Trawling in Sandwich Bay 1966

PIRATE ON THE GOODWINS

Pirate on the Goodwins

By David Chamberlain

The shipping forecast on Tuesday 19th November, 1991, told of increasing north-east winds. By midday, the light breeze had strengthened into a gale and throughout that night and Wednesday morning it still raged. It was during those turbulent early hours that the pirate radio ship, Ross Revenge, had snapped her anchor cable and drifted 15 miles where she went aground on the Goodwin Sands. Until their stranding, at 4:15 a.m., the six people aboard the ship were still asleep, but when they understood their predicament they were prompt to alert the coastguard through the VHF transmitter.

The Ross Revenge was a retired British registered trawler, previously the German fishing vessel, Freyr, which had plied her trade in the rough Icelandic waters. When the Ross Fisheries Group sold her she became a wreck recovery vessel, until she was purchased by Radio Caroline in 1983.

Ramsgate lifeboat promptly responded to the call, but they also ran aground in the shallow water and tumultuous seas that surrounded the Goodwins. For her coxswain it was one of the worst moments of his career and he was fortunate to get the craft off the sand bank.

As the Dover Harbour tug, Dextrous, skippered by Steve Parsons, raced to the scene, he realised the Radio Caroline’s caretaker crew were getting desperate. He could hear them, on the ship's radio, shouting for immediate assistance. By this time the R.A.F rescue helicopter from Manston had been scrambled and was above the wreck. They airlifted the frightened survivors from the bridge of the 30-year-old decommissioned trawler at 7:10 a.m. on that cold spume filled morning.

Meanwhile, Captain Parsons could not get his tug any closer than 900 feet from the casualty and, as he watched, the Ross Revenge bumped a further 600 yards across the sands.

The Dextrous stood by; however, it was not until the following day that the wind fell light enough for the tug to transport five men aboard the derelict vessel over the high tide.

All of that day on channel 11, of the V.H.F radio, the Dover Coastguards issued the following warning   “A wreck is stranded on the Goodwin Sands, 307 degrees from the East Goodwin Lightship, 1.8 miles.”

On Friday 22nd, November, the sea still remained calm and Steve Parsons was back on station in his tug Dextrous; along with her sister tug, Deft. At 11 a.m. on the 6.8 metre high water he backed his vessel up to the wreck, which was slightly across the tide with a build up of sand on her port side. After the towing cable had been secured to the pirate radio ship’s stern, Steve gunned the tug’s 2,850 horse power Ruston engines (which gave her a bollard towing power of 30 tons). Much to his amazement, the hulk slid off the sands with ease and was towed into slightly deeper water. It was determined that she was to be pulled through the Kellet Gut (a gap between the Goodwin Sands) and into Trinity Bay. By 12:30 p.m., both tugs had secured the Ross Revenge fore and aft and they steamed her into Dover Harbour where she was moored up to the Eastern Arm. Within an hour, Her Majesty's Customs had closed the ship up and her owners started to negotiate a suitable sum for salvage.

December of that year, found her moved to Dover’s Granville Dock and there was a rumour that she was up for sale at £20,000. It was then reported that the owners had paid a £10,000 deposit on her the following month. In March 1992, the station manager, Peter Moore, collected quotations from towing companies to have the vessel removed to Chatham Dockyard as a tourist attraction; and secure a legal license to transmit pop music.

Negotiations carried on for months, with the Department of Transport taking an interest in the condition of the ship. On Thursday morning, the 27th October, 1993, the ex-Grimsby trawler Ross Revenge was towed out of Dover Harbour and north towards the Thames estuary. The DoT had passed her seaworthy after a refit and her owners having paid the remaining balance on her salvage fee and harbour dues. At least the Goodwins had given this pirate a chance for redemption.

 

 

The Unlucky lightship

The unlucky lightship.

David Chamberlain

 

Being afloat in and around the Goodwin Sands in thick fog is an unnerving feeling. The crews aboard the lightships not only had to keep a constant lookout, but also had to put up with the continuing blasts from their foghorn. During the early months of 1929 sea mists and fog had been a problem throughout the Downs and the Sands. Those aboard the Gull Light vessel were almost immune to the unvarying drone of the horn for hours on end.   

The Gull or LV38 had not long been on station after her refit. The wooden ship was comfortable and she rode the sea well in the winter gales; however, fog and calm seas brought another danger – that of collision. The lightships were placed in strategic positions around the Goodwins to warn shipping of the immediate danger. With radar not yet invented, most ships would reduce speed and proceed with caution, or even anchor-up until the fog lifted.

In the early hours of March 18^th 1929 the two men on watch, of the Gull light vessel, desperately tried to peer through the fog as they heard the deep throb of a ship’s engine approaching. The 7,844 ton passenger ship City of York was progressing through the Gull Stream, the inshore route inside the Goodwin Sands. Unbeknown to them they were on a collision course with the Gull light vessel.

Even at slow speed the towering bows of the liner sliced a large hole through the hull of the light vessel amidships. The rest of the four crew and master were awoken by the sound of splintering wood and the Gull’s lantern crashing down on her deck. The impact of the collision nearly put the Gull onto her beam ends as she bounced of the City of York’s bows and started to sink. The lightships six crew were picked up by the City of York, which had stopped on impact. The Gull’s master could not be found.

Within weeks, Trinity House had arranged for the light vessel to be lifted from the seabed. It was then, when the divers were fitting lifting strops to the Gull that they found the master, Captain Williams. His body was in a standing position, jammed in between his cabin furniture. It was surmised that he was trapped as his vessel started to sink before he could leave his cabin. 

After the Gull was salvaged and repaired she was put on duty as the Brake light vessel, and stationed a mile opposite Sandown Castle guarding the Brake Sands. Word had it that she was haunted and unlucky - and on a stormy night in 1940 she almost sank again, when an Italian ship collided with her.

Further repairs and a refit by Trinity House made her seaworthy once more and LV 38 was moored in the mouth of the Thames as the Mouse light vessel. Following a German air attack in 1941, she was laid up for the remainder of the war. The lightship was then purchased in 1947 by Thurrock Yacht Club to be used as their club house until 1970.

Unfortunately, she was left to disintegrate and become vandalised.  All that remains of the 152 year old vessel now, is part of her rotting hull on the mud at Grays on the Thames. 

