Читать книгу Scotland and the Sea - Nick Robins - Страница 7
ОглавлениеAn Important Role in a National Service
It is surprising how often the historian seeking out the beginnings of famous British shipping companies discovers that the success which attended the pioneering work was largely due to the co-operation and harmonious relationship between brothers. Names which spring to mind are the Allan brothers – the five sons of Hugh Allan, founder of the Allan Line, the four Henderson brothers, linked with the origins of the Anchor Line, the brothers David and Charles MacIver who did so much to set Cunard on its feet … John and William F Donaldson, etc.
From an article which first appeared in Sea Breezes, May 1967, by T E Hughes.
WHICH WAS THE LONGEST serving steamship company in the world? According to the Scots, it was the Clyde Shipping Company, while the English would have it that it was the General Steam Navigation Company of London. Neither company survives to this day, although they both traded vigorously for many decades; the Clyde Shipping Company was only deleted from the Companies Register in 1995. The foundation of the Clyde Shipping Company occurred at the very inception of steam power at sea, quickly following the successful trials of Henry Bell’s pioneering little steamship Comet. Two early steamers, Industry and Trusty, entered the trade between the Broomielaw and Greenock in 1814, to form the nucleus of the new Clyde Shipping Company. This was ten years before Thomas Brockelbank floated the General Steam Navigation Company in London.
This Anglo/Scots argument demonstrates that the steamship was established commercially in the inshore trades early in the nineteenth century. The benefits of steam navigation greatly outweighed the vagaries of sail and oar on the river and estuary services, even though the early steamships were unreliable and prone to breakdown, and despite the hostility to the new technology vented by the watermen, most notably on the Thames. The steamer was here to stay, and Clydeside engineers readily took to building wooden-hulled paddle steamers – while the Thames shipbuilders remained steadfast in their commitment to yet more wooden-walled sailing ships for the Honourable East India Company. The birth of the steamship lay firmly at the door of Scottish inventors, engineers, boilermakers and shipbuilders, and the initial success of the steamship was keenly demonstrated by innovative shipowning syndicates initially focused on Glasgow and Edinburgh. Or so the Scots would have it – in reality the first commercial steamer service was in America and the first paddle steamer to venture on the high seas was American.
Typical of the fleet of the Clyde Shipping Company was the coastal passenger liner Rathlin (1905) which served her owners until 1933 when she was sold.
Steam-raising from coal was, of course, the driver behind the Industrial Revolution ashore, and Scotsman Henry Bell took the new steam technology to sea as a commercial venture aboard his Comet. The English engineer Isambard Brunel wryly observed that ‘Bell did what we engineers all failed in – he gave us the sea steamer; his scheming was Britain’s steaming’.
There are several good reasons why Scotland was the hub of maritime industry in the nineteenth century, and why it exerted its dominance in early marine engineering, in ship design, and even in the need to develop international trade. The first was the opening up of the Glasgow Coalfield. Shallow but rich seams of good-quality steam coal were extracted from workings beneath what is now Glasgow city, and the mines worked progressively eastwards into deeper reserves towards Monklands and beyond. The second was a pool of intelligent and innovative men who had been brought up on the technological race of the Industrial Revolution. Collectively, these men maintained the vision that steamships would take over from sail, and, unlike sailing ships, would run to an advertised timetable at regular intervals. They were capable of applying their vision equally to the practicalities of timber and of iron castings, and to the business of economics and company management.
Equally important were the inventors and designers who so rapidly drove the evolution of the steamship. They were quick to recognise, for example, that the earliest marine steam engines were over-complicated and constantly in need of adjustment, and so set about simplifying their designs to make the engines less prone to breakdown. Another element was a determination to travel and to trade, complemented by a ready-made skills base which excelled in seamanship. The seamen were the islanders who relied on the sea for food and contact with the mainland; the Hebrideans and Shetlanders took the lead here, and taught the lowland men how to navigate. And the final element was an entrepreneurial will in men who were keen to take risks, but who were also able to manage the risk-taking. Of course, once these skills had been set to work, and steamers set out from the Forth and the Clyde, the momentum generated by the new industry drove it forward with increasing confidence. The developing British Empire provided an ideal global context in which the Scots and their inventions could reach the ends of the earth.
