PAGE TWO
True Historic Story's
by
David Chamberlain
Pictures and Stories are Copyright of Dave Chamberlain unless otherwise stated
"THE GOODWIN SANDS CANNON"
Untold fortune lies on the seabed in and around the Goodwin Sands, located off the coast of Deal. This area is possibly the largest ships graveyard in the world with 2000 shipwrecks dating back over many centuries. Not all of the treasure is gold or silver. Much of it is of archaeological wealth and history bringing alive the people of the past.
At the height of the ‘Great Storm’ on 27th November, 1703, four naval warships were lost on the Goodwins. When three of them were rediscovered in 1979 the government put a protection order on them to stop rogue divers from looting. The Stirling Castle, a third rate Man of War of 70 guns was almost intact as she appeared from a receding sandbank. Her guns were still mounted on her decks and much of the crews possessions were still where they had left them on that fateful night. After the initial discoveries the shipwreck was again claimed by the encroaching Goodwin Sands.
In the summer of 1998 a dedicated group of government licensed divers found that the sands were again moving and exposing the wooden wreck of the Stirling Castle to the elements. The divers devoted many hours on surveying with hundreds of measurements taken before the tidal currents swept away any vital information. It was noticed that a large cannon, complete with its carriage, had fallen from the deck of the vessel and was starting to degenerate.
On the 11th September, 2000, the group decided to rescue the cannon before it would be lost to the winter storms. The cannon, which was a 32 pounder and weighed over three tons, was brought
to the surface. However, it was too heavy to lift aboard the diving vessel and was lashed to her stern to be towed into the harbour. As the finance to preserve the cannon had not been secured it was placed in Ramsgate inner harbour to stop it from drying out. When the money came from the National Lottery, the piece of ordnance was placed in a fresh water tank to leach out the salt.
After a year’s submersion, the group successfully cleaned the concretion from the barrel and separated it from the wooden carriage. After research it was found to be a rare Prince Rupert Patent piece. These were made from quality iron that had been specially tempered. Because they cost twice as much as an ordinary cannon not many were made or purchased by the Admiralty. It was then taken to the Mary Rose Trust at Portsmouth for preservation. When this was completed, they returned it to the Ramsgate Maritime Museum where many of the artefacts from the Stirling Castle were housed. Unfortunately since, due to council cutbacks, the museum has been closed and the public can no longer view this part of England’s important early naval history.
Full details of the rescue and shipwreck can be read Dave Chamberlain's book ‘Lost and Found’
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"The Bronze Age Wreck"
One of the oldest shipwrecks to be found in Britain lies just off Dover harbour’s Eastern Arm. This shipwreck, which there are no remains, dates back from middle to late Bronze Age, around 1300 B.C. Under the circumstances of over three thousand years of underwater erosion there would be no chance of the wooden vessel being found; however, the vessels cargo was still intact.
In August, 1974, two sport divers, Simon Stevens and Mike Hadlow, found some strange bronze objects on the seabed in Langdon Bay. The initial thought was that they were bits and pieces from explosion damage at the harbour in the Second World War. Further investigation showed that they were Bronze Age axe heads. After several dives and more artefacts being found, it was decided that this was an important site and expert help was
needed to stop the site being looted by unscrupulous divers, the British Government put a protection order on the ‘wreck’ and had it designated as a historic wreck site in 1977. By the end of the 1978 dive season the eminent archaeologist, Keith Mukelroy and his team from the Dover British Sub Aqua Club had brought ashore 135 more bronze artefacts. These comprised of axe heads, spear heads, swords and daggers. A year later, Professor Mukelroy unfortunately was drowned in another archaeological project in Scotland.
Alan Moat, diving officer of the Dover Sub Aqua Club, took over as licensee and continued the search for more bronzes. This was done in a professional manner with the seabed being mapped out and the finds charted with their positions. The bronzes came from a small area 600
Dave Chamberlain
yards from the beach and close to the harbour wall. They were of different shapes and sizes and some of the sword blades had been cleanly cut in pieces. This puzzled the team, until they came to the conclusion they could have been scrap metal and the vessel was carry them as cargo.
The National Maritime Museum, along with the British Museum took the finds for analyse, preservation and protection. They found a few of the bronze artefacts were not of British origin and some came from the Continent. It was concluded that the vessel that had been carrying them was a cross Channel trader.
Over the years Alan Moat and a team of divers from the Dover Sub Aqua Club carried on with the exploration for the rest of the cargo. They used underwater metal detectors and visual search, meticulously logging each find and submitting a report to the museums annually. These searches were always hampered by sediment on the chalk seabed and bad underwater visibility.
Before Alan tragically died in 1998, the British Museum held the 360 Bronze Age artefacts from the site.
These have been returned for the general public to view in Dover Museum, along with the Bronze Age boat which was discovered under Townwall Street. The display gives an indication of life three and a half thousand years ago and a possible flourishing trade with Europe.
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"BEACHCOMBING BOTTLES"
After the January gales of 1953, the beaches from Walmer to Pegwell Bay were littered with jetsam. Beachcombers at Sandwich Bay found some very interesting and curious shaped bottles that had washed ashore. A number of these were discovered intact – and a few were still corked and contained their original contents.
A local fishmonger scooped up five bottles whilst he was pushing his shrimp net, and Mrs B.Longmore of Sandwich, walking along the beach, found six. From the broken bottles that lay shattered above the tide line Major-General and Mrs I.D.Erskine discovered four more undamaged.
These squat dark green bottles had the profile of a ships’ decanter. Their contents were certainly undrinkable and the fluid had an unpleasant aroma that was hard to dispel, however, it was their shape that made them collectable.
Later, it was found that most of these bottles came from the ships that were lost in the great storm of 1703. Some were from the vessels cargo and many others were from the officers’ personal wine supplies. In those days much of the ships’ water became stagnant and the crews’ would rely on beer to quench their thirst – normally a gallon a day. However, wine was sometimes the preferred taste of the ship’s captain and officers, and these onion shaped bottles contained a pint and a half of the liquid.
Needless to say, the precious onion bottles were not discarded when empty. Some were refilled with wine when the ship put into different ports during the voyage. In the Mediterranean, the officers occasionally used them to store olive oil.
Another spate of bottles was found at St Margaret’s Bay in 1908. These were from the wreck of the Loanda, which sank inshore just east of the Bay. The Loanda’s destination was the West Coast of Africa and part of her cargo was 6,000 cases of gin, and the same again in rum and schnapps.