South Goodwin disaster

South Goodwin disaster

By David Chamberlain



The lightships crews were normally made up of ex-Merchant Navy men, who had served on deep sea voyages, along with ex-North Sea and Arctic fishermen.  These men were used to being afloat for long periods of time without the comforts of home. They were a breed of men who could live in confined quarters and mix with their compatriots without falling out. Their only differences were the brand of tobacco they used in their pipes and cigarettes.

The six crew and Master of the South Goodwin Light vessel, LV 90, were looking forward to Christmas on that bleak night of 27^th November, 1954. Their conversation in the cramped quarters of the lightship would have been of the size of the turkey that the townsfolk of Deal would donate. Just before every Christmas, a local beach boat would pull alongside the LV 90 laden with gifts and food; to make the crews life more bearable over the festive season. If the weather was too rough for the small Deal boats to get afloat, then the Walmer Lifeboat would tender the service.

There was an extra person on board the lightship that night. Ronald Murton, a soft spoken scientist for the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. His job was to count and identify the migrating birds that rested on the superstructure of the light vessel. His concern was the weather forecast that the skipper of LV 90 had informed him and the crew to expect. He had been notified, via the radio telephone, of south-west winds increasing to storm force.

Throughout the night the lightship pitched and tossed as the wind screamed; Waves hitting the vessel, showering volumes’ of seawater over the bow and out through the scuppers along the deck. Unnerved and unable to sleep, Murton spent the night in the warmth of the ships galley, with an old army greatcoat over his pyjamas. The crew had tried to reassure him that the lightship’s four ton mushroom anchor would hold in any seas. 

However, it would not be the anchor that dragged that night, but one of the links in its chain that napped under the strain. The ‘heel and toe’ motion of the tethered ship was lost as she was swept across the Goodwin Sands on the tide and wind. The captain and crew were powerless to do anything as LV 90 finally went aground and rolled over on her beam ends.

Over six miles distance to seaward, the crew on watch of the East Goodwin light vessel noticed the absence of the 6000,000 candlepower beacon, flashing twice every thirty seconds, from their sister ship LV 90.  When they did not get any response from her on the radio – they alerted Trinity House and the coastguards. 

As dawn reluctantly broke, the lifeboats from Dover, Deal and Ramsgate viewed the remains of the South Goodwin lightship on the Sands. As the lifeboats could not get any closer than 700 yards to the hulk, the crews could not see any life onboard; and the sandbank had already started to consume her. Miraculously, a survivor was found, clinging to the lightship’s lattice tower. Ronald Murton was barely alive and was winched to safety by a helicopter, still in his greatcoat and pyjamas. 

 

 

The Storm

DANIEL DEFOE’S INFAMOUS LIBEL

By David Chamberlain

On the night and early hours of 26^th/27^th of November, 1703 a storm raced up-Channel - which increased to hurricane force winds. In the Downs the many ships that were anchored suffered from its after effects. Some were sunk, some were cast away from their moorings and many were badly damaged. The loss of life was estimated at over a thousand men.

Daniel Defoe had published, the following year, a book about the storm, however, he did not admit to being the author. His account of the loss of the ships and men-of-war on the Goodwins Sands was pure fiction. The year after publication, the mayor and jurats (councillors) of Deal took umbrage when they read the story. It was highly defamatory to the conduct of the Deal boatmen and the inhabitants of the town. Defoe had implied that they would not launch their boats to save lives on the morning after the storm; and were only interested in the plunder that could be gained from it. He also stated that the Mayor, Thomas Powell, commandeered customs boats to save two-hundred men who could be seen stranded on the Goodwin Sands.

Although this story is well known and has been retold for over 300 years, research has proved that it was all lies and libel.

The height of the storm occurred around 5 a.m. with the wind over 100 miles an hour. With low tide an hour later and daylight not occurring till after 7 a.m. it would have been impossible to see any people on the Goodwins. Also the surf hitting the sandbank would have obscured the Sands themselves. In actual fact, those sailors who needed saving could be seen clinging to the remains of their ships. The storm was still raging when Thomas Warren, who was in charge of the Admiralty Yard and future mayor of Deal, stated that it was impossible to launch any boats from the beach owing to the surf along shore. Even the captain of the largest ship that had ridden out the hurricane force winds, a three decked, second rate Prince George, wrote in his log that he could only send some of his longboats out in the afternoon – and it was still too rough to get near the stricken vessels before darkness. However, the following day, when the weather had abated some, Warren sent some Deal boats out to rescue 70 survivors from the half submerged wreck of the warship Stirling Castle. Therefore, it can be discounted that Deal boats were afloat the day before, plundering the wrecks.

The ex-mayor, Thomas Powell, must have been embarrassed by the story of him taking the custom boats by force and paying boatmen to take them afloat. So much so, that the mayor and councillors, which included Warren and Powell, wanted to sue the unknown author (Defoe) for this infamous libel. They instructed the town clerk to draw up a summons to be served on the author of the book for libel.

Daniel Defoe was a bankrupt and it could be surmised that when the Deal Council realised this, they knew it would be a waste of time pursuing the matter further. Therefore, the story/myth survived to be told and written about for hundreds of years as the truth; although as a story it makes exiting reading … as did most of Defoe’s books.

 

THE LOST SUBMARINE

By David Chamberlain

At the beginning of the 20^th century, submarines were being developed for the British Navy. Although many in the Admiralty felt that these vessels were not a gentleman’s way of fighting sea warfare, they soon became accepted … with some reservations. In 1902, A Class type submarines were followed, two years later, by the slightly larger B Class at the cost £47,000 per vessel. The 143 feet C Class submarines were in commission by 1906 and were crewed by up to 16 officers and ratings.

Richard Ivor Pulleyne was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant in 1911 and a year later was second in command of the submarine B2. The crew of these new craft were enthusiast and the small fleet of B and C Class submarines were on constant manoeuvres throughout the English Channel. They practiced changing over from the crafts surface petrol engines to the electric motors when submerged. On the 4^th October, 1912, Puleyne, with his captain, Percy O’Brian, and their crew of 13 were with a flotilla of other B and C submarines out from Dover.  They had been on duty in the Downs and had caused some concern from the masters of steam ships; as some near misses had occurred with the low profile craft.

The German ss Amerika was an Atlantic liner of 22,621 tons, on voyage to America with a full complement of emigrants and other class passengers. As she passed the South Goodwin lightvessel and turned towards Dover to pick up mail and any last company orders; her lookouts failed to see the small submarine that had just surfaced in the choppy sea on her bow. Hardly anyone noticed or felt the collision, as Amerka hit the B2 amidships.