The early steamers arrived in heady days when the wealth of the Industrial Revolution engendered some grand and ambitious designs. When the celebrated English engineer John Smeaton was invited to work on the Forth & Clyde Canal in the 1780s, the forces driving the construction of the canal were primarily in the east of Scotland. The main impetus came from the merchants of Edinburgh and various innovative manufacturers, such as the Carron Company of Falkirk. They saw the canal as a means of accessing the Glasgow Coalfield, its energy, industry and wealth. In later years, of course, coal-mining spread east as the deeper Central and even deeper Lothian coalfields were successively exploited, with the Longannet Colliery in Fife one of the very last survivors. The merchants and industrialists in the west of Scotland were not so interested in the new canal, but the shipowners were. The Greenock shipowners could see that the canal would at last give them a short cut to Europe and the Baltic, to the extent that, following the opening of the canal, a number of Glasgow- and Greenock-owned schooners were based at Grangemouth where they transhipped cargoes via the canal.
Dining saloon aboard the Carron Line steamer Forth (1887). (Linda Gowans collection)
The Carron Company, which was a shipowner in its own right for many years, is particularly significant in the development of the steam engine and of its going to sea. Owning iron ore and limestone quarries as well as coal mines, the company concentrated on iron castings as its main product. James Watt was a friend of Dr Roebuck, one of the founders of the Carron Company, and Roebuck agreed to oversee the making of the first castings for Watt’s revolutionary new steam engine back in 1789. The castings were made at the Carron Iron Works in Falkirk. The newfangled engine was assembled at Dr Roebuck’s home near Bo’ness and, following trials, was installed in a boat constructed by William Symington, which was then put to the test on the River Carron in 1790. The technology was revisited with sponsorship from Lord Dundas, which enabled the experimental stern wheeler Charlotte Dundas to be tried on the Forth & Clyde Canal between 1801 and 1803.
At that time the deep-sea merchant navy was essentially the Honourable East India Company, consolidated by Royal Charter in 1600. Big, heavy, and indeed heavily armed, sailing ships designed to trade to company outstations in the Far East were chartered by the company, although it also owned many ships in its own right. These outstations were themselves heavily defended by the East India Company’s own army. Colonisation and the development of Empire was well advanced even before the nineteenth century when the Scots were already prominent in the East India Company.
In the nineteenth century private companies, owning ships on the 64th share principle, began to take up trade wherever perishable cargoes needed to be transhipped and lucrative returns could be earned. Much still depended on sail. The ‘tea clippers’ raced home with their precious cargoes, so as to receive the premium fee for the first ship of the season into port. Thermopylae, built by Hood of Aberdeen in 1868, conjures up a vision of racing against Cutty Sark, both with a thousand tons of tea in their holds. Nearer to home, the ‘rantapike’ (literally, ‘a rakish young girl’) or coastal schooner sailed between the Clyde and Liverpool, and with a fair wind did this in surprisingly little time. Of course, there were no railways in the early nineteenth century, and the ‘fast’ roads used by the stagecoaches were indifferent at best. The highwaymen too were plentiful, so the option of a quick passage by a fast sailing boat was attractive, especially in fair weather.
One of the Aberdeen Line’s famous full-rigged ships, built by Walter Hood of Aberdeen, was Thermopylae (1868). In 1872 she beat Cutty Sark (1869) homeward to London from Shanghai.
But the new maritime industry of the early nineteenth century only carried low-volume, high-value goods, but high-volume, low-value goods such as coal also needed transporting. Before large deadweight vessels were available to undertake this work and before coal wagons set out on the new railways, the availability of local coal dictated where industry could develop, as it could then only be transported in bulk by canal and the local tramroads. Lowland Scotland was set to benefit; the Scottish stage was indeed set for the steamship – bringing raw materials to the factories and mills and taking finished goods to market. One of the more attractive markets was London; it had no coal, and it had little industry, but its people were occupied in traditional trades, in which buying and selling, even to this day, have been the key to money-making. Scottish merchants were keenly aware of this potential, and helped to promote seagoing vessels that would help them lay out their stalls in monied London.
