian soul We hailed it in God’s name. And a good south wind struck up The albatross did follow And every day for food or play Came to the mariner’s halloo However, the bird turned out to be of some other species and not an albatross although it followed us faithfully to land. Next day, what I had been fearing all along happened. We ran into a heavy squall which drove us to the South West. The sky

became dark, the rain whistled down around us, the waves roared louder and louder and poured gallons of water into the boat. We thought that this was the end. In our weakness and unhappiness we hardly had strength enough to bale. But somehow,

bale we did. There we were I thought, completely returned to the primitive, stark naked in the howling storm, fighting the unbridled forces of nature with little hope of Victory. After the storm the sun came out fierce and burning and our bodies, unprotected by clothes, burned and peeled and burned again. Mostly we lay back in our cramped and uncomfortable positions, not caring much longer what happened. Deep in our hearts we were all beginning to resign ourselves to our fate. Towards afternoon the sky began to cloud over and a cooler and more refreshing breeze blew from the South East. I knew from dead reckoning that we should not be far from land now unless by a stroke of misfortune we had passed through Mona Pass and missed the islands. On the morning of the eleventh day to my great delight I saw a coconut and a green branch floating by. I remembered reading Christopher Columbus’ trials and tribulations on his voyage to an unknown destination in 1492 and that it was the green branch that saved him at a time when his sailors were on the verge of mutiny. Likewise it gave me the impression that

land was imminent. Later that forenoon Vincent, an able seaman, who was lying  tretched out on the fore thwart said “Second, I think I can see land, I’ve been watching it now for over half an hour”. What I saw then made my heart jump and sing with the greatest joy it has ever known. There lying ahead was a beautiful green island’. “Boys” I exclaimed, “You can thank the Lord. He has delivered you to land, to safety”. The boat suddenly burst into activity the men hardly able to stand or sit still in the prevailing infection of excitement. In place of the gloomy atmosphere which had prevailed during the last eleven days could now be heard all the latest songs from New York’s studios. Even the Captain, whose face had just previously resembled a minimum sized fiddle with eyes painted on it joined in. All that day we rowed to that beautiful patch of land. Shortly after dark we came across a perilous reef extending in a semi-circle round the South Eastern approaches to the island. Owing to this we were forced to turn out to sea and cruise around till daylight. Early on the twelfth day we set our sail again and made for the land endeavouring to dodge the reefs the best way we  could. We did not know what land it was but whether friendly or hostile we were determined to land there. Shortly afterwards we saw a sailing sloop away on the horizon, and heading towards us. It was decided to wait for this sloop so that we might acquire some information as to our present whereabouts. The sloop turned out to be the Sparrow of Virgin Gorda commanded by Captain Robinson O’Neal. We were more than delighted when O’Neal told us that the islands on which we were about to land constituted a part of the mighty British Empire, one of the outposts of Freedom which we are desperately fighting to preserve and will

preserve in spite of such brutal attacks as are directed against us by Hitler’s, Mussolini’s and Hirohito’s representatives. The Sparrow’s crew, treated us right Royally. They presented us with tobacco, cigarettes and water which we sorely needed, later they even went to the trouble of cooking fish for all of us and you can just imagine what that fish tasted like to our ravenous appetites. Never in my life did I know or realise the value of fresh water and never again will I underestimate it. The Sparrow took us in tow and landed us at Road Town, Tortola about seven o’clock that night, where the Commissioner and nearly all Road Town were down to greet us with open arms. Soon every one of us was comfortably housed and enjoying the remarkable hospitality extended to us from every corner of the island. That night I slept in a real,  comfortable, bed in Government House with my body stretched as nearly full length as I could get it after the twelve days of living in the cramped boat. We had gained “terra firma” just in time since a day or two more and the scorching sun would have accomplished what starvation, thirst, wind and sharks had failed to.

NM MacNeil, 2^nd Officer, July 1942 ex SS Cape Of Good Hope

Details of the Cape Of Good Hope

Shipbuilder: Lithgows Port Glasgow.

Built: 1925. Tonnage: 4963 grt. Length: 405 feet.

Owner: Lyle Shipping Company, Glasgow.

Remarks: Early pioneer in ships’ diesel propulsion.

Details of the U-502

After a bit of research I have discovered that the Cape of Good Hope was torpedoed by U502. The Commander Jürgen von Rosenstiel, was not in fact an Italian, having been born in Kiel in 1912. He was appointed to the U502 when she was commissioned

in May 1941. He undertook four patrols between 31 May ’41 – 5 July ’42 during which time he sank 14 ships and damaged 2, placing him in the top 20 U-boat commanders. On 5 July, whilst returning from the successful patrol in the Caribbean which saw the sinking of the SS Cape of Good Hope, U502 was sunk in the Bay of Biscay by depth charges dropped from a British Wellington bomber from 172 Squadron. All 52 persons on board were lost and U502 became the first submarine to be sunk by

a Wellington bomber.