When the winter weather started to wash out the contents of the wreck’s hold, the bottles were washed ashore in vast quantities. The alerted local inhabitants were quick in rescuing those bottles that had not broken in the surf. Coastguards did their utmost to relinquish this illicit windfall from the residents. Nevertheless, some of the populace decided to empty the bottles contents before they could be confiscated. It was recorded that one old lady died on the beach through alcohol poisoning.
When the original divers discovered the Loanda in the 1970s, they described the cargo holds of the rusting wreck to be similar to the stacked shelves of Tesco’s. Racks of bottles were everywhere to be seen, and most of them still with their corks in place. However, time and saltwater had spoilt the contents of the bottles and there were none that were drinkable.
It must be remembered that anything of value, washed up, or found on the foreshore should be declared to the Receiver of Wreck. Not to do so is classed as ‘theft by finding’ and could lead to a prosecution.
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"The Sea Shall Not Have Them"
Known as the ship swallower, the Goodwin Sands does not always get the chance to devour its prey. Disaster happens only when assistance is not taken, or the captain of his vessel does not take immediate precautions. Then the ship could becomes a total loss with her back broken. The tides will wash around the ship’s hull creating a trench in the sand and over a period of time will engulf its victim. The Deal boatmen had a word for this occurrence which was that a ship would be ‘swaddled’.
Fortunately, for the master of the 7,097 ton Turkish steamship M.Bingul had picked a calm day to make a navigational error and put his ship aground on the Goodwins. With the sea likened to a sheet of glass, he did not see the sandbank until it was too late. On the morning of 10th September, 1963 the lifeboat Charles Cooper Henderson launched and within an hour was alongside the stranded vessel. Coxswain Freddie Upton went beside the steep sided hull and boarded her using the gangway ladder.
The M.Bingul had steamed up Channel and was bound for Newcastle to pick-up a cargo of coal and then transport it to Romania. Being an empty ship, she did not draw much water which would be the reason that she was to survive the stranding. Quick on the scene was a German Salvage tug and two Dover Harbour tugs which stood by awaiting orders. Because the master of the M.Bingul was an ex salvage tug’s officer, he decided to make his own effort to get off the Sands; without the help or the expense of the tugs. He put the ships engines ahead and astern and slowly wriggled a furrow in the sand on the rising tide. By 3.30pm he had done enough manoeuvres for the ship to be released from the Goodwins hold and steamed into
deeper water to carry on with her voyage. As the lifeboat went alongside the M.Bingul to pick up Freddie Upton and another crewman, it must have been realised that the vessel had had a very lucky escape. Three years later, there was another incident where luck played an important part of the vessels safety. The M.V Hunzeborg was a Dutch coaster with a cargo of timber and telegraph poles. On the 13th of August, 1966, in thick fog, she was involved in a collision with the large Greek vessel, Diamandis. If it hadn’t been for her cargo keeping her afloat, the Hunzeborg would have sunk with the gash that had almost split her hull. With confused radio positions being made, it took a while till Harry Brown, coxswain of the Walmer lifeboat Charles Dibden Civil Service No 32, to find the casualty at the back of the Goodwins.
The Hunzeborg was low in the water with her bow almost submerged. Also there, was the German tug Albatross which was alongside the stricken ship making fast a tow. She had picked up some of the coaster’s crew who had taken to a rubber dingy when they thought their ship was about to sink
Harry Brown stood by as the tug slowly towed the sinking ship shoreward. After a discussion it had been decided that they were going to beach the stricken vessel in the shallow water of Sandwich Bay. As they rounded the South Goodwin, the Hunzeborg started to lurch and take on a serious list; however, her cargo held and kept her afloat.
Slowly, the tug and the lifeboat eased their burden on to the flats between Sandown Castle and the Chequers pub where the ship grounded on the falling tide.
With everything under control the Walmer lifeboat returned to her station after being afloat for eleven hours. Throughout the following days, shipwrights patched up the rip in the Hunzeborg’s hull and she was refloated to be permanently repaired in a shipyard. For weeks after there were telegraph poles floating around off Deal and Sandwich Bay. Local boatmen from Deal and Ramsgate took it upon themselves to salvage the poles for a thirty shilling (£1.50) reward for each one recovered.
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"The best job in the world"
Part 1
“You’ve got the best job in the world, skipper”. How many times have I heard that said over the years that I had been chartering - and it was normally on a nice calm sunny day? Well, maybe it was for the first 30 years, but it got harder as I got older. Getting a three ton boat up and down a beach, which changed shape with every tide, can be soul destroying. One of the most important pieces of equipment a boatman possessed was a shovel. Each and every day, the beach had to be trimmed to enable the boat to slide on the woods without too much pushing.
On bad days, or after a storm, the beach would have to be manually ploughed. With the help of a winch, the beach was pulled up into shape with a wooden and steel contraption that would hold a quantity of pebbles to pile into the contours and ridges that the waves had made. It was fairly easy on the way up, but not on the way down, as you were not only pulling the plough but also the heavy gauge winch wire. Sometimes this job would take hours to complete … but it had to be done before the boat could go afloat. All of the woods that helped the boat slide down the beach would have to be oiled or greased and then laid in place. Clean overalls would soon be soiled with oil. Eventually the
Dave Chamberlain
Dave Chamberlain
boat would be afloat and then the skipper would endeavour to find the fish to keep the customers happy. Tide and weather conditions would need to be taken into consideration.
The saying of ‘you’re only as good as your last full fish box’ comes to mind when you are trying to impress the anglers and get a future booking. Glum faces after a bad days charter can be felt by the skipper - even with his back to them at the helm of his boat. Some days the fish did not want to bite and no matter how hard you tried it was not going to happen. I remember a day where the weather
turned foul and the wind had increased. The rain was continuous and there were no fish to be had. Almost all the anglers were seasick and thoroughly miserable
Just before the end of the trip one of the bedraggled anglers entered the wheelhouse and asked me for a business card. In disbelief, I gave it to him and could not help but ask why the hell he wanted it ... as there was no way this poor chap would ever go out in a boat again. As he pocketed the card he said “If I ever feel depressed or suicidal, I will look at this card and know I can never feel as bad as I do now!”.
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"LOST PATROLS"
It is a little known fact that there are at least twenty Hull and Grimsby deep sea fishing vessels sunk within eyesight of the Goodwin Sands. It has not been the fish stocks that have attracted these vessels to their doom, but two World Wars. Arctic and North Sea trawlers were an ideal ‘Jack-of-all-trades’ craft for the Royal Navy. The majority were easily converted into minesweepers and anti-submarine vessels. These gallant little ships made up the mainstay of the Dover Patrol. Throughout the First World War, it was estimated that the trawlers had swept the equivalent of 12 times around the earth, just to keep the Dover Straits shipping lanes relatively clear of mines.