The greatest obstacle to speedy development was that the early seagoing paddle steamers were small and capable of carrying only a small consignment of passengers and perhaps mails. As the wooden hulls grew in size to match the development of more powerful engines, so an increasing load of goods could be conveyed. Crews’ and owners’ wages could always be enhanced by towage, and the steamship was very adept at helping becalmed sailing ships into port or assisting ships against adverse wind and tide. The steamer soon came to be recognised as a threat to the sailing ship, but it was not until the 1850s that sailing ships were ousted from the express coasting trade, and it was the outbreak of the Great War that caused the deep-sea sailing ships to give up against the superior economics of steam. The major development in the ultimate demise of the sailing ship was the screw propeller as this promoted the carriage of heavy, bulk cargoes such as coal or grain. The propeller, being fully immersed, was much less affected by a change in draught than the surface effective paddle wheel. The introduction of metal in shipbuilding also aided efficiency. The iron hull introduced in the late 1830s reduced a ship’s weight by 50 per cent over an equivalent wooden hull, and mild steel, which was introduced in the 1870s, made a further reduction in weight of 10 per cent.
But what did the Scots contribute to this? In short, they designed and built the ships, engineered the propulsion systems, and put up the money to build and operate the steamship fleets. The Scots were not alone, of course, as merchants in Liverpool, Belfast and northeast England were soon to follow, but Scottish involvement with these maritime centres was all-pervading. Scottish-built ships, Scottish managers, Scottish crews and officers penetrated the south and eventually the entire global merchant navy. In the 1930s, for example, every passenger vessel on the Egyptian-owned Khedevial Mail Line’s eastern Mediterranean routes was captained by a Scot.
Scotland’s maritime industry owed much to the Scottish emigrants. First were the poor crofters displaced by the Clearances and later the skilled craftsmen and businessmen looking for a better life overseas. These men and women helped develop agriculture in numerous countries, they developed the transport system to get produce to port and they developed the port infrastructure to handle ships ready to bring primary goods back to the UK. Some trades were dominantly Scottish, the jute trade from Bengal to Dundee being just one example.
Ben Line of Leith carried its archetypal, and to many unpronounceable, Scottish names around the world: Bencleuch (1949) is seen approaching Ocean Dock Southampton, 1 February 1969. (Author)
Scotland, with just one-tenth the population of England and Wales, represented over half the maritime expertise in Britain by the mid nineteenth century. Where would German-born Canadian national, Samuel Cunard, have been without the resources of George Burns and David MacIver, the latter a Scot exiled in Liverpool, and the engineering skills of Robert Napier working on the Clyde? There are many other great names: Aberdeen, Albion, Anchor Line and its founder Thomas Henderson, along with brothers David, John and William Donaldson (John and William Donaldson), Paddy Henderson – Patrick and brothers Thomas, Robert and George, Thompson’s Ben Line of Edinburgh and tramp-shipowners such as ‘Hungry’ Hogarth of Ardrossan, Maclay & McIntyre of Glasgow, and the quaintly named Raeburn & Verel. Brothers in business were a common start to many early Scottish companies. G & J Burns of Glasgow, for example, was founded by the brothers George and James, although James was the driving force in shipowning. James and Donald Currie, another example, worked together in the established Hull & Leith Shipping Company in the 1850s, before Donald opened new routes, first to Calcutta and then to South Africa with his Castle Line, later amalgamated with the Union Steamship Company to create Union-Castle.
Scottish shipowners catered for the emigration of their own people, as Commander Vernon Gibbs described in his book Western Ocean Passenger Lines and Liners:
The prevailing theme of Scotland’s story since pre-steamship days has been the outward drain of her people and the Anchor Line carried more Scots overseas than any other line. The main Anchor service was always between Glasgow and New York without likelihood of attracting English traffic, but the outflow of Scottish migrants seemed endless … Search for additional emigrant traffic took small Anchor steamships to Italian ports long before other British lines dreamed of entering the Mediterranean trade, and a Genoa–New York service commenced late in the 1860s. The Anchor Line became a public company, Anchor Line (Henderson Brothers) at the end of the century, and then reconstructed its Glasgow–New York fleet, but the size of the new ships illustrates the trade’s limitations. The Columbia of 1902 and three later vessels averaged little over 9,000 tons, compared with the 18,000 to 24,000 of the Cunard and White Star intermediate steamers from Liverpool.
British India Steam Navigation Company was a London-based company but its roots were undeniably Scottish; Kenya (1920), a product of Alexander Stephen & Sons, was typical of the many proud passenger liners that once served the company.
