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.