History
TO BE A PILOT: THE STORY BEHIND A PAINTING
THE CHARLOTTE KILNER
Many pilots are descended from shipping families but all too often the records are lost over even a couple of generations. Retired Humber pilot David Raddings came across the following record Read the rest of this entry »
TYNE PILOTS: THE END OF AN ERA
On 31st March 2008, an era in the history of the river Tyne ended with the retirement of John Marshall and Alan Purvis, the last traditional Tyne Pilot family pilots. Read the rest of this entry »
PILOT GIGS OF CORNWALL AND THE SCILLY ISLES
THE PILOT GIGS OF CORNWALL AND THE SCILLY ISLES
The pilot gigs of the Isles of Scilly and Cornwall are totally unique six oared open boats which were used to ship pilots onto ships arriving of the South West approaches to the United Kingdom. This feature actually started as a review of a fascinating book that I found in the bookshelf of a holiday let in Cornwall. Titled : “Azook: The Story of the Pilot Gigs of Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly 1666 – 1994”. Read the rest of this entry »
Venn, Alfred William
Alfred William Venn
My father died just six weeks short of his one hundredth birthday. He was the last known survivor of the Bristol Channel Sailing Pilots.
View the original illustrated pdf magazine article (page 8):
pilotmag.co.uk/userfiles/Pilotmag%20286%20(Jul%2006).pdf
At the height of the industrial revolution, the new coal ports of South Wales became boom towns – the Silicon Valleys – of their day. Great wealth was created and commerce from Swansea to Newport, and good Welsh coal was shipped to the four corners of the world to fuel the new era. Even the great port of Bristol, once the second city in England, was overtaken by the convergence of rail, canal and the inevitable melding of coal, steel, iron and the mighty machines it brought forth. Central to the sea-going operation were the one hundred and fifty or so pilots long heralded as master of their calling. The Bristol Channel is one of the most difficult bodies of waters in the world to navigate, with violent seas, the second most powerful tides and attendant currents, and endless changing mud and sandbanks. To qualify for admittance to the ranks of pilotage took half a lifetime, and the boats matched the same degrees of excellence to which the men aspired.
Of these craft much as been written, indeed whole books have been devoted. In essence – they were 40 to 50 feet overall, beam 10 to 14 feet and carried a draft of 7 to 10 feet. Ballasted with concrete between deck and sometimes movable pig-iron bars. They had a number of innovative features including a retractable boom, and roller-reeling called “Appledore”. The decks were clear of skylight or other obstruction which might impair the handling of gear or the boarding punt. Daylight below was provided by glass prisms fitted flush to the deck. These boats were considered the most advanced fore-and-aft craft of the period and even today they are held as the finest weathers by yachtsmen who see the full length keel an essential feature in seaworthiness and ease of handling. In spite of the fact that they were called, and rigged, as cutters, they were known as “skiffs” by the pilots. The all important dinghies that dropped and picked up the pilots, rejoiced in the somewhat frivolous name of “Punts”. Although the Bristol boats started the name of “skiffs,” the Welsh boats, at least for a time also used the term “Yawls” even though it was usually only Swansea who opted for two masts. As they would now say, “go figure!” It was into this world that my father was born in December of 1906. He was the eldest son of his namesake – Pilot Alfred W. Venn of Newport, his skiff was the Dorothia named after his eldest daughter. In those days piloting was much a family business, and in spite of fierce competition once at sea, there was a good deal of socializing and even intermarriage between piloting clans. My father’s youngest sister, Joan, married into one of the most famous pilot families – the Rays of Bristol, then Wales. One of the early Rays assisted the explorer John Cabot as he left to explore the new world in 1497. Since that time, many generations of Rays had distinguished themselves in the service. Born at the end of the Edwardian age, his early memories threw a light on that era. He remembers riding in a hansom cab in London, seeing American “doughboys” in WWI in their cowboy campaign hats, and the memorable day he was taken, mid week, to chapel to a memorial service for “a liner that hit an iceberg mid-Atlantic, and the souls of the poor crew and passengers who drowned.”