There has been a succession of Scottish managers guiding otherwise English companies such as P&O, British India, a Scottish company to the core until its relocation to London, the Orient Line, and even London’s own General Steam Navigation Company, the latter working on the Home Trade and Mediterranean runs. This penetration of the industry by Scots is paralleled to this day in the finance sector (now somewhat tarnished by the 2008 banking crisis), in which the City of London has always had its Scottish school, the honest and canny Scot being respected as a trusted broker. It is reflected also in modern-day television adverts for the same industry, which invariably feature a Scottish voice-over, and perhaps even a Scottish widow!
The Nelson Line of London imported meat from Argentina to London and strangely clad itself in tartan with its Highland fleet nomenclature; typical was Highland Warrior (1920); they were all fine-looking ships.
Tankers Limited, London, operated a tartan nomenclature: three of its ships are seen laid up in the Depression, from right to left, Scottish Minstrel (1922) and Scottish Chief (1928) and behind them Scottish American (1920). Elder Dempster Line’s New Brooklyn (1920) is laid up to the right. (John Clarkson)
The honest Scot, or so it is perceived, has caused a number of English companies to masquerade under the Scottish banner. The Nelson Line of Liverpool had its distinctively Scottish ‘Highland’ ship nomenclature, even after its ships had been adsorbed into the Royal Mail Line in 1913. Tankers Limited, formed in London in 1920 to service the burgeoning oil tanker charter market, applied a distinctive ‘Scottish’ prefix to its twelve-ship fleet until it sold out to the Athel Line during the Second World War. Tankers Limited operated twelve 10,000-ton deadweight classic engines aft, bridge amidships vessels, a mix of twin-screw motor vessels and steamships.
James ‘Paraffin’ Young is yet another Scot to be celebrated, although a man of little maritime ambition. It was he who looked at the oil shale in Midlothian, and realised that something could be done with it that might even compete with the dominance of coal. He developed a low-flash liquid fuel, which, when pressed and refined into liquid paraffin, was suitable for lighting and heating when burned. It was also suitable for burning in a confined cylinder, in which the pressure of the burnt fuel pushed a piston away to create enough force to be harnessed in a circular motion – the internal combustion engine. Dr Diesel, a German, was the pioneer in the technology that led to the marine oil engine, but early marine engines were fuelled by petrol, a fuel that was disliked at sea because of its high flashpoint, and later by paraffin. In the early twentieth century, the first passenger vessels powered by the internal combustion engine, and as it happens fuelled by paraffin, were Comet, Scout and Lochinvar, owned and operated by David MacBrayne & Company on a network of inter-island and island–mainland services within the Western Isles of Scotland.
Lochinvar (1908) was a pioneer paraffin-engined passenger ferry operated by David MacBrayne. Her prototype paraffin engines were replaced by diesels in 1926. (© National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London)
The thread continues in many and diverse directions. The Scots pioneered the concept of the cruise ship, with early cruises to the Scottish Isles from 1827. Patrons included Queen Victoria, the artist J M W Turner, the poet William Wordsworth and the composer Felix Mendelssohn, who all visited Fingal’s Cave on the island of Staffa in the late 1820s and early 1830s. Meanwhile, the first cruise round the Nore Light in the Thames estuary was offered to Londoners only in April 1830 – but what a tame venture that was, compared with the rigours of the Minches, even though the struggling and smoky steamer might be of the same genre!
Ships like David MacBrayne’s Iona (there were three) and the Columba were unequalled on the Thames, the Bristol Channel, and the Mersey, or at any other population centre, and these fine ships served Glasgow and the Clyde towns and villages with an unparalleled service. Indeed, steamers such as the first Lord of the Isles, replaced on the Clyde by a new steamer of the same name, was ‘retired’ to the Thames to take over the prestigious tourist routes there, and went on to become the darling of Londoners, at the mature age of thirteen. Meanwhile, the Craigendoran fleet of paddle steamers, the former LNER, is remembered happily to this day in the form of the Waverley, which plies as a seasonal excursion ship round the coasts of Britain. Likewise on the Forth, the fleet of the Galloway Saloon Steam Packet took excursionists out of Leith and Newhaven to sleepy havens in Fife or down to New Berwick for a visit to the seaside.