From: http://uboat.net

Twells, Donald

October 15th, 2004 by JCB
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Donald F. Twells 1934 – 2004

Died 15th June 2004

Don was born on 21^st March, 1934. He was educated at Prescott Grammar School and joined HMS Conway in September 1949 at the age of 15, where he was an excellent student and cross country runner.  On leaving the ‘The Conway’ he sailed with Clan Line before joining the Liverpool Pilot Service in 1952 and served as an apprentice on the pilot vessels for 7 years. In 1959 Donald gained his 3^rd Class Licence and became 1^st Class in 1963. He worked as pilot until 1988, when the Government made changes to pilotage and he started a new job with the Mersey Docks & Harbour Co. in the VTS. During his time as a pilot he worked as a representative and as one of the small team organising social events.

Outside of pilotage, Donald will be particularly remembered for the 28 years work he did setting up and running the local Sea Scouts, where he passed on his knowledge of boat management and comradeship with enthusiasm and good humour. He became Assistant District Commissioner; was awarded a medal of merit for outstanding service and a silver acorn for especially distinguished service.  Through his interest in first aid he became an expert on exposure recovery and hypothermia. Somehow, he also found time for his garden of which he was very proud, and which he opened to the public on occasions, and became the President of the local Horticultural Society.

Donald was a devoted family man and leaves behind his wife Norma and three sons. Donald will be truly missed and fondly remembered for the way in which he embraced life to the full.

Andy Malcolm,

Retired Liverpool Pilot

Jones, Eric

April 1st, 2004 by JCB
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Born in 1925, Eric started his sea going career in World War 2, and on completing his time in that hard school, went to sea with the Pacific Steam Navigation Company. Having risen to the rank of 3rd Officer with PSNC he felt the pull of the Orient and joined Jardine Mathesons of Hong Kong. There he served in the capacities of 3rd and 2nd Mate for over three years before deciding to try ’digesting the anchor’ and applying for a Helmsman’s post on the Manchester Ship Canal. The reason Eric gave for leaving Jardine Mathesons was ’political unrest’ in the far east, although I suspect that his wife Irene, and two daughters Leslie and Cathy, helped more than a little to persuade him to seek employment nearer home. Eric applied to join the Helmsmens’ Service in December 1951 and was accepted in March of 1952. Even at the tender age of 26, when he applied, questions were raised about his possibly being ’too old’ for acceptance. Happily these doubts were overcome and Eric progressed to become a 2nd Class Pilot in 1956, and a 1st Class Pilot in 1959, in which capacity he served until his early retirement in 1988, partially through ill health and partially to take advantage of the conditions created with the implementation of the 1987 Pilotage Act. In his early years as a Pilot, Eric served on the Pilots’ Committee and always had a clear understanding of the political situation affecting the Pilots. He was also appointed for a short period as an ’Appropriated Pilot’ to a car ferry operator in the mid 1970’s, and served them with the professionalism he brought to all his piloting work. In the ’hey days’ of the late 1960s and 1970s mention was often made of the possibility of designing a new ship’s engine room telegraph for Ship Canal Helmsmen. This telegraph would only require three positions on it, namely, Full Ahead, Stop, and Full Astern; such was the Helmsmens’ appetite for speedy transits of the Canal. When directed to work with Eric Jones, every Helmsman was assured of as speedy a passage as circumstances and traffic allowed, which made for a contented relationship. It was most gratifying therefore to learn that Eric appreciated the Helmsmen’s skills, when he composed an ’ode’ to the difficulties of navigating the Canal, which may well have been published in an issue of the Pilot Magazine in the 1980s. Unfortunately I cannot find a copy of the piece, because it is well worth a ’second visit’. His wife Irene and daughters Leslie and Cathy, to all of whom we send our heartfelt sympathies for their loss, succeed Eric. A man of consummate skill and varied talents, Eric’s loss is felt by all who knew him.