When he became a teenager, he was taken to a marine outfitters, bought a pair of seaboots, oilskins and a southwester, and signed articles as an apprentice with his father. On the pilot boat there were usually three crew, the master, the pilot himself (sometimes called “Boss” by the crew to his face or “the Old Man” at other times.) The man-the-boat, a person of infinite talents and a jack-of-all trades. Lastly the apprentice, usually called “Boy,” or sometimes stronger expressions at a time that the sensitivity of the young was not given much account. He was, like all who find themselves beholden to others for their advancement and instruction, the general dogsbody, with multiple duties from hauling casks of water to fill the 60 gallon tanks, to repairing or even making sails, cooking a hearty meal on the iron stove, and taking a turn at the tiller. But tiring and tedious as these duties may have been, there was one in particular that tested his skill and courage. That was the dropping or picking up his pilot using the punt. About ten feet long, four and a half a full midship section, the punt was reported to be very light and a splendid sea boat. The punt was always sculled with a single ten foot oar, and she was stored in her chocks, right way up, on the port side. When it was “out punt” it was manhandled over the side. The Bristol boats had a bulwark that could be removed for this purpose. The actual process of bringing it alongside the lee of the larger vessel was, as always, very demanding on the seamanship of the apprentice, or whoever was doing the skulling, and at night, or with any sort of sea running, it could be a dangerous and skillful venture. My father said that even though cork lifejackets had to be available it was considered “sissy” to be seen wearing one. This pride cost a number of lives.
As I mentioned, competition was fierce! There were three types of Bristol Channel sailing pilots – there were the so-called “Cinchers”, who seemed to be a forerunner of dock pilots and who worked around the river mouth, and served the deep-loaded ships that went to the various wharves in the river. Secondly, there were the most amusingly called “Crack of Dawn Boys” from mainly Barry. They set sail at dawn for a chance at a ship slipping through the net and missed by the last class of pilots – the so-called “Westermen,” These were considered the cream of the crop since they went after the bigger ships, and might end up in Liverpool or Belfast, or even Dungeness in their relentless quest for work.
The aim of this game was to be the furthest west of your rivals in order to win
the right of getting the job. Sometimes this became a battle of wits; sailing without navigation lights, rowing the skiff with big sweeps in a flat calm night. Anything that got you to be the most westerly boat! My grandfather had a friend who was a ship’s butcher, and he got many a tip-off of what ships were due and when. Of course, being an apprentice was not without its fun either. One game the lads invented was “Mid-Channel Football”. There was a sand bar that only surfaced at low tide for an hour or so. They would row out, set up the pitch, and play until the water reached their ankles at which point the match would be concluded the referee’s whistle and the pitch would return to the bottom of the Channel! The pilot skiffs were moored in what is, even today called “Pilots Pill”. A “Pill” being the local name for a tidal creek. With a 40 foot tide at low water the boats would sit in the mud on their “legs,” during which time the apprentices did what my father described as “a fair bit of skylarking”. After serving his five years there came the required deep sea time. In those days a “ticket” was not required as a qualification, so my father shipped out “before the mast”, but was rated as a quartermaster, so learned ship handling on an intensive basis. During the next few years he traveled to Australia, America, India and in particular, the far east. When he finished his obligation the depression began to set in. Jobs in general were few and far between and since piloting was a matter of waiting to fill “dead men’s shoes”, he faced years of waiting until his chance came. My grandfather suggested he work as a boatman on the River Usk at Newport which he did, thus becoming more familiar with the enormous tides and currents which served him well when many years later he was responsible for the safe passage of ocean-going ships in that area. In 1933 he married Edna Barrett, whose maternal grandfather was Pilot Will Evans. They were married for 54 years during
which time my mother was never in good health. She had one of the first open heart
surgeries in the country. My father was devoted to her, and performed many household
tasks without complaint. With a child on the way, he got a job as a rigger, and was
quickly promoted to supervisor at Newport Docks. When WWII arrived, he was very disappointed to find himself too old to serve. He had hoped to help man one of the air/sea rescue launches which were run by the RAF. So, in order to “do his bit”, he volunteered for the Royal Observer Corps. It is important to recall that personal telephones were almost unknown and therefore to report to the fire brigade after an air raid, the solution was to station three observers on high building and through a system of “triangulation” advise authorities as to the location of fires. He spent many hours upon the famed Transporter Bridge and St. Woloos Church tower but by 3am, the Germans would have beat it back to France before daylight, and he could go home. As he had Special Constable status, he had the benefit of a lift home in a police car. My mother used to worry what the neighbours would think about him arriving home in this form of conveyance in the wee small hours!