The very foundation of Clyde and Forth excursions is based on a Scottish devotion to the sea. Sailings ‘Doon the watter’ from the Broomielaw, and away to Fife from Leith and Newhaven, became institutions, the Sabbath excepted, that Lowlanders enjoyed for generations. Although a trip from the pier round the bay ‘weather and other circumstances permitting’ was very much also an English day out, the Scottish version was accompanied by a piper, an accordion and any amount of drink, but above all by magnificent scenery! Galloway on the Forth, and the numerous competing companies on the Clyde, produced some majestic steamers to attract patronage, while Clyde steamers also maintained daily contact with otherwise remote communities. Trips further afield were offered in the west to the Hebrides, and in the east from Leith to Aberdeen and north to the Orkney and Shetland Islands. The excursionist was spoiled for choice. Bearing in mind that the Columba serving on the Clyde offered a post office, a barber, electric lighting and various other accoutrements, these ships were indeed the nation’s market leaders.
David MacBrayne’s Columba (1878) approaching Dunoon Pier on the Firth of Clyde. (Linda Gowans collection)
Shipbuilding was synonymous with the Clyde, Forth, Aberdeen and Dundee. Scotland’s shipbuilding industry produced some of the great ships, some still afloat today, as well as numerous types of coastal vessels. Survivors include two small Isle of Wight car ferries, built at Henry Robb’s former Yard at Leith, the last-serving passenger cargo liner, St Helena, which was constructed at Aberdeen in 1990, Cunard’s Queen Elizabeth 2, now languishing at Dubai, and the Pride of York which serves P&O Ferries’ Hull to Zeebrugge overnight route. Although shipbuilding is largely a thing of the past in Scotland, due to competitive international labour costs in the global market, the legacy of ‘Clyde-built’ lives on. The tremendous skills base that the industry generated and sustained has been absorbed in other directions; the rivet squads, platers and other trades have now gone, as have the boilermakers in Paisley, and elsewhere, the engine manufacturers, large and small, and all the many and diverse industries throughout Britain that supplied the shipbuilder have ceased trading or diversified to other markets.
The North Sea ferry Pride of York (1987), originally named Norsea, was the last major passenger unit to be built on the Clyde. (Author)
Although shipbuilding was essentially a British industry for much of the early nineteenth century, the label ‘Clyde-built’ evoked a prestige that has not been equalled. The ‘Queens’ were Clyde-built, while Clydeside craftsmen were renowned across the globe, notwithstanding the excellence of the yards along the Lagan and the Mersey, in northeast England and, at a later stage, at Barrow-in Furness.
Training was also very important. Leith Nautical College and other centres, such as James Watt College at Greenock, have been responsible for many a cadet’s apprenticeship in navies across the world. Scottish-based shipping companies trained and promoted cadets for examinations towards engineering and deck officer appointments aboard their own ships, with many progressing to merchant fleets both at home and abroad. The distinction between cadet and apprentice was realised and many a shipping company preferred the apprentice who paid his own way to offer a form of cheap labour at sea.
By the Edwardian era almost every family in Scotland had at least one seaman in deep-sea trading. These men were not only working for Scottish-owned companies, but also supporting the many English shipowning companies, and providing officers and men for fleets flying the flags of diverse nations across the world. A disproportionate number of sailors were from the Hebrides and Shetlands, where frugal family incomes were commonly supplemented by money brought home from lengthy tours of duty back and forth across the Indian Ocean or trading between Australia and the Far East.
Others, of course, preferred the home and coastal trades, and were able to submit their pay packets to their wives on a more regular basis. Potential employers included Hutcheson/MacBrayne, Clyde Shipping, Carron, Dundee Perth & London, Aberdeen Steam Navigation, and London & Edinburgh in the passenger coasting trade, and Leith Hull & Hamburg, Gibson and Rankine with cargo and passengers within the Home Trade Limits – Brest to the Elbe. Even in the 1950s and early 1960s, during the twilight years of the Thames excursion steamers, the soft, gentle Hebridean brogue could be heard from the fo’c’sle of the Queen of the Channel, alongside the brash tones of cockney seamen, who were in the majority. Many a canny deep-sea Scot realised that working the Home Trade, and even on the Thames pleasure steamers of GSN, allowed a sight of their wives and children on at least a monthly basis. Experience with Shell Tankers and the like had shown them that home leave was at best yearly, and at worst much longer, with Dad meeting the baby for the first time on a second birthday!
