News A summer time cruise
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Harking back more than half a century, the two enclosed photographs featured in this unembellished, true report, reveal a small chapter in Goole's industrial past.
It was a Thursday teatime on a pleasant summer's day in the late 1950s as we slipped out of Ocean Lock into a favourable tide, bound for Newcastle.
I was a 'junior engineer', honoured by my boss to help crew the barge we had built and deliver it to the Newcastle firm that had awarded us the commission. The barge I was on was the last of a small fleet of identical broad-beamed barges with sharper prows than normal, specially designed for a particular cargo and able to punch against the strong tide of the river Tyne. (Picture right)
As a consequence it was equipped with a powerful six-cylinder Gardiner diesel engine, well-equipped living quarters and a weatherproof wheelhouse. For its class, it was a fine vessel, built with pride by honest British craftsmen.
I had observed the first of this fleet being built near the old Ingleby boatyard in Hook, well before I joined the firm myself. At that time, all the plates and frames for the hull had had to be fashioned in the Bridge Street workshop before being transported by lorry to be erected on site.
I had been most impressed. (Picture below)
Some years passed since, during which time I had joined the firm, had a hand in the construction of their new yard, completed my National Service, got married and started a family. It was a very happy period in my life and my wife had brought our six-month-old son to Ocean Lock to see us off.
The boss was on board, along with the general foreman, the draughtsman and a more 'senior engineer' than myself. A local barge skipper had been hired to captain the boat to its destination. The firm's fitters each being allowed their 'turn' to be the 'engineer' - now it was my turn.
As we rounded the first bend in the river and passed Swinefleet, some of the hatch covers were removed and, much to my surprise, out of the hold trooped most of the firm's boilermakers. Deck chairs along with crates of assorted drinks were hauled up and before we passed Blacktoft Jetty the remaining hatches resembled the decks of a cruise ship, with passengers laid out in deck chairs, glasses in hand, some wearing sunglasses, others peering through binoculars.
I can only guess that this subterfuge had something to do with insurance requirements. There were all manner of eats available, so the river trip was indeed most enjoyable.
It was dusk as we passed the Paull shipyard in the Humber, so I went below to grab some shut eye. I awoke early on a fresh, clear morning to the reassuring throb of the engine, but with no sight of land in any direction. By now we should have been in Bridlington Bay.
After a while, ahead of us appeared the Outer Dowsing Lightship - only for the crew to sarcastically inform us that land was actually "back in the direction from whence we had come". I believe the lightship was anchored some miles out from Yarmouth. There had been some inebriation during the night and as we had left the Humber the skipper had somehow turned right instead of left.
It took us all day Friday before we could anchor in Bridlington Bay, so the boss could hail a holidaymaker in a rowing boat to take our inebriated skipper ashore to swap him for one from Brid harbour.
It was dusk once more as I watched Flambrough Head slowly disappear into the mist. In the circumstances I decided that sleep was no longer a necessity and volunteered to go forward to operate the hand-wound fog horn. As dark enveloped us, so did the fog.
Despite the fog, the moon was still visible overhead and between relishing a fatty bacon sandwich and winding the fog horn, I watched the moon appear first on our starboard beam, then ahead of us, then on our port beam. Although I had little navigational knowledge, I knew something must be wrong.
I looked back to see most of the passengers and crew were huddled in the wheelhouse arguing around the compass. Suddenly, a huge shape loomed in front of us.
I yelled an alarm as I legged it aft and a dozen or more hands fought skilfully to be ones that steered us safely around a large ship at anchor, and its anchor chain.
Not long after that incident, something rattled along the bottom of our ship. Curses echoed over the water and out of the foggy gloom, powerful searchlights from a fleet of Drifters lit up our ship as we rode over the bobbins of their nets.
We were informed in a not polite way that our "presence was not particularly desired". As we effected their suggestion and 'got the hell out of there' (or words to that effect) I returned to my station at the fog horn and continued to observe the erratic path of the moon, whilst the others held a conference before deciding by a majority that as the compass no longer seemed reliable, soundings should be taken and we should steer in the direction of the shallowest soundings. A sobering decision.
We proceeded this way until the sounding line changed to a sudden halt, indicating rocks just a few feet under the ship. The boss ordered an immediate anchorage. It was still quite dark but as dawn broke and the fog started to lift, I heard a motorcycle engine somewhere above us. As I looked up, the top of some high cliffs appeared and I saw that we were anchored only yards from their base. By the time it was properly light, we heard the phut-phut-phut of a lobster boat as it was going about its business, so the boss hailed him over to ask him if he would kindly lead us to the mouth of the river Tees.
One of the lobster men came aboard, only to run us aground at the mouth of the river, damaging the starboard bow plate, before a pilot finally managed to guide us to the safety of the quayside in Stockton. Here, the boss took a group photo, said enough was enough and rang the owners to ask them to send their own men to take over the ship for the last leg.
The boss also rang Goole for his son to bring the Chevvy and for taxis to take us all home. Despite the problems, I had enjoyed the cruise and was soon thankfully enjoying a quiet Saturday evening at home with my family.
The final chapter came some time later when the lobster fishermen entered a claim for salvage. Being a member of the crew and not just a passenger, I cannot remember exactly who was on this wonderful cruise, so if anyone could supply a copy of the group photo taken by the boss, I would be very much obliged. I feel sure there must be one.
Published on 5th June 2008 in News.
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