Father also did some work with the tugs. On one memorable trip they towed a very strange concrete craft with a well set-up cabin below. At first it was thought to be a floating crane platform, but when they towed it up river they found dozens of such platforms. They were, of course, part of the Mulberry Harbour. During all this time, the pilotage in the Bristol Channel underwent a cataclysmic change that would alter their lives forever. This is a long, sad and complicated story that happened over a few years. In today’s terms, its description would include such catch phrases as “bottom-line”, “outsourcing”, “in-house” and “market forces”. Briefly, what happened was that at the end of the First World War, a couple of major steamship companies decided to contract with individual pilots. This destroyed a well-versed system of free lance operation that had been in place for hundreds of years. Violence erupted and one of the “chosen” pilots was tarred and feathered by the angry wives of the affected men. There seemed to be only one solution – amalgamation. This had been tried years before but had come to no avail. Now, however, there as added impetus of financial discipline plus the introduction of steam craft, and the possibility of the fledgling radio to simplify the task of a joint venture. One pilot, in listing the pros and cons, simply stated as his own con – “I will lose my independence.” Even down the years I was aware of this debate, and recall my father, who had a liberal disposition, making the case for amalgamation against those of a more perhaps romantic and nostalgic out look of the past.
So it was my father who was an apprentice in the two eras, from sail to steam. (It might be of some interest that my own son became an engineer on a US Navy nuclear submarine, so our family went from Scottish flax sail cloth to nucleur fission in three generations!) When the Bristol Channel pilots amalgamated, overnight a fleet of these splendid skiffs became redundant, discerning yachtsmen snapped up many but sadly many were left as rotting hulks in creeks and on mud banks. In 1952 my father finally realised his ambition! At 46 years old he was called to take the examination before the Pilotage Board. I was in school at the time, but recall my grandfather and him pouring over charts on the kitchen table as they sailed invisible ships in an endless variety of states of tides by the quickest and safest route. Passing his exams, he obtained his license that gave him the right to pilot from Lundy to Caerleon Bridge. By now the Newport cutter was stationed at Barry Roads, and in spite of the loss of freedom, he was compensated by a warm bedroom, a full time cook and a fast vessel to whisk him to his charges. He used to say that the Bristol Channel has a nice muddy bottom, so it avoided a problem of never going aground. However, he had one nightmare, and that was running aground in the river with the ship’s bow on one bank and the stern on the opposite, then, with a 40 foot tide the ship unsupported would “break her back”. It never happened.
“About the shipwreck,” he would say, and then recount the night that the cutter in a violent storm went on the rocks at Barry. In the dark, the crew jumped aboard the life boat and hauled away out to sea to relative safety. My father coming on deck on the port side looked through the rain and darkness and saw below him a rock, so he slid over the side. Finding a sort of pathway, my father made his way up to what seemed to be a lighted building. It turned out to be the local coastguard station, where, so he said, “They made me a nice cup of tea.” Meanwhile, the rest of the crew, now realizing he was missing, feared he may have perished. Afterwards he had difficulty living this down! Once he was contacted by the BBC wanting to know if the pilot boat could take a camera crew out to film the Nonsuch, a 17th century replica of an explorer’s ship. They found her off Lundy Island in a howling gale. My father told the somewhat famous TV presenter that he was about to see something few people had witnessed – a 17th century ship riding out a full gale while still at sea. But alas! All the TV people spent the trip with their heads over the side and thus missed their chance of a lifetime!
One of his saddest jobs was taking ships on their last voyage up to Cashmores, the famous ship breakers up the River Usk. It didn’t matter what she was: coaster, warship, liner, even once a submarine, it was always a sad moment when “Finished With Engines” was rung down. One of the most difficult moments in piloting (or so I understand) was bringing a ship into the lock-gates of Newport Dock. Located at the mouth of the Usk River there was a strong cross current, and to fit in the locks required allowing for sidewards tendency of slippage. In docking the largest ship ever to enter Newport, there was only 18 inches on each side of the ship to fit the lock. My father said it was a good job he had brought his shoe horn with him that day!