The role of the Scots, however, lay in supporting the development and industry of the British Empire. As the badge of the greatest merchant fleet of all time, the Red Ensign dominated the waterfront of all major ports. It reminded any would-be tyrant that Britain ruled the waves, and that Britain was indeed in charge of the world.
Kathryn Moore, in a study on maritime Scotland in the period 1800 to 1914, summarised the influence of Scottish maritime enterprise on the Scottish people as follows:
For those of us living at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the critical role played by maritime Scotland within the country’s economy in the period from 1800 to 1914 is not easily understood. Nevertheless, the importance of the sea and ships to the lives of a large proportion of the population was, at that time, generally accepted. Most communities of any size were located on the coast or on rivers making the arrival and departure of vessels a common occurrence. The sea provided jobs not only for those employed in manning ships but also for a wide range of allied trades and businesses on shore. For those with skill and ability, shipping and trade provided opportunities for advancement and prosperity. In many towns and villages investing in a vessel was a common occurrence even for people with relatively little finance at their disposal. It was a means of contributing to the economic life of their communities. To such people any loss at sea had not merely financial repercussions but meant that family members or friends frequently did not return.
The ports were critical to the rapid industrial and economic expansion of Scotland as most industries were export led. Even when the railway network was in place the shipping industry played a vital role in moving goods between maritime communities at home and abroad. And, without the essential food supplies brought in by sea it would have been impossible to meet the requirements of the expanding urban population. New technology transformed the shipbuilding industry and had an important part to play in port expansion. Economic success led to the construction of ever-larger harbours and docks at the main Scottish ports, in turn creating many jobs on shore. Maritime communities in the nineteenth century recognised the inter-dependence of the sea and land in a way that is far less common today but many of our present townscapes are a direct result of that relationship. The sea, and the shipping lines that were built up at this time, linked Scotland with the rest of Britain and with the world. Many chose to emigrate or to work abroad in order to make their own fortunes. But even for those at home, increased prosperity meant that by the early twentieth century the sea had also become a vehicle for recreation and holidays.
But where does Scotland stand today in terms of maritime dominance? The answer, sadly, is simply that it does not stand anywhere. The British Merchant Navy has been decimated, first, by the ending of the British Empire and empowerment of other nations, and second, and more recently, by the ‘flag of convenience’. Today it is convenient to fly the flag of, for example, Panama or the Turks and Caicos Islands, to gain the advantage of tax concessions and laxer laws regarding crewing and general safety. With the exception of the ferries owned by Caledonian MacBrayne, which continue to be consistently registered at Glasgow, the names of Glasgow or Leith on the stern of a ship are now replaced by Nassau, Hamilton, and even Gibraltar. But step aboard and look at the crew list, which shows Poles, Bulgarians, and any nationality you like, but who is in charge of them? As often as not, it is a Scot.
The port of Aberdeen is an interesting and colourful harbour, with its blue-hulled NorthLink ferries to Orkney and Shetland and its numerous brightly-painted oil industry support craft. And who owns and operates most of the oily boats? They are very much multinational these days, but step aboard again, and the Scots brogue can be heard somewhere on the bridge or in the engineering department. Indeed, the problem today is persuading youngsters in Britain that there is still a good career to be had at sea, when British officers are in demand. Demand also prefers British hands on the bridges of anchor-handling ships and tugs, as the skills of these men are recognised the world over.
Of anecdotes there are many, and an entire book could be devoted to the stories passed down by each succeeding generation. One that was told on many a Saturday night with a broad Glaswegian accent by the landlord of a pub in Bevois Valley in Southampton related to his tenure as an engineer aboard BP tankers in the 1950s. On one voyage the entire engineering department came from the Glasgow area, and the boys were allowed ashore at Alexandria for just one night. At the end of the evening they found themselves slightly the worse for wear in a dockside warehouse. It appeared that a case of French perfume had ‘accidentally’ been unloaded from a ship bound from Marseilles to Australia. The collective wages of the engineering department were handed over and the consignment was heaved aboard the tanker, where it was hidden around the ship at leisure before arrival at Stanlow ten days later.