Lieutenant Richard Pulleyne had only just lifted up the coning tower hatch to breathe in the cold October air and attain the B2’s position. His vessel lurched on her beam ends as she scraped alongside the hull of the liner. The glancing blow of the large passenger ship had ripped a six foot hole in the submarine where the seawater flowed in uninterrupted. Below deck, the B2 was in chaos with the seamen struggling to comprehend the situation and save themselves. Immediately, the doomed craft sank to the seabed in 16 fathoms (96 feet) with 2^nd Lieutenant Pulleyne huddled at the bottom of the coning tower ladder. The cries of the crew were soon stifled as the last bit of air was forced out of the submarine and Pulleyne was blown out of the coning tower hatch towards the surface.    

 Half an hour on, and over a mile away from the sinking, the sister submarine B16 found Pulleyne - barely clinging onto life. He was the only survivor of the tragedy.

Two days later, destroyers from the 6^th Flotilla found the remains of the B2, three miles off the South Foreland. With the submarine almost cut in half and the dead naval personnel inside, it was deemed to leave the sunken vessel on the seabed and hold a burial service above the wreck as respect for the dead.

The First World War saw twenty-nine year old Pulleyne in command of his own submarine, the E34, which was lost with all hands just before the cessation of the conflict on the 20^th July, 1918.

Deal Coast Guard Rescue

Deal coast guard rescue

By David Chamberlain

Spending Christmas in the Downs, with a north easterly blow, was not everybody’s idea of how to spend the festive season of 1913.  The three mast schooner, Robert Morris, had been anchored-up opposite Deal Castle for nine days; and had been awaiting a shift in the wind direction to continue her voyage to the Port of London with a cargo of copperas. On New Year’s Eve, the wind increased to a gale and her master, and owner, was finding the vessel straining against her two anchors. 

Captain Robert Morris had named his ship after himself and had full confidence in her seaworthiness. However, as the flood took hold against the wind on the spring tide, the seas became heavier.  At 2am her port anchor chain parted and with her starboard anchor not holding she drove down tide, to the north, with the wind pushing her shoreward.

Deal coast guards immediately saw the stricken ship’s flare and informed the crew of the north Deal lifeboat. Coxswain Adams was quick to respond. This was to be the first ‘shout’ that they had had in 7 months. It was a difficult launch in the rolling surf and the boat was swamped with water by two consecutive waves. The men struggled with the haul-off-warp and physically pulled the lifeboat through the surf and into deeper water.

By this time it had started snowing, turning into a blizzard as the Robert Morris was stranded on the high tide opposite Sandown Castle.  As hard as the lifeboat tried to assist in saving the ship’s crew, Adams did not have enough water under the Charles Dibden’s keel to manoeuvre his vessel in the teeth of the north east gale.   

The coast guards had been monitoring the situation, and as the Robert Morris grounded, her bowsprit almost touched the remains of the old Sandown Castle. Coast guard John Wood rushed into the surf attached to a safety rope carrying his heaving cane (a stick with a weighted head attached to a life line). Dressed in only his uniform, the coldness numbed him as he threw the cane. His aim was accurate, and the schooners crew grabbed and secured the line. The first two crewmen had waited for a temporary lull in the waves and were successfully helped ashore. The flare that was burning on the ship and illuminating the action extinguished and cast the area into darkness. It was also the moment that the ship’s cook misjudged his jump and fell backwards into the raging surf, disappearing under the water.  Coastguard Wood plunged below the waves and obtained a hold on the cook’s arm, only to find the man panicked and put a strangle hold on him.

In the pitch black turmoil, the awaiting coastguards, unaware to what had happened, hauled on the rope attached to their comrade. The ship’s cook was dragged out of the wave’s barely conscious and Wood being in a state of exhaustion and hyperthermia. The coastguards then fired a rocket over the ship and hauled the captain and mate ashore in a breeches buoy.

Within hours Wood had recovered and returned to the hulk, which was now high and dry on the receding tide, and went aboard, armed, to stop any looting. In the light of day, locals came to look at the spectacle and watch as the tug, Lady Vita, pull the Robert Morris off the beach, stern first, and towed her to the safety of the Dover Harbour.       

Stormy weather

Stormy Weather

By David Chamberlain

On the night of January 13th, 1952, the worst gale of that winter was raging. Sheets of horizontal rain lashed the lifeboat crew as they were summoned to the Charles Dibden by the sound of two maroons. With limited information, Freddie Upton launched into a black raging sea and steered a course towards the South Goodwin where a flare had been sighted. As they approached the Sands he could not see any sign of the casualty and the coastguards had stated that no radio contact had been heard. After searching the western edge of the Goodwins one of the crew spotted a faint glimmer of a flare on the outer bank. In the early hours of that windswept morning they came across the remains of the French ship, Agen. Immediately it was obvious why the ship had not been in wireless contact with the coastguards and was not showing any lights - she had broken in two.

Fourteen times coxswain Upton conned the lifeboat toward the bow section of the 4,610 ton hulk, where the captain and 37 crewmen were sheltering from the massive waves that were battering the vessel. He soon realised the danger to the lifeboat and his own crewmembers and stood by the wreck until 6am and daybreak. As the tide and sea moderated slightly he steered the Charles Dibden through the narrow thirty foot gap of the two halves of the Agen. With the lifeboats cork fenders rubbing and shredding on the ship’s hull, they manhandled the dejected sailors onto the safety of their pitching and rolling craft. However, the captain of the Agen, Maurice Landreau, refused to leave.

Reluctantly, the Walmer lifeboat headed back to shore, as she were low on fuel and to deliver the suffering shipwrecked crew. By 11am on that same morning, the Charles Dibden had refuelled and headed back out to the remains of the Agen. This time captain Landreau relented, knowing there was no hope for his ship and valuable cargo. For this save Freddie Upton and his crew were honoured by the French Consul three weeks later in the Royal Hotel at Deal. A congenial evening was spent, with the consul expressing his thanks and that 38 of his compatriots were still alive and saved from the clutches of the Goodwin Sands.

Another near tragedy was also occurring on that same night, a Panamanian registered tanker, Sovak Radiant, of 17,598 tons went aground just off St Margaret’s Bay. Coastguards from Deal and Dover set up a cliff rescue unit and made the perilous decent in the gale force wind and rain. Deal man, and auxiliary coastguard, Alec Marsh, later related that the conditions were difficult and treacherous. The massive ship was not close enough inshore and their rocket propelled lines were of no use. They waited frustratingly until, in the morning light, they abandoned the rescue.  Eventually, on the next day’s high tide the stricken vessel was towed off by the tugs and salved with no loss of life and minimal damage.   