During this period I had emigrated to Canada and I eventually moved to California to start up and eventually manage the financial service operation of a federal bank in San Francisco. Both my parents were regular visitors, then when my mother died, my father spent three months each winter at our home on the San Mateo Coast, where he loved to walk around the local harbour chatting to the local fisherman and generally being a member of the unofficial “dock committee”. We made a number of trips. Once to Death Valley, one of the hottest places on earth. My father would consider himself naked if he was not in a “collar and tie” and a local ranger told me it was the only time he had seen a man in a tie in years! Another memorable trip was a cruise to the western Caribbean. In all his travels he had never touched the Panama Canal, and he was delighted when the captain sent for him and invited him up to the bridge to meet and observe the canal pilot at work. It appears most of these pilots were Canadian. My father said he had to bite his tongue he had such a desire to take over just one last time! At one point he whispered to himself, “Just a touch of bow thrust,” when the pilot repeated the order almost simultaneously. My father had not lost it!
For many years he was a very proud member of Rotary, and later one of the founder members of Probus. His good humour, natural modesty and teller of stories made him popular with all who met him. No doubt he found the fellowship he had long enjoyed be it in the saloon of the cutter or the foc’s’le of a steamer. When asked how he had lived so long, he would tell people he had never drank or smoked and that he always had a big door at home. He would wait for this to sink in and then when asked why, he would say “to let my halo in!”
In his last years he would like to be driven down to the moor below Newport. There he would look over the channel and say “look, not a ship in sight!” and shake his head.
When it became too much for him to fly to California, my wife and I, now retired, were able to spend a lot of time in frequent visits to the UK. It became obvious as he approached his centennial he would require more around the clock medical attention, so he entered a nursing home where in December of 2005 he finally died just short of that centennial. Like a lot of old sailors, he used a number of nautical phrases. Groceries, for examples, were called “stores”. After he died I found a piece of paper in his jacket pocket. It was headed “Stores for next Friday”. I had to find a suitable verse to put on the memorial cards we were having printed. The verse I choose was what Shackleton said to his men as they looked about them at an appalling disaster with nothing but a frozen and lingering death thousands of miles from any hope. Shackleton simply said to them: “Ship and stores gone – so now we will go home.”
G Barrett Venn
Nelson Memorial
NELSON FUNERAL RE-ENACTMENT
The Nelson Funeral re-enactment was held on the Thames on 16th September 2005. Several pilots and retired pilots attended this event and shown here are First Sea Lord
Sir Alan West with L-R Nick Cutmore, IMPA Secretary General, Leonard Fenner Retd.
(London TH North Channel & PLA), Peter Widd (TH & PLA), Peter Russell Retd.( London TH Cinque Ports & PLA) and Norman Knowles Retd. (London TH Cinque Ports)
Youde, Ronald Fergus
Ronald Fergus Youde (1910 - 2005)
Article by RF Youde on Piloting WW2 (Page 11) pilotmag.co.uk/userfiles/Pilotmag%20278%20(Jul%2004).pdf
Pilot Ronald Fergus Youde died peacefully on 14th December 2005, aged 95. The son of a leading Chester lawyer, he was born in 1910 and educated at Chester Cathedral Choir School, followed by the King’s School and HMS Conway. In 1927 as a Senior Cadet Captain (HMS Conway) he began what was to prove to be a nineyear apprenticeship in the Liverpool Pilot Service. During 1932-34 he was released to serve as Fourth Officer in the Far-East trade of the Blue Funnel Line. He was Licensed in Liverpool as a Third Class Pilot in 1936. The outbreak of the Second World War in 1939 saw him fast-tracked to First Class rank. For his services during the War he was ultimately granted, as were all serving pilots of the time, the honorary Freedom of the City of Liverpool – an honour which he greatly appreciated. In 1945 he was elected to the Liverpool Pilotage Committee and also to the Chair of the Liverpool Pilots’ Association, holding both offices for twenty-five years until relinquishing each one in 1970. In 1948 he was appointed Appropriated Pilot to Anchor Line Ltd. The vessel in the photograph is Anchor Line’s Circassia which had two sister ships, Cilicia and Caledonia, all operating a monthly liner service from Liverpool – with much coastal work to the Clyde and the Bristol Channel when in home waters. Together with Anchor Line’s cargo service to USA, he was kept very busy. RF Youde served Anchor Line from 1948 until the withdrawal of its passenger-service to Bombay in 1964 after which he was appropriated to Shaw Savill & Albion, from which he retired in 1975. Following this he served as a Trustee of the Pilots’ National Pension Fund, eventually relinquishing that post in 1993, aged