DH Jackson. Manchester District Secretary

Johnson, Peter Barker

April 1st, 2004 by JCB
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Peter Barker Johnson (4th September 1931 – lst January 2004)

eventies and Eighties will be particularly sad to learn of the passing of Peter Johnson or Big Peter as he was affectionately known. The brief details of Peter’s career are that he was Apprenticed as a Tees Pilot on 4th September 1947, serving on cutters and subsequently deep sea and coastal vessels in all ranks to Chief Officer. He was first licensed in April 1957 becoming a first class pilot in April 1963. Elected to the board of the Tees Pilotage Authority in July 1973 he subsequently became the chairman of our Cooperative on 4th September 1989, an apprenticeship of exactly 42 years to that post. Peter retired,still Chairman on April 30th 1994. Those bare outlines give no picture of a hard working enthusiastic individual who never took shortcuts in any part of his life, was always willing to go the extra mile to help others and the reputation of our work. He inspired respect and affection in all he came into contact with on the river, made many friends and few if any enemies. One of Peter’s great loves was figures and he was never so happy as when checking negotiations or pension calculations and finding invariably, that his results were that bit more correct than the other side. Indeed his first task in retirement was to enrol on a GCE maths course, needless to say, he passed with flying colours. He was a devoted family man, a hugely proud father and grandfather, following the progress of their careers with great interest, far keener to boast of their achievements than his own. He will be sorely missed by his widow Dorothy, children Karen and Chris and his granddaughter Amy as well as by his many former colleagues on the Tees and elsewhere. RIP

Submitted by G Taylor (Tees)

Belsey, Michael William

April 1st, 2004 by JCB
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Michael (Mike) William Belsey died suddenly in hospital on Monday 9th February 2004 following a pulmonary operation. At his passing Mike was 60 years old and had, since 1988, worked as a senior manager in the Pilotage Department of the Port of London Authority until his admission to hospital for the operation. Mike was brought up in London and attended Allaynes School in Dulwich. Early in his childhood he demonstrated what was to become an abiding interest in the ships that visited the River Thames. He often talked of those visits to the Port as a boy, and of savouring the atmosphere and vitality of the working docks. His experiences at this time would have been pre-containerisation when the docks were quite unlike the port that exists today. After a short period in the vintners trade after leaving school, Mike took an administrative job in the Dock Labour Board from where he was able to witness the working of the industrial port at first hand. He would later recall the days at the Dock Labour Board with affection remembering, in particular, the close community of the Dockers and their families. From the Dock Labour Board, Mike took another administrative position this time with The Corporation of Trinity House, which, at that time was responsible for Pilotage Services around the coast of the UK. The years of service with Trinity House formed the major part of Mike’s career and formed the fondest memories of his working life. Much of his career at Trinity House was as Liaison Officer responsible for forty Out Port Districts as far apart as the Scillies and Cumbria. In the position of Liaison Officer Mike dealt with the members of the Pilotage Committees and Pilots in the Out Ports, undertaking negotiations on the myriad of issues necessary to the operation of a successful Pilotage Service. Those who knew and worked with Mike at this time recall his patience, wisdom and above all his fairness in all things. It was at Trinity House that Mike met and married Mary, who also worked in the Pilotage Department, and throughout their life together they shared an interest in Pilotage and the life of the River Thames. Mike’s final years as Deputy Principal of Pilotage at Trinity House were overshadowed by the impending change to pilotage that eventually arrived in 1988. In 1988 the management of Pilotage became the responsibility of the Port Authorities, and with that change Mike moved to the Port of London Authority as Deputy Pilotage Manager. The successful transfer of responsibility for Pilotage owed much to Mike’s knowledge and diligence. His Honorary Membership of the Cinque Ports Pilots Association evidenced his standing amongst the pilots with whom he worked. Mike had many interests outside work, but probably his greatest enthusiasm was a fascination for military vehicles. He owned, restored, and drove a Willis Jeep, which was kept in absolutely pristine condition. Mike was one of those fortunate people to whom a love of ships and the sea was innate, and who are able to combine the need to make a living with that abiding interest. Those who worked with him, and knew him as a colleague and friend, will sorely miss his wisdom, hard work and balanced view of pilotage and life.

Richard A. Carr PLA Pilotage Manager

Tapping, Frederick Albert

April 1st, 2004 by JCB
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Frederick Tapping died on the 21st January 2004 after a protracted illness. Born on 23rd June 1923 Frederick went to sea in 1939 following an education at Sir Roger Manwood’s Grammar School in Sandwich. During the war he served with the RFA in the Ennerdale and Airsprite during which time he was torpedoed twice in the Atlantic. In 1957 he became a Trinity House London (West) pilot where he served until 1985 when he retired after a near drowning whilst trying to board an outward bound vessel at Gravesend. He recounted that whilst being pumped out he experienced the “out of body” phenomena of looking down upon himself on the operating table! A keen sportsman, Frederick played cricket for the pilots’ team and was a football season ticket holder with Charlton Athletic Football Club. He was also a member of Gravesend Lions Club for 24 years. Married for 50 years Frederick leaves behind his widow and three sons.

Submitted by Donald McLean Secretary, Trinity House, Channel Pilots’ Association