The total complement of crew in a trawler would be at least 10 hands, which ranged from the skipper to the decky-learner; although now that they had become navy personnel they were ranked lieutenant to ordinary seaman. Most of these men were ex-fishermen whose calling had been disrupted by the war. Nevertheless, these brave men were patriotic enough to volunteer as soon as they were needed.
Dave Chamberlain
They were a rough and ready lot with characters to match. The streets of Dover reverberated on many a Saturday night to their northern accents. Slowly but surely they realised the dangers of war and conformed to orders and discipline.
Their increasing duties gave them less time for ‘the beer’ and they always worked with a will. They became fearless and did not question their tasks that, at times, were hard and dirty. It was their courage that helped Britain win the war.
Their increasing duties gave them less time for ‘the beer’ and they always worked with a will. They became fearless and did not question their tasks that, at times, were hard and dirty. It was their courage that helped Britain win the war.
Although most of these vessels had a length of 120 feet and weighed around 250 grt they were built to withstand conditions in the arctic waters; however, they were still susceptible to the violent seas of the English Channel. The Saxon Prince was lost less than a mile and a half from the cliffs (opposite to where the Dover Patrol Memorial was erected as a monument to the brave men who crewed the small ships) between St Margaret’s Bay and Kingsdown. On that stormy night in March 1916, she did not return from patrol and it was not until the 1980s that divers managed to identify her position by finding the wreck.
Even though some of the trawlers were rigged for minesweeping it did not help the Aragonite, commissioned from to the Kingston Steam Trawling Co. A magnetic mine exploded under her on the 22nd of September 1939, and lifted the 315-ton vessel out of the water. Although there were no fatalities, four of her crew were hospitalised with serious injuries. At that time she was in the northwest corner of the anchorage in the Downs and drifted half a mile to be opposite Sandown Castle before she sank. Up until the late 1960s there was a large green can wreck buoy marking her position … a sad reminder to the lost trawlers of the Dover Patrol.
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"CRICKET ON THE GOODWINS"
On the northern part of the Goodwins the sand lies exposed over every low water. All about the sandbank are ‘swillies’ or deep holes that remain filled with seawater. Elsewhere gullies and mini sand dunes are formed which will start to crumble beneath your feet - and when you try to paddle in the ‘fox-holes’ or the puddles… it is then that you feel the suction of quick sand. Nevertheless, this situation gives little fear to the supposed colony of 350 seals, however, in the past it has given cause for much concern and grievance to humans.
The desire to do the unusual has always held a fascination for some, and to visit the Goodwin Sands as a fun-day out is no exception. They have been visited by thousands over the years for various reasons - and still attract the curious.
Annual cricket matches on the Goodwin Sands are irregular. The first recorded game was in the summer of 1813, which caused criticism from the public as a blasphemy against all those unfortunate victims of the rapacious Sands.
Dave Chamberlain
During 1985, this author assisted in ferrying players and spectators from the Kent team for a fundraising match on top of the Goodwins. Thirteen Deal boats took out around a hundred people on a calm and sunny afternoon. Since that event, cricket, amongst other games, have only been played by a few whilst on the occasional organised trips.
During 1985, this author assisted in ferrying players and spectators from the Kent team for a fundraising match on top of the Goodwins. Thirteen Deal boats took out around a hundred people on a calm and sunny afternoon. Since that event, cricket, amongst other games, have only been played by a few whilst on the occasional organised trips.
Although the large hovercrafts are no longer available to take up to 355 sightseers out to the sandbank at a time; the Goodwin Sands Potholing Club has found another way. This club, a charity formed in 1977, which raises money for young people, prearranged a trip to the Sands on 19th August, 2009. The use of two small helicopters were hired and the fare paying passengers were ferried out, and back, on the hottest day of the year - enjoying the evening’s low tide ramble on the Sands.
In July 2006, the BBC film crew who were making the well known television programme ‘Coast’ thought it would be a good idea to feature a cricket match being played upon the Sands. As the tide started to make, the skipper of the craft who took them out urged that they should evacuate with haste. The TV crew pleaded for another ten minutes to finish the take. That was all it took – the tide changed against a north-east wind and the surf built up and swamped the vessel and its outboard engines. Several thousand pounds of film cameras were washing about in
the bilge of the disabled boat and the occupants were at risk of being stranded. It took two lifeboats from Ramsgate and Walmer, plus the rescue helicopter, to avert a tragedy. The then Coastguard sector manager, Andy Roberts, summed up the situation by stating:
The Sands can appear safe but, if landing, very careful consideration must be given to tides, the weather forecast and the prevailing conditions. The Goodwin Sands should be treated with the utmost respect by visitors’
This advice, unfortunately, has not always been observed … and sometimes ventures have led to grief and misfortune.
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"The best job in the world"
Part 2
Every evening the weather forecast had to be studied and interpreted. I could never understand why they did not give a more detailed prediction for this part of the coast as it incorporated Dover, one of the busiest ports in the world. Many thousands of cross Channel passengers would have benefited from the knowledge, and the sale of seasick pills would have doubled. Most nights at 7pm the phone would ring and the anglers would enquire on the prospects of getting afloat the next day.
As most sea anglers live far from the sea, the onus of bringing them down on a wasted journey was placed firmly on my judgment. Working off the beach is not as easy as from a harbour. For a start, the boats are normally smaller and the state of surf alongshore is always a governing factor. Many days’ wages have been lost by taking the forecasters word as
Dave Chamberlain
Dave Chamberlain
gospel. However, their excuse was what the wind and weather would probably be like, as their job was to merely predict and not guarantee. In this day and age of technology I had hoped for better results. My blood pressure went up a notch after looking at a flat calm sea when I had cancelled the booking the night before after an adverse forecast.
This might paint a picture of doom and gloom of the job which has sent some of us into the misuse of alcohol. Nevertheless, there are days when it is calm, sunny and peaceful and the fish are biting. At the end of the day, the happy faces of the angling party are reflected in the size of tip that is given after all the fish have been gutted - and a quick beer in the local before going home. Getting a telephone call from those anglers in the evening telling me what a fine fellow I am and then making another ten bookings for future fishing trips … life, at those times didn't get any better.
Dave Chamberlain
So there you have it, no regrets over the years and I have been fortunate enough to have earned a full time living from my trade, however, it is not the best job in the world … although it’s the best job in the world to be able to have a moan about!