eighty-three. If the holding of professional office is to be seen as a prize, it may safely be said that RF Youde swept the board of all the prizes available to any pilot of his generation. His leadership was by example and he was a man of few words. It was sometimes said that he could say more with his mouth shut than with his mouth open – and he frequently did so with devastating effect. He could not suffer any fool. He inherited his father’s incisive legal mind and had no difficulty in recognising any aspect of pilotage law. On behalf of pilots in the 1950s he was one of the leading figures in securing the Agreement of Sir Robert Letch (the “Letch Agreement”) in relation to conditions of service. By the authority of the Secretary of State. This Agreement stands to the present day as a precedent benchmark for the benefit of pilots and all others concerned with the organisation of shipping at national level. More locally, as a member of the Liverpool Pilotage Committee, he was the pilot most closely associated with the generally unpopular task of de-commissioning the traditional sea-keeping pilot-cutters, on the grounds of expense, and replacing them with a shorebased launch-service. He never courted popularity in any way and the fact that he achieved any of his aims at all was attributable solely to his unfailing (if sometimes blunt) civility. Beyond his rather lonely professional exterior, family farming connections as a child had instilled in him a love of the countryside and a respect for any good sporting horseman. He had been a keen sporting oarsman when at the King’s School in the early 1920s, in stark contrast of style to the working-boat oarsman which he was soon obliged to become as a pilotage apprentice. Any further interest in sport, however, remained general rather than specific and he was never known to take mere physical exercise of any kind at all. Even golf was anathema to him. All his life, on the other hand, he was an enthusiastic and hard-working gardener, a sharp humorist, a good bridge-player and a ladies’ man. He married Mary Lloyd Evans in 1936 and they became the loving parents of two sons. He was a loving and muchloved husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather. He remained physically active and mentally razor-sharp to the end, having made many friends in later life and earning the accolade “Everybody’s Grandfather” in doing so. After being widowed in 1980 he lived with Connie Miller, sister of Pilot Cyril James Miller, his former “Conway Chum”. His entire life was devoted to pilotage and his family. Pilotage has lost a good friend. The loss to his family is much the greater.
Barrie Youde
Pilotage Laws 1888
PILOTAGE LAWS 1888
At a time when the UKMPA are working to draw up a new Pilotage Act including provisions to incorporate the relevant sections of the Port Marine Safety Code it is timely to look back at pilotage history. The following are extracts from a paper tabled at the 1888 UKPA Conference by Commander Cawley. It is equally valid today!
I am of opinion that the whole fabric of pilotage law is so rotten and one-sided that, any attempt to renovate or patch it up would be an inconvenient and a dangerous makeshift. This pilotage question, as well as others of a pelagic nature, must be dealt with in detail by seamen, thorough masters of their profession, for in dealing with this matter immense and continuous responsibilities are involved only known to mature nautical experts.
It must be admitted that pilots were originally appointed for no other purpose than that of enhancing the security to life. I am fully convinced that it is absolutely essential to the safety of human life. I say it (and not without serious and deliberate consideration), that pilotage and the ef.ciency of the pilotage service plays no unimportant part in the safety of “all those who go down to the sea in ships.” Where life is at stake, and its security so indissolubly and indisputably connected with this service, I, as a competent British seaman, would ask your honourable Committee to pause and consider the dreadful responsibilities that would arise if any unwise interference with this pilotage service should be contemplated and of all the dangerous and immediate perils encountered by those who travel by sea, those perils the pilots were formed to counteract and combat. It takes time to gain the ear of the thinking people of this country to the grave importance of this subject. It is connected with their safety and directly and indirectly concerns them, but, like all other matters, it requires patience and perseverance to bring it to their knowledge. I wish to preserve the pilotage system in all its present ef.ciency, and, where possible, make it more ef.cient. In doing so I am endeavoring to extend to those seamen who will come after me those great bene.ts of security to life which a wise generation thought .t to establish for the safety of seamen centuries ago and which is as essential now (even more so) than it was then. If it is essential that pilots should be appointed, it is also the duty of the State who appointed them that they should live in safety and in contentment and in peace.