       

Deal & Walmer Angling Association - the early years

The D&WAA 110^th anniversary – the early years

By David Chamberlain

One of the oldest and still active sea angling clubs in Britain is holding its 110^th anniversary this year. Formed in 1904, the Deal and District Angling Association comprised of a group of fishers who wished to hold competitions from Deal Pier, the beach and boats.  At their first AGM they boasted a membership of 165 and elected Percy Edgar as their chairman. Mr Edgar was also owner of the sprat canning factory at north Deal.

With a growing membership of 217 in 1906 they changed the club’s name to Deal and Walmer Angling Association. The thriving society held many Dinners, Dances, Smoking Lectures and Concerts to raise funds. These were very popular and it was noticed in one of the monthly meetings that the hire of the Royal Marines Band for an event was £3.0s.6d (approx £3.3p). The club had access to a cabin on the pavilion end of the pier where members could bait-up and hang their coats. This was kept clean by the association’s cabin steward. Unfortunately the cabin was destroyed in gales and the anglers had to wait for another to be rebuilt.

By 1911, the membership had exceeded 400 with many of the anglers coming from London and the Home Counties. The amount that were fishing in the angling festivals and competitions warranted the club to request that the South Eastern Railway  reduce fares and alter timetables to accommodate their members travelling arrangements.  All of the festivals were held as a three day event and 50 boats were recorded as being launched from the beach in the 1911 boat festival. These competitions were not only for the men, the association also held an annual pier festival for women.  The women’s event always attracted over 50 female competitors.

Fishing in those days was not as high tech as it is for the modern day angler. Rods were normally made from heavy greenheart wood with pulleys or fragile agate encased top rings. The reels, or winches as they were known by, were also made from walnut. These ‘star back centre-pin reels’ were so called because of the brass framework that held the reel secure to the rod. With thick cutyhunk line the outfit was not meant to be cast any distance. Dropping over the side of the boat or pier would suffice.

During the First World War, membership declined although the association still tried to maintain the clubs function and competitions.  In 1916 they put a fishing match on Deal Pier for wounded service men who were convalescing. This was noted as the first of its kind held around the English Coast; and even brought the comments of King George V, expressing his appreciation of the Association’s efforts. As the competition progressed, the invaliding soldiers were inundated with gifts of cigarettes, tobacco, sausage rolls and meat pies. The proprietor of the Clarendon Hotel donated a cask of ginger wine to fortify the men against the chilly northerly wind. Of the 150 men who fished only 43 managed to catch fish, which comprised of dogfish, congers, codling, soles and pouting. The Deal and Walmer Angling Association made sure that all of the competitors won a prize. The winner, Pte Borthwick, with 2lb 13oz was presented with the main prize by Lady Haig and General Neville White.

Deal's largest cod

Deal’s largest rod and line caught cod

By David Chamberlain

The morning of Saturday, 30^th December, 1972, started as an overcast cold day, with a gentle north-west wind. At that time, I was working for the Walmer based H&S (Harris and Steytler) fleet of wooden charter boats. Being a neap tide, it did not take too long to get the boats ready for the 10am launch. In those days, the anglers’ charters were for six hours with the boats returning to the beach at 4pm. With a calm sea all of the craft headed out on an easterly course into Trinity Bay, two miles off Deal.  

My boss, Ken Steytler, had asked me to keep an eye on another boat in his fleet, the Meranda.  The Lister air cooled diesel engine in the Meranda had been a little temperamental and in case of a breakdown I would be there, in the Norah, to tow her home. Brian Maidment was the Meranda’s skipper that day and both of us, with our angling parties, anchored up in 10 fathoms (60 feet) of water.

The expected quarry for the anglers was cod. When the weather was fine there had been good catches and many anglers had descended on Deal and Walmer to enjoy the sport.  Trade was brisk and Deal greatly benefited from the anglers revenue. 

At half past three in the afternoon, I requested my anglers to pack up fishing and prepare for the 30 minute journey back to shore.  They had had a good days sport catching ten cod over 10lbs with lots of whiting and pouting filling the fish boxes. With the anchor on board I motored the short distance to the Meranda and enquired if the engine in Brian’s boat was functioning.  Brian told me that he was happy with the situation and would make his own way ashore … and that they had only caught one cod.  However, when he struggled to lift the fishes head and then flank above the Meranda’s gunnels, I realised that this was the largest cod that I had seen in my life.

With all the boats ashore and darkness approaching, I had another look at the cod. Brian explained that one of the anglers on board the Meranda had just eaten their lunch and, after smoking a cigarette, felt seasick.  He asked the skipper if he would like to use his rod and reel until he felt better. Brian baited the hook with lug and squid and tried his luck. Little did he know that he was to capture the largest cod on rod and line ever to be seen in Deal! The fish measured 46 inches in length with a 30 inch girth and weighed in at 50lb 14oz.   

Shortly after I had left, the photographer turned up and Brian gained overnight fame.  That cod won him numerous prizes of rods, reels and even a fishing holiday in Cornwall. Brian donated the cod to Deal Council who sent it to a London taxidermist for a plaster cast to be made. The replica cod was hung in the Goodwins Bar on the end of Deal Pier with an unveiling ceremony conducted by the then Mayor and Mayoress, Alderman and Mrs Phillip Wilson-Haffenden. It was very much admired over the years until it unfortunately disappeared when the Café was demolished to make way for the new restaurant.

Past Memories from the beach ...

