Sunday, November 30th, 2008. No port in a storm.
No port in a storm, written by Bob MacAlindin and published by Whittles Publishing is the story of an earnest interest in these working boats. The many dramatic, poignant stories of lightships moored in the worst possible waters, too deep or otherwise unsuitable for lighthouse construction, that were lost in gales with all hands should stir the heart of anyone who has set his heart in the sea:
“The ships of this book evoke none of the usual romantic images of ships and yet may be the noblest of all. Invariably painted a gaudy red, no other ships spent more time at sea yet sailed fewer miles, their crews compelled to scan the same water and stretch of coastline for the bulk of their working lives. The life of a lightshipman in a hurricane was a sleepless nightmare of holding on, body braced against every combination of rolling and pitching, with tons of water burying the ship.”
The world’s first lightvessel was the result of a business partnership between Robert Hamblin, an impoverished former barber and ship manager from King’s Lynn, and David Avery, a projector and inventor. After securing a patent on the technology, Avery had a lightvessel placed at the Nore in the Thames mouth in 1731, against the wishes of the lighthouse authority Trinity House, who considered the scheme worthless and the two men to be little more than adventurers. Yet, the lightvessel proved to be a great success, and Trinity House moved to acquire the patent themselves, granting Avery lease revenues in exchange. A further lightvessel was placed at the Dudgeon station, off the Norfolk coast, in 1736, with others following at Owers and Newarp. Many others were commissioned during the nineteenth century, especially off England’s east coast and the approaches to the Thames, where there were many treacherous shoals.
Following their acquisition of the patent, all English and Welsh lightvessels were maintained by Trinity House. In order to act as effective daymarks Trinity House lightvessels were painted red, with the station name in large white letters on the side of the hull, and a system of balls and cones at the masthead for identification. The first revolving light was fitted to the Swin Middle lightvessel in 1837: others used occulting or flashing lights. White lights were preferred for visibility though red and very occasionally green were also used.
The most crucial element of lightvessel design was the mounting of a light on a sufficiently tall mast. After the first oil lamps, vessels carried fixed lamps, which were serviced in place. Fresnel lenses were used as they became available.
Initially, hulls were constructed of wood, with lines like those of any other small merchant ship. This proved to be unsatisfactory for a ship that was permanently anchored, and the shape of the hull evolved to reduce rolling and pounding.
Much of the rest of the ship was taken up by storage and accommodations for the crew, whose main duties were to maintain the light, keeping records of passing ships, observing the weather, and on occasion, performing rescues.
Holding the vessel in position was an important aspect of lightvessel engineering. Early lightships used fluke anchors, which are still in use on many contemporary vessels. These were not very satisfactory, since a lightship has to remain stationary in very rough seas which other vessels could avoid, and these anchors were prone to dragging.
Since the early 19th century, lightships used mushroom anchors, invented by Robert Stevenson and named for their shape. This new anchor design with a weight from 3 to 4 tons, improved the effectiveness of mooring dramatically.
Until the later 20th century, all Trinity House vessels were permanently manned. By the start of the 20th century, Trinity House lightvessels had a crew of 11, of whom 7 would be on active duty at any one time. It was an extremely demanding and dangerous profession, where it would take 15 to 20 years of service to be promoted to master.
The official use of lightships in the United States ended on March 29th, 1985, when the United States Coast Guard decommissioned its last such ship, the Nantucket I.
The majority of British lightvessels were decommissioned during the 1970s - 1980s and replaced with light floats or Lanby buoys, which were vastly cheaper to maintain. At the time of Trinity House’s original project to develop Lanby buoys, a lightship costed £30,000 annually at 1974 prices to maintain, whereas a buoy cost £3,000. This proposition though unfair to mariners, should appeal the interest of social reformers as it very much applies to a vast range of public servants who could be efficiently replaced by blinking navigation marks with neither loss nor damage to public service.
Today, the remaining lightvessels in the United Kingodom have been converted to unmanned operation. Most use solar power.
[Ignacio Wenley Palacios]
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John
The book has the story of Coxswain Patrick Sliney, from the Ballycotton station just off Cork. I quote the Rnli report on Sliney:
"On 11 February 1936 rescued the crew of the Daunt Rock lightship after it broke away from her moorings. The seas were so mountainous that spray was flying over the lantern of the lighthouse 196ft high. The lifeboat was away from the station for 79 hours and at sea for 49 hours; the crew had no food for 25 hours and they only had three hours sleep. The eight crew were rescued after the lifeboat went alongside the vessel more than a dozen times."
For this, Sliney was awarded the Rnli Gold Medal.
In 1941, Coxswain Sliney was awarded a Bronze Medal for rescuing eight crew from the sinking steamship Primrose.
Again, he received a Silver Medal in 1943 for rescuing 35 crew from the steamship Irish Ash during a rescue that lasted 30 hours.
In 1950, Patrick Sliney retired after 39 years on the lifeboat, having been coxswain for 28 years and saving 114 lives.
You should have the book. On the first rescue MacAlindin wrote:
"Further east, the lifeboat at Ballycotton ha received the distress call at 8 am. The lifeboat secretary, Robert Mahoney, faced an appalling dilemma - to go or not to go. The harbour at Ballycotton was experiencing unheard-of conditions. Mahoney described the harbour waters as 'a seething cauldron'. Stones weighing a ton were being wrenched from the quay and 'tossed around like sugar lumps'. But his coxswain, Patrick Sliney had quietly been assembling the crew. The first Mahoney knew about the lifeboat launch was when he saw the boat crashing through the maelstrom in the harbour mouth. Sliney, perhaps fearful of being ordered to stay put, had taken his own decision to respond to the emergency call. Those people who watched her go went to church to pray."