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"THE MYSTERY"
OF THE
"DISAPPEARING LIGHTSHIP"
On the 21st October 1940, the South Goodwin lightship disappeared from her station close to the South Sand Head.Fortunately the crew had been taken off a few days prior to this occurrence. The previously immune light vessels were now, according to Lord Haw-Haw, a legitimate target for the German military.
The attacks came quickly. Off Harwich, the Sunk lightship was badly shot up. Next was the automatic lightfloat, which marked the South Falls. The enemy did not even bother to waste ammunition - it was boarded by the Germans, who systematically smashed everything breakable by hand. Because the East Goodwin Lightvessel was on the edge of a minefield the crew had already been evacuated, luckily for them as their ship was bombed and sunk.
This might paint a picture of doom and gloom of the job which has sent some of us into the misuse of alcohol. Nevertheless, there are days when it is calm, sunny and peaceful and the fish are biting. At the end of the day, the happy faces of the angling party are reflected in the size of tip that is given after all the fish have been gutted - and a quick beer in the local before going home. Getting a telephone call from those anglers in the evening telling me what a fine fellow I am and then making another ten bookings for future fishing trips … life, at those times didn't get any better.
When the South Goodwin disappeared it was speculated that she had been either bombed or torpedoed. There was even a rumour that the Germans had towed the vessel away, back to occupied France. However, what was for sure was that the lightship had definitely vanished. In its place, Trinity House moored Number One buoy to mark the position of the dangerous area close to the south end of the Goodwin's.
After the war this incident was soon forgotten and the remaining lightships engaged their crews and carried on as normal. Lightships hit the news again when the terrible disaster of the ill fated South Goodwin lightship, LV 90, went aground on the Goodwin's in 1954. Due to a worn link on her anchor chain she had broke adrift in a severe south west storm. The outcome was tragic, every crew member lost their life and the only survivor was a Ministry of Agriculture employee who was aboard to count and identify migrating birds.
The mystery of the missing South Goodwin Lightvessel was solved in 1984. Local divers investigating an unknown shipwreck close to the Goodwin's discovered a one hundred feet composite hull that was sitting upright on the seabed. As they swam around the wreck, they were puzzled to find that the vessel had very little superstructure. There was a large gaping hole on the portside bow at the height of the waterline. The jagged aperture seemed to have been caused by an upward thrust. It was concluded that this vessel had been sunk by a mine. On later dives they explored inside the rotting hull and found a large bell, supported by two brass dolphins.
When this magnificent trophy was cleaned up, the letters of LV69 were inscribed upon it. Further research to Trinity House revealed that this was the missing 271 ton Lightvessel that was lost in 1940. Once again, intrepid divers had unravelled another mystery that had been a secret for almost fifty years.
There is only one lightship left guarding the Goodwin Sands and that, the East Goodwin, is unmanned. The last South Goodwin Lightvessel was removed and towed away in July, 2006. Again, as in 1940, her position has been replaced by a buoy.
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Wreck of the Mahratta 1909
The captain of the Mahratta was awoken in the early hours by a knocking on his ward room door. After only having a few hours sleep, his mood was irritable from being disturbed. Previously he had spent an exhausting 36 hours on the bridge as they steamed through the busy English Channel. He knew that at daybreak they would have been at the mouth of the Thames Estuary where they would proceed to their final destination, Tilbury docks. When he glanced at the clock on his cabin bulkhead it read 3.13am. However, when he saw the look on his second officer’s face he knew there was a major emergency. Captain William Ellery had been part of the Mahratta since she had been commissioned for the Brocklebank Line in 1892. He had sailed on her from the beginnings, as a fourth officer until he had obtained the rank of Master. Now on the 9th April, 1909 his worst nightmare was to happen as he was about to lose his beloved ship.
Before grabbing a few hours sleep, he had left the helm of his ship in the good hands of a Trinity House pilot and the second officer, Albert Day. Now he was informed that the Mahratta had gone aground on the Goodwin Sands. As he made his way to the vessel’s bridge, he saw and heard flashes of cannon fired from the Gull lightship. This was to warn coastguards ashore that there was a casualty on the Sands.
As Captain Ellery entered the bridge, subdued wheelhouse lighting showed his look of fatigue. The pilot, Mr Finnis, was in a heated conversation with the second officer about their predicament. Day accused the pilot of using the North Star for navigation and not the compass, also, over the confusion of buoyed lights flashing nearby. Ellery ordered his second officer to summon the chief engineer onto the bridge to discuss the situation of how they could rectify the mishap and get off the sandbank
Dave Chamberlain
The look of annoyance was on Ellery’s face when Albert Day walked back onto the bridge, alone, after 30 minutes and in a state of shock. He informed the captain that after trying to awaken the 35 year old Samuel Gibson, he had to force the cabin door – only to find the chief engineer behind it in a pool of blood, dead, with his throat cut.
Along with daylight, three lifeboats from Deal, Ramsgate and Broadstairs were alongside the Mahratta, accompanied with two tugs from Dover. The skippers of these vessels were quick in giving Ellery advice on how to save the 5,630-ton ship from the clutches of the Goodwins. As a company man he decided to use the ship’s engines to solve the problem without additional cost. Over the high tide the Mahratta’s propeller churned up the seabed sending sandy spray from her stern. After a while, Captain Ellery relented and employed the help of the tugs; however, she did not move an inch.
Over the following day’s high water, six more tugs joined in the efforts of towing the inert ship from the clutches of the sandbank without avail. It was decided that the 446 foot ship had to be lightened of some of her bulky cargo for another attempt. Bales of cotton and jute were abandoned overboard and a barge came to take off the more valuable cargo.
As this was happening, a local beach boat went alongside the Mahratta’s hull and a police officer went onboard. After Inspector Hayward interrogated Ellery, it appeared that the chief engineer had received a letter from his wife when the ship had received mail off Portland. The letter could not be found, although a junior engineer stated that Gibson had seemed depressed after receiving the letter.
Dave Chamberlain
By this time the ship was starting to take on a list and groaning noises were coming from the hull. Without warning, a split appeared along her deck and rivets on the hull were sheering off and likened to the sound of gunshots. The noise terrified the Indian crew, who were assisting in unloading, and all 87 jumped into the barge that was moored alongside. Then they refused to re-board the Mahratta and carry on with their duties. This was going to be the last straw for Captain Ellery, and as he looked at the terrified crewmen’s faces he relented and let them be transported back to Dover. He also abandoned his doomed ship to the salvage company and made his way ashore in one of the Deal boats that were assisting in recovery of the cargo.