 One of my customers, let’s call him Alf as that was his name, used to book me up on monthly fishing trips. Alf was a keen and enthusiastic angler who had served in ‘Flower Class’ corvettes in the Second World War. He had the physique and humour of a matelot and we got on well together. I was sad when told of his demise, however, his daughter phoned me and asked if I would scatter his ashes from the place he loved to fish. I readily agreed and informed her there would be no charge.
A week later, his daughter phoned again with the date for the scattering. She also informed me that a small wooden casket had been made to accommodate Alf’s ashes. I explained that wood would float and it would need to be weighted. She explained that had been taken into consideration and holes had been drilled into the casket along with some lead. The casket had been tested in the bath and was of negative buoyancy and it would be of no problem sinking. The lady certainly convinced me that she had everything under control.
The day came for the event and Alf’s family duly boarded the Morning Haze and we set off from the beach. I had travelled a mile out to sea and was close to the Deal Bank buoy, as it was a focal point that could be seen from shore; and the family would be able to remember where Alf’s ashes had been scattered if they visited Deal again. I stopped the engine and lowered the flag to half mast. The casket was rested on the boat’s gunnels and the daughter said a few words about her father. She then took out a small bottle of Bacardi … I must admit I quickly looked in the wheelhouse for a cup. To my disappointment she poured the contents over the casket this being Alf’s favourite tipple.
From then on it all started to go terribly wrong. The writing on the casket with Alf’s full name, date of birth and death, plus RIP, must have been in transfer form. With the neat spirit being applied, the transfers started to dissolve and slide over the lid of the oak box ending up like alphabet spaghetti. I’m not sure if Alf’s wife noticed, but I know the daughter had as she hurriedly launched Alf into the sea. There were a few sobs and then silence. The casket was bobbing up and down with more freeboard than the Morning Haze. After the silence poor Alf’s wife started crying with his daughter looking on embarrassed.
I quickly took over the situation and unhooked the landing net scooping Alf back on board before he drifted away. I think I made up the excuse that he would be a danger to shipping if left. His ashes were in a sealed plastic bag that was acting as a life jacket, hence the caskets buoyancy. Obviously the daughter hadn’t tested that in the bath. I quickly scrabbled into my tool box and found a large lead filled priest that I used on congers and lashed it onto the casket with the utmost haste. Finally Alf was committed to the deep and this time he sank.
Death is not a joking matter and I take it seriously, however, I’m sure that Alf would have seen the funny side to this; as he was brought back onboard in the same net that had also landed the many large fish he had caught in the past. By the time we got ashore Alf’s wife had stopped crying although still naturally sad. She thanked me as did the rest of the family when they disembarked onto the beach, although, I must admit the daughter looked very sheepish.

A Deal boatman regrets ...

A Deal boatman regrets …

By David Chamberlain

At 11.30am on Wednesday the 11^th November, 1914, the small motor boat Elsie left Deal beach on a sunny autumn day. Onboard were the owner, Harry Pearson and his crewmate Thomas Heard. Pearson’s boat was one of the few on the beach that was motorised and was in demand for ship attendance work throughout the busy anchorage of the Downs. With the First World War in its early stage the Downs was being used as a Contraband Control area, forcing all ships to anchor and undergo searches for war materials that could be used by the enemy … and also spies. To enforce any reluctant vessels captains’ to comply with this order was the gunboat H.M.S. Niger.

The Niger was a torpedo gunboat of 810 tons and carried a complement of 85 men. Although she was old, being built in 1892, she had enough fire power, with her two 4.7 inch guns and four three pounders – plus three 18 inch torpedo tubes, to make any contraband runner think twice. Her presence could be seen by all as she was anchored in the fairway opposite Deal Pier.   

Harry Pearson and Tom Heard were old friends and part of the lifeboat crew, with Harry as second coxswain of the North Deal lifeboat and Thomas the ex-skipper of the then defunct Walmer lifeboat.  They both worked the Elsie in all the occupations that the Deal boatmen did in those days. Netting for herring and sprats in the winter, mackerel in the summer and accompanying the new trend of channel swimmers. Harry Pearson was famous for piloting the second person to ever swim the Channel, Thomas Burgess on his record swim. This particular day they were doing ship attendance work and had aboard Captain Jorgensen, the master of the sailing vessel Majorka.

The Majorka had been in collision with another ship and Jorgensen had been ashore to telegraph the owners to make arrangements for his damaged vessel. As the Elsie motored back out towards the sailing ship, Jorgensen exclaimed he had sighted a mine. Harry Pearson viewed where the Norwegian captain was pointing and stated that it was probably the mast from the steamship Adjutant, that had been sunk a week earlier in another collision.

Little did Pearson realise that what he saw was the periscope of a German u-boat that was stalking H.M.S Niger. At 10 minutes past midday, in a freshening southerly breeze, the U12 released a single torpedo which struck the Niger a fatal blow on her starboard side. Within 30 minutes the old torpedo gunboat slid beneath the sea in eight fathoms (48 feet) of water.

Later that day, Harry Pearson related what he had seen. The four feet grey like spar, which had been the U 12’s periscope, was only yards from his boat. He had motored over the stern of the submerged u-boat; and if the periscope had been raised at that time, Pearson speculated, it would have gone through the planks of the Elsie. He reminisced, in hindsight, that he could, if he had known it was a u-boat, smashed the glass of the periscope with his boathook and saved the Admiralty a loss of one of their ships. This was possibly a regret he harboured for the rest of his life.

Goodwin Sands Silver

By David Chamberlain

Over the centuries there have been reports of treasure being discovered on the Goodwin Sands. However, it was not until 2005 that these rumours became fact. when the contents of the Dutch East Indiaman Rooswijk’s cargo of a thousand bars of silver and 36,000 pieces of eight were recovered.

The Rooswijk had set sail with a full cargo from the port of Texel on the 8^th of January, 1740. Her destination was the Dutch East India Company’s (VOC) headquarters in Batavia (now Jakarta). A few days later and at night in a snow storm, which was being whipped up by a severe north-east gale, she ran aground on the Goodwin Sands. The surf was so great, the vessel was instantly swamped and the crew’s actions were rendered powerless.

The ship was quickly pounded to pieces and all the crew, plus 250 of the companies solders, perished.  Such was the ferocity of the storm there was nobody about to witness the mariners plight. The following day, wreckage was found washed-up on the beach. A Deal longshoreman found a chest that contained letters written in a foreign language; being an honest fellow he retuned it to the customs officials.  It was from these letters that the tragedy was realised and the name of the shipwreck known, however, at that time, her remains were never found.

The shape of the Goodwin Sands is changing constantly, as one year there might be an area where the sand has scoured away … then only to be filled the following year. Therefore, if a shipwreck is exposed on the Goodwins, there could be a good chance that it will disappear just as quickly as it was found.

In 2002, a diver discovered the remains of the richly laden Dutch East Indiaman Rooswijk close to the Kellet Gut on the Goodwins. He then arranged that the dive support vessel Terschelling assist in his quest to recover her cargo. Although this was done in strict secrecy the Dutch Government, as owners of the wreck and cargo, was also involved in the venture.

In the summer of 2005, the Terschelling anchored over the wreck and recovered the boxes of silver bullion. Onboard were archaeologists to record and recover artefacts for the Dutch museums. The immense value of these finds, academically as well as financial, have not yet been totalled. Nevertheless, they would have lain unnoticed, possibly forever, on the Goodwin Sands if it had not been for the dedication of the lone diver that discovered the wreck.