Some may be in doubt of this great service the British pilots render the sea traveling public. I have no such doubt, in fact I am awfully and piously impressed with its stupendous importance. They carry the greyhounds of the sea from Liverpool and from
The indiscriminate granting of pilotage certi.cates to Masters and
mates is a dangerous law, inasmuch as it legalises incompetency, and
instead of ensuring positive safety it not only renders the possessor of
this super.cial knowledge a danger to himself, but also to those in
other vessels who have accepted the services of a real quali.ed pilot
117 years later?? JCB
Pilot Cutters identified
PHOTOS IDENTIFIED
On page 12 of the October 2004 issue of The Pilot there were two photographs for which information was sought. Once again Harwich Haven pilot Andy Adams has provided the following fascinating and detailed information.
The Clyde Launch:
Prior to WW2 the
The London
The London No.1 cutter is Pioneer. The Dungeness cruising cutters were based at
The sailing pilot ketches No.3
Whilst on duty at the Shipwash station the Pioneer was tendered by sailing cutters from Harwich. In 1912 the Shipwash station was closed and a single station in the
The Guide and Pioneer then took turns as the Dungeness tender as well as taking rotational duty for the Sunk and Dungeness stations.
With the introduction of a third new cutter in 1914 Guide was sold to
1924 she was renamed Preceder to make way for a new Pioneer.
1925 Sold to Pilotage du Gironde, renamed Chevalier.
1935. Broken up
No 1: Pioneer
Official Number 98971
Length 114’ 03”
Breadth 21’ 00”
Moulded Depth 11’ 04”
Compound 2 cylinders steam reciprocating machinery by M Paul of Dumbarton 82rhp
Signal Letters MHGF
Gross Tonnage 156
Net Tonnage24
PS There was speculation from another correspondent that the Guide and Pioneer were the same vessel but had removable name boards which were swapped over when the vessel changed operating stations. Further to this Andy revisited his archives and has confirmed that:
The Pioneer and Guide were two different vessels but were built together (456 & 457) as sister ships. The interchangeable name boards were the location boards
No.2 The Guide:
1891 Built for the Dungeness station,
1914 replaced by Patrol and sold to J E Bernier of Levis Lauzon,
1923 Sold to Cie Navigation de la Baie de Bras d’ Or.
1926 Sold to
1926 Sunk in St Lawrence.
AMICALE INTERNATIONAL CAP HORNIERS (AICH)
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
There were various classes of membership; Albatross, who had commanded a sailing ship round
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
Alan Villiers, the author of many books on sailing ships and our last Albatross, wrote of visiting the
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
peak, had surviving
Cecilie, Pamir,
On
Martin Lee
I have listed those AICH British members who were Pilots, there may be others.
Captain Bruce Bell.
Captain Hector Blemings,
Captain Harry Fountain,
Captain Douglas Galloway,
Captain Victor Harbord.
Captain Andrew Keyworth, Lyttelton. One rounding,
Captain Francis Kirk, Southampton. One rounding, Monkbarns 1921.
Captain M. Lee, Orwell,
Captain William Liley, River
Captain L. Peverley.
Captain John Simpson.
Captain William Sutherland.
MARTIN LEE
Last “Grand Mat’’ of the AICH (
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
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
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
harbour tugs. We then proceeded, with sand ballast, to Port Victoria in the Spencer Gulf in
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
Large square-rigged ships loaded phosphates and guano in remote places such as
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
In 1996 and 1997 after a change of direction from piloting to other matters I spent two hurricane seasons in the
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
Hurricane Iris was avoided by staying alongside in
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 21st 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.
Lee, Martin
MARTIN LEE
Last “Grand Mat’’ of the AICH (UK branch)
View the original illustrated pdf article:
pilotmag.co.uk/userfiles/Pilotmag%20281%20(Apr%2005).pdf
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 21st 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 (2nd 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.
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