When the Mersey pilot came aboard off Anglesey, talk on the bridge soon turned to HM Customs who were reported to be searching all tanker arrivals from the Middle East. But by the time the ship had entered the Manchester Ship Canal and been brought safely alongside at Stanlow, the engineering department was beyond caring, glazed-eyed and slurred of speech. ‘Well, we were no’ going to waste the stuff, we paid good money for it, so we drank the lot double quick. But I ken we did smell a bit like a French brothel.’
It is interesting to reflect how the Merchant Navy would have evolved without the Scottish maritime influence. It is, however, noteworthy that throughout the nineteenth and much of the twentieth century Scotland took instruction and received policy from England, albeit often from London-based Scots; the agenda, of course, was set by Westminster. It is noteworthy also that the British Board of Trade aspired to the excellence of an English shipowner rather than accepting the label ‘Clyde-built’. This, of course, was Liverpool-based Alfred Holt with its Blue Funnel and Glen Line brands, whose standards were indeed second to none.
Crossing to Orkney – from the Saturday Magazine Supplement for June 1835 from Sketches of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland by ‘PSQR’
The alternative of crossing the Frith in an open boat was fortunately prevented by the arrival of a small merchant vessel, the master of which agreed to convey me … Between three and four the skipper summoned me, excusing his not having done so before, as a gale had been blowing … The weather had moderated, but it was still blowing hard. The hue of the sky was inky black, and threatened squalls, and the Frith was boiling and foaming beneath the dark horizon. … at half past four we bounded forth with the rapidity of an arrow, for the vessel was light, unballasted, and an excellent sailer. The crew consisted of the skipper, formerly in the King’s service, who had fought at Camperdown, another man, and a wretched half-clad urchin … thirteen years of age, who was making his first voyage, having spent just three weeks at sea. Heavy waves rolled before a strong western breeze into the bays of Thurso and Dunnet, which are separated by a narrow ridge, scaling and dashing against the bold headland of Dunnet, which well merits the significant appellation of Windy Knap, bestowed on it by seamen; we pass it at daybreak, and bent our course across the Frith to Cantick Head. The shorter and more direct passage to Stromness is by the Head and Sound of Hoy, and was now rendered impracticable to our vessel by the sea setting upon the island.
The principal headlands of Hoy, in Orkney, the farthest of which is the Head, rose in fine perspective on our left. The waves were majestically high and seemed to form a wall, traversing the Frith from coast to coast. Excepting a fishing smack, off Dunnet Head, making for the harbour, and a large three-masted merchant vessel, beating up the Frith to windward, which passed close to us as she lay on one of her tacks, we saw no sail …
The ebb tide, rapid as a torrent, hurried us along; and as the water was comparatively smooth, we sailed as along a broad majestic river. But violent squalls now burst upon our unballasted vessel through the gullies and inlets of the coast of Hoy, the severest of which befell us as passing under the highest mountain of the island, called the Wart, or Ward Hill of Hoy, we entered the sound which separates that island from Pomona, a channel several miles in length, noted for the turbulence of its waters, which even in calm weather is agitated at its western entrance, as if by a storm, by the mere conflict of the currents. The skipper, fearing lest the vessel should be laid on its beam ends, ran from the helm which he left in my charge, and lowered the fore-sail, while his help-mate was employed in taking in a second reef in the main-sail. Having thus provided for our safety, he lost no time in ordering the unfortunate boy to come on deck and hold to a rope, not that he could be in any degree useful, but that he might be accustomed to dangers to which his life was doomed. The little half-naked wretch obeyed; and after standing, shivering, and drenched with spray for a few minutes, slunk back into his hole. Rapidly crossing the Sound, between the small island of Gremsa and the mainland of Orkney, we approached every moment its formidable lee-shore, lying level beneath a heavy surf. The skipper, perceiving that our present sail was perfectly incapable of making head against the gale, and that wreck was inevitable unless every rag was spread, ordered the fore-sail to be unfurled, the main-sail to be loosed, and put about, having no alternative to face the tremendous swell of the Sound, and to beat up against it, making several tacks, whilst the vessel lay almost on her beam ends, and the waves rolled over her. At length, we were cheered with the sight of the masts of the vessels lying at Stromness Roads, and soon reached the harbour, which was filled by merchantmen detained by adverse winds, very thankful to Providence for our preservation, after a passage of about 35 miles. ‘A very coarse day, Sir,’ was the first greeting that reached my ear, as I stepped on shore, drenched with rain and spray; an expression to which it was impossible to refuse a hearty assent.