The Rooswijk was made a protected wreck site on 18^th January, 2007 by the government and English Heritage to enable no unauthorised diving to take place. It is now one of the five historic and protected shipwrecks on the Goodwins.

Deal's greatest ambassador to angling

Deal’s greatest ambassador to angling

By David Chamberlain

Throughout the autumn of 1963, there were a group of anglers who frequented the south corner of the bottom deck on Deal Pier most evenings. They were taking advantage of the prolific cod stocks that the previous cold winter had revived.  One such man excelled in the task and managed to find more and larger fish than most. Born in January, 1900, Cecil James Barber Hurd was always recognisable in his duffle coat and black beret. He was at all times known as Jim and was the proprietor of the local tackle shop, The Foc’sle, which was situated opposite the entrance of Deal Pier.

In 1925 Jim Hurd had married the previous owner of The Foc’sle’s daughter, Margaret Marshall, who was also a keen angler. Eventually he took over the running of the shop, which had been established in 1909, until his death in 1978. They had a daughter, Alison, who was born in 1930. Throughout his life he had dedicated himself to angling and the promotion of Deal as being the Mecca of angling. He joined the Deal and Walmer Angling Association (founded in 1904 and one of the oldest clubs in England) as a young man and was Vice-chairman by 1927; finally becoming chairman for a period of 18 years.

As chairman, Jim Hurd took a keen interest in angling politics and was elected onto the standing committee of the National Federation of Sea Anglers (NFSA) which, at that time, was developing and taking over from the previous governing body the British Sea Angling Society.  He helped form the rules and regulations being used by the Federation that has only recently been made defunct and is now incorporated in the Angling Trust. In 1950 he instigated that the Deal and Walmer Angling Association (D&WAA) hold a tope festival. The tope are a small shark which frequented the Goodwin Sands. On the first festival 89 anglers participated and caught 12 large tope. This event became popular and anglers from all over Britain came to Deal to enter.

 The Deal and Walmer Angling Association honoured him with a life membership in 1952 and a Vice-Presidency in 1955. It would have been the same year that the national body, the NFSA, also awarded Jim the tribute of becoming a life member and two years later Vice-Chairman and Vice-President of their organisation.

Jim Hurd’s tireless enthusiasm made Deal the centre of angling - and him an ambassador of the sport. Local boatmen, hotel keepers and shopkeepers made a good living from the fishermen that came to Deal. He wrote up-to-date reports for the Fishing Gazette, a national angling paper, which was read by anglers all over Britain. From his tackle shop he invented many kinds of tackle that improved the anglers’ catches and was way ahead of his time in rod design. To own a custom built rod by JB Hurd with the Foc’sle transfer on it was the ultimate in angling equipment.

It is doubtful that the small group of anglers who clustered around their rods under the dim lights of Deal Pier in the autumn of 1963 had realised all the good work that this large man, attired in his duffel coat and beret, had done in the past … if they did they would have felt it a privilege to have known Jim Hurd.          

 

The demise of the boats at Deal

The demise of the boats at Deal

By David Chamberlain

At the beginning of the 1960s, a Deal boatman’s licence could be obtained from Deal pier master, Captain Harris. Although there were new builds, many of the pleasure boats were old and some had been converted from sail to motor. The skills of Deal boatmen were renowned and the only accidents that happened, in the many boats that plied for hire, were the occasional soaking to their clientele.  However, in August 1966, the pleasure boat Dalwin was sunk off Cornwall with the loss of 31 lives, and this would affect the way these boats were licensed from then on.

The shock waves of this disaster carried throughout Britain and the Government requested that local seaside councils take another look at their responsibilities to the general public and the licensing of boatmen and their vessels. Deal Council insisted that all boatmen took a test and received a Board of Trade certificate. These verbal tests were carried out at the old Quarter Deck building with a B.O.T examiner in charge. This licence was duly issued allowing the skipper to take afloat 250 passengers … but only three miles out to sea.

The Council also expected all boats that wished to take fare paying passengers should be seaworthy and issued a yellow plastic plaque which was screwed to the bow of the craft for the public to view. When the Board of Trade was dissolved, and new boatmen required a licence, the Council asked that the Deal & Walmer Inshore Fishermans Association provide a test for the prospective applicants. This was carried out with the help of three full time boatmen, an observer and an officer from the Council’s foreshore department. Everybody was happy and the reputation of boatmen and safety of passengers was one hundred percent. However, the three mile licence was a bone of contention. This argument was brought up at a council meeting in the Town Hall and the boatmen managed to temporary convince the council that they had a ten mile from land dispensation.

Eventually the Government tightened the screws and insisted that the boats carried a vast amount of safety equipment onboard and a professional survey be carried out on the vessels plying for hire. The boatmen were to have a licence issued from a national governing body which would be relevant to all English ports. The argument of the Deal boatmen was that, as they operated from the beach, their crafts were smaller than those from harbours and did not have the room to stow the extra equipment and life rafts. Their needs did not come into the equation and many were priced out of making it a viable business proposition. 

The many angling boats, that were once a familiar sight along the beach, started to disappear, and at this time of writing there is only one plying for hire. Safety is not only paramount but, in this day and age, it is imperative. However, those halcyon days that brought many happy memories to thousands of boat anglers who had fished from Deal’s piscatorial paradise … are just memories.  

    

Another Ship on the Goodwins

By David Chamberlain

Within ten minutes of the maroons being fired the Walmer lifeboat Charles Dibden was launched from the steep beach. The weather was starting to deteriorate with an increasing southerly breeze that was clearing the sea mist. As the lifeboat got clear of the land on that cold day of January 2^nd 1948 the crew started to feel the vessel roll and pitch as they approached the Goodwin Sands.

An hour earlier, as the fog dispersed, a ship had been sighted by the Deal coastguards in an unusual position close to the deadly sandbank. As the Charles Dibden approached the casualty, her skipper Freddie Upton found the seas in a confused state. With the tide falling and the wind freshening the waves started to become unpredictable and perplexing.  The stranded ship turned out to be the 290 feet long Silvia Onorato, an Italian cargo vessel of 2,327 tons.