The gales over Easter made any other attempts to refloat the Mahratta impossible and she quickly became a total wreck. The last living thing to be taken off her was a black cat that had somehow been abandoned and was found on the ship’s bridge which was barely above the waterline.
The Board of Trade inquiry found the pilot and second officer were to blame through negligence and had their license and ticket rescinded for three months. At the inquest of Chief Engineer Gibson, it was decided that he had committed suicide although no reason was submitted why. At that time, the Mahratta was to be the largest ship, ever to have been lost on the Goodwin Sands.
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Wreck of the second Mahratta 1939
At the beginning of the Second World War the anchorage in the Downs was full to overflowing with ships awaiting inspection from naval officers of 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 companies colours painted out with black paint to confuse the enemy of 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. Even after the long passage, she was still obliged to anchor up in the Downs for inspection from the Contraband Control. This was an unpopular duty for 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.
In the late afternoon of October 6th, 1939, the Mahratta’s master, Captain Hill, had received orders that, on the arrival of the Trinity House pilot, he was to proceed to their destination. However, his impatience cost him his ship.
Captain Tod Carlton was the 37 year old Pilot that had been assigned the job of shepherding the Mahratta out of the Downs and 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 a deck apprentice. 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 ship’s slow speed the Captain thought the Mahratta’s halt was due to engine failure.
Dave Chamberlain
Dave Chamberlain
Whilst this was happening, Tod Carlton had been searching for his charge in the darkness of that autumn evening. He found the Mahratta hard aground on the edge of the sandbank, north-east of the anchorage. Shortly after boarding 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 days 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 ship’s hull split in half, If only the captain had waited for the pilot, this disaster possible would never have happened.
A few years after the war, Tod Carlton settled in Kingsdown and in his later years opened an antique shop in Ringwould. Before his death, at the age of 94, he could be found prawning among the rocks at low tide. His knowledge and memories of the Downs, as a Cinque Ports pilot, were outstanding.
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Yousuf Baksh
on Fire
The crew of the Pakistani 5,975 ton freighter, Yousuf Baksh, had been trying to douse the smoldering cargo in her holds all night with a steam hose. The request to dock at one of her destinations, Boulogne, had been refused: also the Port of Dover had denied the appeal of a berth.
With reluctance the captain of the freighter anchored just offshore at Sandown and informed the Coastguard of his predicament. Captain Yousuf Ahmed had a crew of 59 aboard, as well as his wife and two children, Yasmin and Zarina aged two and four years.
On that Saturday, May 8th, 1965, in the westerly breeze, some of the local boats out fishing watched with interest as the fire in number two and three holds suddenly ignited. Angler John Sherriff, fishing in Alf Betts boat, stated that there was a loud explosion and the hatch covers were blown off, followed by a belch of flame shooting skyward. He also said that the crew of the freighter had panicked and were running to and fro on the ship’s deck. They were dropping rope ladders down the side of the vessel and launched one of the lifeboats. With fire raging, the smoke could be seen from 10 miles away. Some of the men had climbed down the ladders and were calling for the small angling boat to take them off.
Dave Chamberlain
Betts tried in vain to get alongside the ship, but the smoke was too dense. Meanwhile, the Pakistani crew could not get their lifeboat’s engine to start and were drifting out towards the Goodwin Sands. Alf Betts, in his boat, managed to get a tow on the lifeboat and take it ashore with some 30 or 40 of the Yousuf Baksh crew.
Dave Chamberlain
Quick on the scene was the Walmer lifeboat, Charles Cooper Henderson and the German tug Hermes. The tug started to pump water into the hold to try and subdue the fire. Local firemen were landed on the deck of the stricken vessel by a helicopter from Manston airport. With the help of the lifeboat, tug and local boats all of the crew and captain’s family were rescued. The tearful frightened children were transported off the tug Hermes and brought ashore to the lifeboat station. Only Captain Ahmed and two officers remained aboard.
The Walmer lifeboat would stand-by the burning hulk for a period of 50 hours. However, it would take days to get the fire under control and the weight of water in the ship’s holds had created a 15 degree list. The water had also made the jute expand and the ship’s decks were starting to buckle under the strain.
Although this would have been his last voyage on the Yousuf Baksh, Captain Ahmed reluctantly left his vessel, which he had commanded for 10 years.
The Walmer lifeboat had the sad job of removing the body of part time fireman Reg Daveson on May 9th. Later Doctor James Hall confirmed that the fireman had died of a heart attack. This grim task would be one of the last for Ben Bailey as he resigned as lifeboat coxswain shortly afterwards. The fire was put out and, after an assessment; the ship was towed away to Belgium.
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Stormy Weather
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 Goodwin's 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.
Dave Chamberlain
Reluctantly, the Walmer lifeboat headed back to shore, as she was 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, Slovak 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.
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THE LEGEND OF THE LADY LUVIBUND
On Friday February thirteenth 1998, at precisely 13.00 hours, the charter boat Bonaventure set sail with thirteen people aboard, in search of the famous local ghost ship the Lady Luvibund which was, allegedly, wrecked on the Goodwin Sands on that very date in 1748.
Along with the gaggle of ever-expectant ghost hunters there was also a journalist and photographer from the Independent on board, marking the nationwide interest that had been stirred by this tale of love, betrayal and, ultimately, death.
In 1953, author George Goldsmith-Carter included a chapter in his book The Goodwin Sands which began with the evoking sentence “Tradition has it that the Goodwin Sands are haunted”.
Goldsmith-Carter went on to tell how the schooner, Lady Luvibund, was deliberately steered onto the Sands, killing everyone on board. Driven to murder after falling in love with his captain’s new bride, first mate John Rivers manoeuvred the ship into the treacherous Goodwins. Conjuring up a vivid picture of the wretched vessel’s failing moments, Goldsmith-Carter wrote “Above the tragedy and din of a dying ship sounded the hideous cacophony of a madman’s laugher.”
On February thirteenth 1798, the author reported, Captain James Westlake of the Edenbridge sighted the vessel. Again on the same date fifty years later in 1848, Deal hovellers sighted a schooner breaking up on the Goodwins. Once more, Goldsmith-Carter noted, on February thirteenth 1898 “shore watchers saw the schooner pile up on the same spot on the Sands”. George Goldsmith-Carter records no evidence of anything being seen in 1948
Nevertheless, this did not dampen the enthusiasm of those who had read the story and were determined to embark upon, what the Daily Mail termed the “Riddle of the Sands”.
