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Members of the lifeboat crew are in upbeat mood as they gather over
mugs of tea and biscuits at the Penlee station. There's a posse of
journalists arriving for a spin in the all-weather lifeboat, the Ivan
Ellen, and it's a bit choppy out there in Mounts Bay.The in-joke is
guessing who among these visiting land-crabs will be the first to be
seasick. Given the conditions, there's even some question as to whether
the trip out to sea will take place.
But
once assembled and introduced, and trussed-up like chickens in our
lifejackets, we're out in the wind and the rain and being tossed around
on the lifeboat as if on a giant fairground ride.
It's
invigorating to say the least as we hang on to railings, hangers and
the edge of seats, and the crew look on with wry smiles as the Ivan
Ellen thumps and lurches at 25 knots on the waves.
There's a serious reason for this outing - we are here where past and present intertwine.
Next
Tuesday marks the 25th anniversary of the Penlee lifeboat disaster when
eight crew from Mousehole - Trevelyan Richards, Stephen Madron, Nigel
Brockman, John Blewett, Charles Greenhaugh, Kevin Smith, Barrie Torrie
and Gary Wallis - died in mountainous seas while trying to rescue the
coaster Union Star.
All five crew of that vessel, plus the wife
and two stepdaughters of the ship's captain, Henry "Mick" Moreton, were
lost as well.
The courage of the Penlee crew on the Solomon Browne lifeboat on that night of December 19, 1981 defied belief.
Lieutenant
Commander Russell Smith, pilot of the Culdrose Sea King helicopter that
night, described it as "the greatest act of courage I have ever seen,
and am likely to ever see".
Time and again, the Penlee crew
battled to save the eight lives on the Union Star, which at 67.6 metres
long was being tossed like a child's toy in 60ft breakers and 100mph
winds towards the Boscawen cliffs.
The Solomon Browne was lost soon after the crew had achieved the impossible by recovering four people from the coaster.
The
loss was hard to put into words for a Mousehole and Newlyn community,
for whom the term "close-knit" could have been invented.
But
perhaps the closest reflection of it came in the book, Penlee - the
Loss of a Lifeboat, by Michael Sagar-Fenton, who wrote: "The eight men
were all big personalities, confident, exuberant, involved in every
strand of village life. To lose any one of them would have caused the
whole village to grieve. To lose them all was a numbing wound, too deep
for pain, too dreadful to grasp."
The writer of this definitive account of the lifeboat disaster is here as well for our outing on the lifeboat.
But
no one wants the past to overshadow the present or future. The events
of that night 25 years ago have been examined exhaustively. They made
the name of Penlee in West Cornwall instantly recognisable to people
across the world.
But, as Mr Sagar-Fenton says: "The spirit in the lifeboat station is fantastic."
The
lifesaving endeavours of the crew in all conditions has continued ever
since. This year so far, there have been 47 "shouts", 22 of them with
the inshore lifeboat.
And that is what we are reminded of as
we're bounced around on the Ivan Ellen. To the crew, this is a gentle
excursion. But it's lively enough for me, and I'm just hoping that my
stomach is not the first to somersault.
The Severn-class boat is "a tiger", according to coxswain Neil Brockman. And he isn't kidding.
The
£2 million Ivan Ellen is completely self-righting, weighs 44 tons, and
at 17 metres long is capable of carrying up to 180 survivors in fine
weather.
Two engines can consume up to 100 gallons of diesel an
hour - a cost in fuel alone which demonstrates the importance of
fundraising for the RNLI.
Patrick "Patch" Harvey, who along with
the coxswain is one of the only two fully-employed crew, typifies the
outlook of the crew.
"It's a big team effort, especially when
there's someone on the bow. The most dangerous thing is when it's rough
and we're putting people on from another boat or getting crew off," he
says.
He, too, has known the tragedy of living and working with
the sea - recalling, for instance, the loss of the fishing boat the
Sabre in March 2004.
"We found two in the liferaft, but the
other one did not make it. We spent seven hours searching for him. That
lad was from Newlyn."
Such past experiences stiffen the resolve
of the lifeboat crew. "We'd go out, no matter the weather. We'd go out
regardless to try to do something," says Patch.
It is this
enduring spirit which so characterises the history of the lifeboats and
those who man them - nowhere more so that in Newlyn and Mousehole, so
steeped in the traditions of fishing communities.
Coxswain Neil
says: "You have to be aware of what you are doing, especially as
coxswain. You don't get frightened when you are actually doing the job
- it's when you get home and you think about it.
"I have
complete trust in my crew - we know each other. I'm lucky because most
of the crew have sea backgrounds. All of Newlyn and West Cornwall has a
sea and fishing tradition, so people have skills and if they can help,
they will. And our crew - we all grew up together."
For Neil,
the worst part of the job is selecting who should go on a "shout". The
Ivan Ellen takes a crew of six, but there are around 25 volunteers in
all, and ten or 12 might turn up when the call goes out.
"People
who aren't chosen will be disappointed. I used to be. They want to go.
I usually pick the ones with the best and most experience for the job
in hand," he says.
It's an observation given added poignancy when you learn that Neil lost his father Nigel in the Penlee disaster.
Neil
too had volunteered that night - only to be told by the then coxswain,
Trevelyan Richards: "No more than one from a family on a night like
this."
Neil goes on: "The roughest weather I've been out in was in 1994 in ten-metre seas - the size of a two-storey house."
What
he does not mention is that both he and the coxswain of the Sennen Cove
lifeboat, Terry George, were awarded the RNLI's bronze medal for their
seamanship and conduct in the rescue.
They were facing
storm-force winds when the two lifeboats performed a joint operation to
save five fishermen on the Julian Paul, which was towed back to Newlyn.
How do they cope - and what of the fear?
As
Julia Rescorla, the one female member of the lifeboat crew, explains:
"I know of some weak men, but there are no weak men on this crew. You
don't have time to be afraid.
"All the training and the
adrenalin kicks in, and we act as a team. It's when you get back and
think about it that you start to be afraid."
Neil adds: "Humour is the best way of dealing with things. You've got to have a bit of fun, and we do."
It's not hard to see what he means. One or two among the Press contingent are starting to look a bit green.
And, after two hours of being chucked around, we land crabs are all a bit wet and cold.
This sets me wondering what it must be like for the lifeboat crew on long nights in stormy conditions.
How aptly they fit that expression "a rare breed" - both now and in times past.
Coxswain Neil surveys the "guests" and decides that it's about time to go back, though not before attending to one last thing.
The call goes out across the boat: "Who's for a pasty?"
Then the message is radioed back to the lifeboat station: "Twelve meat pasties."
That done, he pushes the Ivan Ellen up to 25 knots again, and we're thumping and lurching into the waves once more.
Penlee
- the Loss of a Lifeboat, by Michael Sagar-Fenton, is available from
the Western Morning News Shop, 107 Armada Way, Plymouth PL1 1HH, priced
£7.99 plus £2 P &P. Call 01752 207141 for details. Also available
by the same author is Penlee Lifeboat - the First 200 Years, priced
£7.99. For details, see the Penlee RNLI website at www.penlee-lifeboat.ik.com
All profits from the latter book will be donated to the RNLI.
article copyright WESTERN MORNING NEWS
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