Cautiously Upton conned the lifeboat closer to the casualty, however, by this time the waves were building up and cresting to an uncomfortable height. One wave, larger than the rest, lifted the lifeboat to enable her crew to look down onto the ships deck. As the sea receded the Charles Dibden scrapped down the ships hull, fortunately doing little damage to the rescue craft. Upton managed to get a crewman aboard the Silvia Onorato, however, Captain Francesco Ruocco explained that he was prepared to try and steam the ship off the sandbank at high tide.

Ruocco’s futile attempt only drove his vessel off one sandbar onto the next sandbank. The ship’s propeller churned up sand and spray, in only 14 feet of water the vessel needed at least 20 feet to float off. With the weather worsening and the tide falling, Upton put the lifeboat alongside the hulk and picked up his crewman. He explained to the Italian captain that they would have to anchor off in deeper water, however, if any emergencies occurred he would respond immediately. It would be an uncomfortable night that they spent with only a meagre supply of rum ration to help.  

Hardly any of them slept. Just before dawn they had up-anchored and were alongside the ship again. The lifeboat coxswain explained that they had to go ashore and refuel and they would be back within a couple of hours. True to his word they returned and stood by for a second day and night as the weather worsened and the wind reached gale force.

Daybreak on Sunday, 4^th January not only heralded another rough day but also was Upton’s 51^st birthday. When he went alongside the Silvia Onarato her master stated that the vessel was sound and he did not wish for himself or his crew to vacate the ship. Upton took the lifeboat back to the Walmer station for the boat to re-fuel and her crew to have a meal.

Inside a few hours the Charles Dibden was back alongside the ship. Freddie had had a warning from the coastguards that the gale was going to increase to a storm and winds of fifty knots were predicted. It was enough to convince the Italian and he reluctantly allowed his 28 crew, two stowaways and himself to be taken ashore. The ship never survived the gale and broke her back to remain forever on the Goodwins. 

Christmas on the Goodwins

Christmas on the Goodwins
By David Chamberlain

In the past there were five Lightvessels standing guard over the Goodwin Sands. Life on the Goodwin Lightvessels was mainly a routine that appropriated certain types of men. Being at sea for a month was not everybody’s idea of a perfect job, however, for many ex deep-sea fishermen and deep-sea mariners it was a suitable way to make a living. An ability to get along with your fellow crewmates was also an essential qualification.

The six crewmembers were answerable to the master, who was in turn accountable to Trinity House if things went wrong. The lightvessel had to be manned 24 hours of the day, every day; and a good lookout was always necessary in foul weather conditions that often occurred in and around the Goodwin Sands. Although the crew were paid extra in their pay packets for the days when the incessant foghorn blared out they soon got used to the noise – and few bothered using the earplugs that were issued.

Another dilemma was the weather. Storms would make the lightvessel not only roll but also pitch in a ‘heel and toe’ motion. Nevertheless, the men had faith in the four-ton mushroom anchor that held the ship on station and the 600,000 candlepower light that warned approaching ships of the dangers of the Sands. In their spare time they would often fish off the stern of the vessel to supplement their victuals that each man had to supply himself. The galley and quarters were spotless and every brass part on the lightship was polished to a shine … the men took pride in their vocation.

Christmas was a time of celebration ashore, however, for the sentinels of the Goodwin Sands it would be another working day. The disappointment of having to spend Christmas afloat was dulled by the kindness from the population of the surrounding towns; who realised the hardships that these men had to endure to safeguard shipping. Many extra food parcels and gifts were collected along with a Christmas tree and a large turkey for distribution to the seven sailors.

Even the angling clubs contributed with Deal Angling Club (1919) adopting the East Goodwin lightvessel as their chosen one; Kingsdown Angling Club went for the South Goodwin, as it was closer to the club. When the weather was calm the boatmen managed to take their boats out and delivered the presents alongside the lightvessel. However, that close to Christmas the sea was normally to rough for them to undertake the trip. It was then left up to the lifeboat to make the journey with a few selected guests.

Eventually, and with technology, the Lightvessels became unmanned and were replaced by large buoys that marked the dangerous sandbank. The South Goodwin was towed away on the 26th of July 2006 and of the original five ships there is only one left on watch, the East Goodwin Lightvessel. She can be seen seven nautical miles from Deal Pier flashing a single beam of light every 15 seconds … which can be seen for 26 miles.

Fearless

With a light southwest wind and foggy conditions, the ketch Fearless slowly groped her way across the Channel from Nieuwpoort. The cargo of two hundred tons of Belgian bricks made her sit low in the water. Even with all of her limp sails set, the craft was hardly making headway and the strong tide made her difficult to handle.

The vessels captain, Ernest Leek, had calculated that they would shortly sight the coast off Deal. As soon as their position could be verified, they would hug the land, down Channel, to their destination of Shoreham. On board were four of his seasoned crewmen along with his twelve year old son and a new decky learner, Joseph Sennet. Joseph was eighteen years of age and this was his first ever voyage.

Tragedy almost struck on that peaceful Sunday, the last day of September, 1923. The white chalk cliffs of the South Foreland suddenly loomed up out of the mist. As the kelp covered rocks came into view, Joseph shouted out the danger, but the helmsman had already seen it. The wheel was put hard over and everybody on deck waited with bated breath.

The ketch was slow to answer, and the shallow water and rocks almost seemed to reach out to the Fearless. Gradualy the vessel went about and she cleared the rocky shoreline. Captain Leek decided to wait for more favourable conditions and steered his boat north towards the Downs. An hour later the anchor found a good hold a half-mile from the town of Deal.

After laying at anchor for four days they watched the dropping barometer and black squally clouds scudding in from the north. Ernest Leek knew it was time to continue his passage but first he needed some provisions. He, his son and crew rowed their small punt to Deal pier to buy victuals from the town. Leek had left his greenhorn decky leaner, Joseph Sennet, in charge of the anchored craft.

Within a few hours the tide had changed and with the ever freshening northwest wind the seas became quite lumpy. The captain of the ketch recognized that it was going to be difficult to get back to the Fearless in his punt. Leaving his crew ashore,Leek hired a galley from the beach at North Deal; which managed to get him to his vessel just before the force of the gale was unleashed.

Throughout that night, great seas swept over the Fearless as she strained at her anchor. Dawn was slow to break and the wind had not abated at all. Reluctantly Leek hoisted a signal of distress.

Coxswain William Hoile, aboard the Deal lifeboat Charles Dibden skillfully brought his craft alongside the stricken ketch. Leek and Sennet thankfully scrambled aboard the seaworthy craft leaving the only living thing aboard the Fearless, the ships’ cat, a black kitten … mewing piteously in the scuppers.