Along with the Bonaventure sailing around the Goodwins, over two hundred ‘ghost busters’ gathered on Deal Pier at midnight 1998, eagerly awaiting the ships return. Needless to say nothing materialised, apart from the odd cold.
Within the space of a couple of weeks, Deal had unexpectedly turned into the focus of national attention, regularly appearing in the media, along with featuring on the children’s programme, Blue Peter.
However, regardless of the excitement generated on that day, the story of the Lady Luvibund cannot be true for several reasons.
The only mention of the schooner in updated version of the Lloyd’s List (as compiled by Richard Larn), is attributed to George Goldsmith-Carter from his aforementioned book. Other than this, no documentation of the schooner exists. Furthermore, if all aboard the vessel had died, who exactly would have recorded the events?
Moreover, no evidence has been uncovered so far regarding the three sightings of the ghost ship, other than that noted by Goldsmith-Carter.
The only ghostly noises that might have been heard on February thirteenth 1998 would not have been the ‘madman’s laughter’ of the murderer Rivers, but that of George Goldsmith-Carter having a good old chuckle at the expense of all those gazing expectantly out to the Goodwins for the ghost ship that never even existed.
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South Goodwin Disaster
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 27th 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.
Dave Chamberlain
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 snapped 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
Dave Chamberlain
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.
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THE DENARD 1939
Local boatmen save lives
On the morning of December 8th, 1939, the winter weather, along with a freezing north east wind combined with sea mist, had set in, enveloping the Downs. Several Deal boatmen were sheltering from the elements in the boatman’s reading room, which was situated close to the pier entrance. For the older longshoremen, the talk was of war, and the restrictions it would cause to the herring and sprat season. The younger boatmen spoke of joining-up into the navy and serve their country the only way they knew how. War had just begun and not yet affected Deal with its realities and restrictions. With talk of an invasion, they realized that parts of the beach would be guarded with barbed wire and mines.
Their conversations were interrupted by the constant sounding of a ship’s siren. Putting on their overcoats they rushed outside to be confronted by the fresh wind sweeping up the beach. As they looked out to sea they espied a small French coaster making for the shore. The ship had taken on a list and was getting lower in the water. A few of the boatmen decided to launch Flint Roberts Golden Spray - it being ready for the sea and berthed close to the Royal Hotel. It took eight men to get the woods laid down and launch the boat through the rough sea breaking on the beach - the last man was not able to get aboard, as he was up to his waist in water holding the last wood. Another boat, the Rose Marie, owned by Freddie Upton, did not make it, with the waves crashing over her sides as she was knocked back broadside on to the beach.
As the Golden Spray made her way to the small coaster, some half a mile distant, they could see she was listing more dangerously, with her crew clinging to the side rails. The Deal beach boat was a mere hundred yards away when the 500 ton French coastal steamer, named "Dinard", capsized and sank. Fortunately all of the casualties had lifejackets on and were bobbing about in the cold unforgiving sea, struggling against the cresting waves. Flint Roberts and his crew started pulling the frightened seamen aboard over the Golden Spray’s gunnels and into the safety of his vessel. Meanwhile another beach boat, the Lady Haig, owned by Harry Meakins had successfully made it through the surf and was also helping with the rescue. In all, the Golden Spray managed to secure ten of the survivors and Lady Haig one. Missing were the chief engineer and a cabin boy, presumed lost. Most of those who were saved suffered from hypothermia and were rushed to Deal hospital when the two boats had beached, with one crewman having to stay in for a period of time to recover.
The following day an advert appeared in the Saturday edition of the East Kent Mercury offering a reward of £25 for information and the identity of a black ship believed to be around 1000 tons which had run into the Dinard at 9.45 on Friday morning. The ‘black ship’ turned out to be the 1,168 ton Swynfleet, which had her house colours painted out due to the war effort. All allied merchant ships at that time were painted black to confuse the enemy of their name and company. Only neutral countries left their ships paintwork intact, although, as a safeguard against mistaken identity, painted their country of origin or national flag on the hull to stop an unwanted attack. Months later was to see the Golden Spray and Lady Haig take part in the Dunkirk evacuation, saving many lives of the Allied soldiers.
The dangerous wreck of the Dinard, which lay just under the surface, caused problems to a French trawler which struck her on Monday 18th June, 1951. L’Angelus De La Mer, from Boulogne, suffered damage to her wooden hull when she hit the wreck and was holed. Her skipper hastily beached the vessel just south of Deal Coastguard station and the coastguards were quick in response - by fitting a breaches bouy to the trawler to prevent any mishaps with the crew. ‘Doc’ Bailey in the Deal beach boat Carefree, helped with salvaging the French trawler by taking ropes and warping her closer on the foreshore over the high tide. At 2am, on a falling tide, local boat builder Bob Abel repaired the boat’s hull and by 7.30, that same morning, the mend was complete and the L’Anggelus De La Mer was refloated and resumed her voyage on the rising tide.
Eventually the government had the wreck of the Dinard leveled with the use of explosives … which was not appreciated by the townspeople of Deal, as the detonations were only half a mile from shore.
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Helena Modjeska
A tale of two halves
While trying to avoid the busy Downs anchorage, Captain William Henry Curran inadvertently conned his ship towards the Goodwin Sands. In response, Deal coastguards sent up two rockets which arched in the cloudless sky and emitted a red star. As the two maroons exploded, the elderly looking captain realized he was being warned that he was ‘Standing into danger’. Instead of stopping his vessel he turned to port and ran the 7000 ton Liberty Ship, Helena Modjeska, onto the Sands.
The Walmer lifeboat, Langham, was quick to launch on that day of the 12th September, 1946. As coxswain Freddie Upton approached the casualty he could see that she was a fully laden vessel which also had a deck cargo of army vehicles. In fact the Helena Modjeska had a staggering £750,000 of supplies which were bound for Bremerhaven to supply the American forces that were still stationed in Europe after the hostilities had ceased. Because of World War Two many ex master mariners had been brought out of retirement to boost the shortage of younger men who were serving in the US Navy during the conflict. Curran was one of them, and at 56 years old, it was only his patriotic duty that made him take the command of this cargo vessel.