Just before 5-30p.m. the Fearless went down stern first. She settled on the bottom with both her masts still visible and torn sails flaying in the wind. All that remains of the vessel to this day are the 200 tons of bricks on the seabed.

Deal's bass wreck

For many boat anglers the wreck of the Mahratta has been a popular venue and over the years has proved to be the downfall of many bass. The shipwreck lies approximately three miles due east of Sandown Castle and her rusting remains lie just below the surface at low tide.

At the beginning of the Second World War the anchorage in the Downs was full to overflowing with ships awaiting naval officers from the Contraband Control. Neutral vessels had their nationality and countries flag painted upon the side of their hulls – this hopefully deterred the Germans or the British from attacking them on the high seas. Allied merchant vessels had their house and companies colours painted out with black paint to confuse the enemy on their origin.

The Mahratta had started her voyage from Calcutta at the outbreak of the conflict, and had received her paint job at a quick stopover in Gibraltar. After her long cruise, she was still obliged to anchor up in the Downs for inspection from the Contraband Control.

This was an unpopular task with the skippers, as they were always in a hurry to either complete or start their journeys. For the pilots who escorted the Allied ships through the British minefields, or to their destination, their painted out colours made it a nightmare to identify them amongst the other vessels in the anchorage.

On the night of October 6th, 1939, the Mahratta’s master, Captain Hill, had received orders, on the arrival of the Trinty House pilot, to proceed to her destination. His impatience cost him his ship.

Tod Carlton was the 37 year old Pilot that had been assigned the job of shepherding the Mahratta out of the Downs and up the River Thames to the London docks. He was looking forward to re-visiting the Mahratta, as he had spent time aboard her when he worked for the Brocklebank Line as 3rd officer.

Unfortunately, Captain Hill had already up-anchored and was slowly proceeding through the maze of ships. As he eased the helm to the east, to clear the tightly packed anchorage, he ran his vessel aground on the Goodwin Sands. With the calm sea and the ships slow speed the Captain thought the Mahratta’s halt was due to engine failure.

At this time the Trinty House pilot, Tod Carlton, had been searching for his charge in the darkness of that autumn evening. He found her hard and fast on the edge of the Sands, north-east of the anchorage.

As he boarded her, he reminded the captain of the dangers of the Goodwin Sands, and requested that he took all precautions to alleviate the situation. Over the next few day’s six tugs and the help of the deal boatmen could not assist in the Mahratta’s predicament and, eventually, when the weather became inclement the ships hull split in half.

If the captain had waited for the pilot, this disaster would have never happened. After the war Tod Carlton settled in Deal and in his later years opened an antique shop in Kingsdown. He died at the age of 81 and was sadly missed by his family who still reside in the area.

Deal's tackle shops in the early 60s

Back in 1963 there were three tackle shops and two bait dealers in Deal.

Finn’s Tackle Shop was situated at 123 High Street, and yours truly used to work there as a shop assistant and occasional bait digger. Duncan Finn was a rotund jovial ex- miner, who, with his limp, I surmised was pensioned out of the pits after an accident. His selling power was to be marvelled at; he could have sold Mohamed Al Fayed a Duke of Edinburgh award. You only had to look at a rod or reel and I guaranteed that you would not leave the shop until you made a purchase. If you couldn’t afford it, he then had a scheme going with the Co-op where you paid a £1 down and the tallyman collected the balance over a period of weeks. Dunc could always be recognised in his fishing garb of thick zip-up jumpers; normally blue and white with large fish motifs knitted in or just plain red and orange stripes. He also wore a woolly pom-pom hat to match each outfit.

Lugworms used to be dug from Whitstable or Seasalter, and I can remember many mornings, before first light, trying to doze in the back of his old Bedford Dormobile as we made our way for a dig. No chance, the other diggers kept me awake or the bait forks used to fall on me as we took a corner. I soon decided that the warm shop was more my style.

Frozen bait was non-existent and squid (cuttlefish actually) was stored in a bucket of salt along with another bucket where surplus worms were also salted. Needless to say when the salt got moist it began to pong. It was then my job to buy large blocks of coarse salt and crumble it up on top of the smelling mess. Consider what it was like sorting through that lot with cuts on your hand!

Another tackle shop was Terry Franks, which used to on the corner of Middle Street and Coppin Street. He had a small range of tackle, however, his main stock comprised of shotguns, air rifles, air guns and ammo. Attached to his shop door was a large bell on a spring, and after entering and the bell became silent, he would emerge from the back room with a scowl on his face. Whatever went on in his back room must have been more interesting than serving customers. He did not sell bait.

Last, but not least was ‘The Foc’sle’, opposite Deal Pier. J.B.Hurd was my hero! This large imposing man had done more for angling over the years than most. When he went fishing he was always recognisable by the duffle coat and beret that he wore. His shop was allegedly established in 1909 and he was a founding member of the Deal and Walmer Angling Club and the NFSA. His stock was sparse and he did not sell bait; nevertheless, it was his custom made rods and tackles that excelled. His rods were made to measure, and to possess a Jimmy Hurd rod was the ultimate in perfection. Unfortunately I could never afford to own one of his distinctive rods, and my efforts of emulation were very home made, as opposed to custom built.

The Willis brothers, from their house at the top of Brewer Street, specialised in selling Yellow Tails. At 2/6 (12½p) a score they were served up in two empty bean tins (half a score to a tin) full of worms and seawater. They weren’t worms they were anacondas.

The other bait outlet was Tony’s Bait Bar. This was situated at the back of the Guilford Hotel, Beach Street, or, as the restaurant was known then The Salad Bowl. Hang on! Bait bar/restaurant are you sure!!! It did not worry Tony Libby and his Pegwell Bay worms.

Just thinking about 1963 makes my eyes mist up. I was then, a 19 year old angling fanatic. I worked in a tackle shop with an equally fishing mad boss, who would leave the business to be run by his long suffering wife as we went fishing most days. Engaged to his daughter, which ensured discount tackle at all times. I also owned a boat so I could diversify from Pier, beach and freshwater fishing. Two-dozen peeler crabs sent up from Devon every week. Squeezed in 49 comps during that year according to my angling diary (or as I will now refer to it as a historic angling manuscript, sounds less sad than a diary) Ended up Deal Angling Club (1919) club champion in the 1963 beach and pier series comps … I hasten to add with a very low number of points. So was I happy? What do you think! Put it this way, I did not have enough time to phone the Samaritans.