When the Walmer lifeboat went alongside, Captain Curran was not in the mood to take advice from Upton who suggested that he lay a kedge anchor out. He decided he would stand by his ship, but allowed the lifeboat coxswain to take off 21 of his crew. Six tugs were soon to arrive and they started work trying to ease the ship from the clutches of the Goodwins. The ship’s welded hull groaned as it was being weakened with the effect of the grounding and strain from the weight of cargo – along with the tugs efforts. Within days the weather started to turn grim, and with a south west gale brewing, the captain and officers left their ship under the orders of the salvage officer. A storm of such ferocity hit the Goodwins, with winds encroaching on hurricane force that had not been witnessed since 1909. The storm lashed the wreck and did what the tugs could not and swung the ship around over the sands and ripped her in half.
With calmer weather, the tugs towed the two halves away from the Goodwins clutches and beached one part of the stricken ship at Sandwich Bay. Here, over a period of weeks, she was lightened of her cargo. When it was found that three tons of foodstuffs to the value of £350 were missing, an investigation led to some arrests. Eventually when the work was done, the empty two halves were taken to the River Blackwater and sold as scrap.
Captain Curran was never to see the final outcome of the Helena Modjeska, as he died of a heart attack days after he had vacated his ship whilst staying in a Ramsgate hotel. It was thought that the stress of the disaster and lack of sleep were the cause. He was buried, with an American flag draped over his coffin, in a cemetery at Ramsgate.
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LOST AND FOUND ON THE GOODWIN SANDS
Inward as well as outward-bound ships of the Honourable East India Company (HEIC) always carried very valuable cargos. The riches these ships transported made them a target for pirates and privateers. To counteract that threat they were normally well armed with enough cannon to make even a hostile nation’s navy think twice about a confrontation.
The Admiral Gardner was such a vessel. Throughout her one hundred and forty-five feet length, she bristled with thirty-two cannons showing from her middle and upper decks. With a narrow beam of thirty-six feet she proved to be a speedy craft and made fast voyages from the newly opened East India docks, at Blackwall, to the company’s warehouse in the Indian port of Madras.
It was on her sixth voyage for the HEIC that she met her fate on the treacherous Goodwin Sands. In her holds were mainly iron goods, such as cannon balls, anchors and locks. However, stowed in small casks was also over fifty tons of copper coin.
On the evening of the 24th January, 1809, the Admiral Gardner, along with the East India Company vessels Britannia and Carnatic, sailed into the Downs, off Deal. As the wind fell light, they had to let go their anchors to the south of the crowded anchorage – and in deeper water that was advisable. However, the pilot and the captain, William Eastfield, felt secure enough in the light airs and fourteen fathoms (one fathom equals six feet) of water, to leave the ship’s sails hanging limply from their yards. At seven o’clock in the evening, the wind arose from the north-west and freshened by the minute. The captain immediately sent the crew aloft to lash up the canvas sails, as the wind increased to gale force. Rain and spray made their working conditions hard and the weather had become so thick that they could no longer see the South Foreland light.
Dave Chamberlain
It was the pilot who cried out that the anchors were dragging and recommended that the captain should pay out more cable. Eastfield ordered the men off the yards to assist in the chore. By eleven o’clock, the pilot exclaimed that the ship was in only five fathoms and was ashore on the Goodwins. He took it upon himself to order the crew to cut away the anchors so that they might manoeuvre away from the danger. The wind had increased to storm force and in the freezing surroundings the men felt numb and the work was bringing on fatigue. As the pilot helped cutting the thick anchor cable with an axe he inadvertently had two of his fingers hacked off. It was minutes before he realised what had happened and then he became delirious and was taken below.
William Eastfield took a cast of the heaving-lead himself and found to his astonishment that they were still in fourteen fathoms of water. With the wind still flaying at the unfurled sails he sent some of his tired crew aloft to continue in their task of lashing up the canvas. In the cable tier he organised his remaining men to let out more
of the hemp rope to assist the anchors to get a better hold on the sea-bed. Whilst this job was underway a stronger gust of wind took hold of the vessel and ripped the sails out of the frozen hands of the men aloft. One of the cables was wrenched away from the stopper and was lost through the hawse hole. With the ship relying on one anchor, Eastfield prayed that it would hold in the turmoil.
After half an hour the captain’s prayers were not answered. The quartermaster had informed him that they were in seven fathoms and then a minute later only five; also breakers could be seen under the ship’s lee. Before the exhausted man could respond, the Admiral Gardner struck the Goodwin Sands and the tremendous waves broke over the vessel.
As his orders to cut away the main and mizzen mast were being carried out, a giant wave swept through the whole length of the upper deck, and a seaman was washed overboard. Courageously, the third mate and three crewmen embarked in the ship’s boat in an attempt to save the man. They were also lost in the maelstrom.
When daybreak finally came on the morning of the 25th of January, there were two other ships aground on the sandbank; the East Indiaman Britannia and the large brig Opollo. They could be seen, close to each other, with only their foremasts showing, flying a distress signal.
The men’s trauma was not yet over; they had to wait on their wave lashed decks, until after four in the afternoon. It was only then that the sea had abated enough for the Deal boats to perform the rescue of the unfortunate crews.
The wreck of the Admiral Gardner lay forgotten for one hundred and seventy-three years until an unsuspecting trawler snagged her net on the remains in 1982. When the trawler’s skipper hired some divers to release the valuable trawl net they were amazed to discover that the uncharted shipwreck contained hundreds of coins scattered about her rotting deck
The coins that were found, had the coat of arms of the East India Company and date 1808 on the obverse side. On the other side an inscription in Persian (the diplomatic language that was used in Mughal India) and the denomination – either X Cash or XX Cash. These copper tokens were supplied to the Company’s Indian workers, as payment for their services. Their value was ten cash (derived from the Tamil word Kasu, meaning ‘a coin’) being the equivalent to three-quarters of a farthing.
Using a James Watt steam engine, Mathew Boulton had minted these coins at his Soho works in Birmingham. Boulton’s coin press had a reputation for producing coinage of a consistent quality and even the Royal Mint used his services, as they were failing to supply the national requirements.
With the shipwreck laying in fifty feet of water the divers felt that they could salvage the cargo and formed themselves into a group called ‘The East India Company Divers’. Weather conditions hampered them as they worked the shipwreck, five miles offshore. In 1985 the Government placed an emergency designation order on the location, to make it a protected historical wreck site.
However, the divers protested that it was outside of their jurisdiction. The argument was valid and the ‘Protected Site Order’ revoked, until a change to the offshore territorial limits, from three miles to twelve miles, was made law in 1989. Up until then, when the order was re-instated, the salvage continued.
The divers had discovered the main cache of coins, stored in decaying barrels, underneath an overhang of the ship’s ribs. The local divers employed a professional salvage company with a larger boat that could work in the unpredictable conditions. They successfully recovered hundreds of thousands of ten and the larger twenty cash coins; also an intact barrel was hauled to the surface, which was estimated of holding 28,000 tokens.
Treasure always means trouble and disagreements developed between the divers. Some were concerned the way the wreck was being treated, with controlled explosions as a way of obtaining more coin. Eventually salvage on the site was suspended, however, before this had happened millions of copper coins had been deposited with the Receiver of Wreck.
Most marine archaeologists abhor salvage companies and believe that their activities cause vast amounts of damage to a historical site. When an old shipwreck is destroyed to find the cargo, it deprives future generations of knowledge and information – on not only construction methods of old vessels, but also the social history which is sometimes concealed inside the wrecks hull. The salvagers’ counter claim is that their incentive is discovering wrecks and, with additional profit, they can find and explore new ones. Archaeologists’ ague against this by stating that they would sooner see wrecks left untouched, until modern technology can survey without disturbing them – to appreciate the history without the greed.
Dave Chamberlain
At the present time the wreck of the Admiral Gardner is designated under the Protection of Wrecks act 1973, with a one hundred and fifty metre restricted area around her. Nevertheless, nature has once again intervened in her natural way of defence and has covered the locale with sand. It is surmised that the shipwreck’s remains now lay buried under twenty-five feet of the Goodwins sand. However, coins can still be purchased from the original hoard – which was released from the Receiver of Wreck – on the internet site, eBay, or from coin shops all over the world.
Furthermore, it's interesting to relate that the person the ship was named after, Admiral Alan Gardner, who had a distinguished naval career until he became a member of Parliament and Mathew Boulton, whose company supplied the tokens both died in the same year as the ship was lost, 1809.
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HIDDEN SILVER
As the first rays of the early summer sun attempted to warm the seawater in the Channel and North Sea a dense fog was formed. It was a thick, wet, dripping fog that shrouded the ships and covered the lookouts with shimmering moist cobwebs on their hair and beards. The continuous blasts of the steam ships’ foghorns came from every quarter in a cacophony of confusion. The first ship to collide, on Saturday 30th May, 1908, was the Spanish vessel Bermeo with the British steamer Queenswood. Later, just after midnight, was the Junona with the Elder Dempster liner Loanda.
The Loanda was a fine vessel. She had 44 first class cabins along with 14 second class. On a regular run to Africa she always had full cargo holds and an exclusive passenger list. The Empire was being exploited by most white nations and the coast of Africa had a lot to offer – eventually making many men rich.
Dave Chamberlain
At Rotterdam, the ship had been loaded with 6,000 cases of gin and the same again with rum and schnapps. Along with several thousand cases of gunpowder, other minor trinkets such as clay pipes and chinaware were checked off on the cargo list. Much of the consignment that was loaded into the holds of the Elder Dempster vessel was manifested. However, there was possibly a lot that had not been recorded.
The missionaries on the West Coast of Africa knew their jobs were going to be that much harder after the Loanda had docked. They knew that this consignment of alcohol was not only for the colonists but would be used for trade amongst the inhabitants. It would buy tusks of ivory that would then be exported back to Europe. The greed of personal fortunes outweighed the disruption and addiction that rum and gin would bring.
A rumour was spread that the ship also carried £98,000 of uninsured silver in the form of bars and African shillings. These were allegedly stowed in a cabin portside forward and below the bridge – which had been turned into a strong room. What this bullion, if it was onboard, would have been used for can only be speculated on.
On impact, the Loanda’s engine-room was filled with water and she started to settle. When the lights failed, seamen and passengers mustered onto the boat-deck and hastily launched the lifeboats. The fog had cleared to a mist and other vessels stood by the sinking ship. Most of the Loanda passengers and crew were transferred onto the Norwegian steamer Hildur from their drifting lifeboats.
The two Dover Harbour tugs, Lady Crundall and Lady Vita, had only just dispatched the other collision damaged Queenswood safely in the harbour. Within the hour they were notified that their services were once again needed this time for the sinking Loanda.
They found the stricken ship five miles off the East Goodwins and surrounded by other steamships and sailing craft. Both of the tugs surveyed the situation before they made a tow secure. The Loanda was very low in the water, almost awash; nevertheless, she seemed fairly stable. Sea conditions were calm and Loanda’s captain and officers were standing-by their ship in a lifeboat.
When the vast value of the vessel’s cargo was explained to the tug masters, they realised that a successful effort would be financially rewarding.
The Lady Crundall and Lady Vita piled on steam, encouraging the semi-sunken ship to get some way on her and slowly the Loanda responded to their endeavours. Hours went by and as they rounded the South Goodwin lightship more vessels came out to escort them into Dover.
Just off St Margaret’s Bay and three miles short of the harbour entrance the Loanda suddenly began to sink by her stern. Pandemonium surrounded the scene. Ten men were tipped into the sea from the ship’s lifeboat, which was tied up alongside the wreck.
They were quickly rescued. Another five longshoremen in a galley from Deal had to be saved when their boat was lost in the vortex of the sinking ship. Hatch covers, life-rings and debris covered the area where the vessel had once been. Disappointed and downhearted the tugs and crew made their way back to Dover - and within eyesight of their goal, a fortune had slipped out of their grasp.
Salvage was attempted on the wreck of the Loanda, however the strong tides made work difficult. When the weather took a turn for the worst, quantities of bottles were washed out of her holds. As they were cast up alongshore at St Margaret’s Bay, the locals quickly devoured the contents before the coastguards could stop them. It was recorded that on the days when bottles of gin were strewn along the foreshore, so were the inhabitants - in recumbent forms. One old lady died on the beach of alcohol poisoning.
As the months went by there were no more efforts made on the wreck. Intensive beachcombing in the neighbourhood of St Margaret’s Bay was only practised subsequent to a northerly storm. After many frustrated searches with nothing found, apart from driftwood, even the locals got fed up and forgot about her.
Late in the 1970s, the Loanda was first discovered by scuba divers. They thought they had found an underwater supermarket with bottles in all shapes and sizes’ lying in the wrecks rusting holds – although the contents were undrinkable. Brass portholes littered the seabed where they had ‘popped’ away from the steel hull. Needless to say it became a very popular dive.
If the alleged £98,000 of ingots and coins that was supposed to have been stored in a strong room, below the Loanda’s bridge, was ever found is not known. Nonetheless, every time a diver visits the wreck the thought of all that hidden silver must be foremost on his or her mind.
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Skardon's World
History Pictures and Stories
of
Deal, Kent, UK;
Written by David Chamberlain