3

The Race for the Pier

I was strolling along Princes Pier at Greenock, waiting for the arrival of the Dunoon steamer, when I noticed a familiar figure seated on a bollard, attempting to light a clay pipe with an expression of great concentration.

“Home is the sailor, home from sea, eh, Captain? But where is the Vital Spark berthed today?” I asked, for there was indeed no sign of the puffer anywhere on the long frontage of the pier.

“Well, she’s no chust exactly berthed,” said Para Handy. “She’s on Ross & Marshall’s slupway gettin’ her shaft replaced. We kind of blew the main bearin’ off Bute last week and had to get a tow home.”

“Not by any chance from the King Edward?” I asked.

The captain’s face reddened. “Aye, chust that,” he said, and resumed his efforts to get his pipe to light.

“I should have guessed when I heard about it that it was likely to be the Vital Spark that was involved,” I said. “You’d better tell me exactly what happened, Captain. There’s some very strange stories going about Glasgow, and this could be your chance to put the record straight.”

Para Handy sighed. “Aye, I heard it wass aal the talk o’ the steamie, as ye might say. But none o’ it wass by any streetch of the imagination the fault of the shup. If Dougie wass here he would tell ye himself.

“This wass the way o’ it,” he said, returning the stubborn pipe to the pocket of his pea-jacket. “I’ll no’ devagate wan single iota from the facts and maybe ye’ll can pit it in the papers and clear the good name o’ the Vital Spark. I’m vexed that such a namely boat should be reduced to nothin’ but a laughin’ stock for the longshoremen. It wass no laughin’ matter for us at the time, I can tell ye.

“We had been to Skipness wi’ a cargo of whunstone, and wass headed back to Bowling in ballast when chust off Garroch Head, at the sooth corner o’ Bute, there wass this most monstrous crunchin’ sound in the enchine-room and then chust silence, and we started to druft.

“Macphail came burstin’ out o’ his cubby like a thing possessed and it iss chust typical o’ the man that he tried to blame me for the breakdoon.

“ ‘Ah’ve telt ye for years,’ he shouted, ‘Years! And ye’ve never paid a blind bit o’ heed tae me, naw, nor spent a penny on the engines and noo ye see the result! Ah’ve worked ma fingers tae the bone tae keep yon antiquated tangle o’ scrap-iron turnin’ ower, wi’ nae thanks for it. But this time yer chickens is come hame tae roost for she’s feenished, feenished. Yon’s the shaft gone and since it cam’ oot o’ Noey’s Erk in the first place ye’ll no’ find a machine shop tae fix it. It’s the breakers’ yerd for the shup, and the scrap heap for us!’

“ ‘My Chove, Macphail,’ says I, quite dignified, ‘that’s quite a speech for you: but maybe you’ll stert thinkin’ about what we can do to stop her goin’ ashore, and leave the highsterix till we’ve more time for them.’

“And sure enough, what wi’ the southerly wind and the floodin’ tide we wass setting quite fast onto the Head, her bein’ light, and things wass lookin’ pretty bleak.

“Macphail retired below to nurse his feelin’s — there wassn’t a lot he could do to nurse the enchines — and Dougie and Jum got the lashin’s off the punt so that we would be ready for the worst if it came to it. I wass near greetin’ mysel’, I’ll admit it. This looked like a terrible end for the smertest boat on the Firth, and her wi’ a brand new gold bead on her paid for out o’ my own pocket chust last week.

“Suddenly there was a roarin’ noise astern like aal the steam whustles on the Clyde goin’ off at the wan time, and when we aal recovered oor composure and turned to look, what wass it but the King Edward, inward-bound from Campbeltown, and closin’ doon on us like a bat out o’ hell.

“ ‘Puffer ahoy!’ came a megaphone from a young officer on the brudge, a real toff by the sound o’ him, ‘are you in some sort o’ trouble?’

“The upshot o’ it all wass that in chust a matter of three or fower meenits the Edward had thrown us a line and sterted to pull us safely awa’ from the Head.

“ ‘We’ll give you a tow into Kilchattan Bay,’ called the toff on the brudge, ‘We’re putting in there to pick up an excursion party but we can’t take you any further up the Firth because we’ll have to slow right down to tow you safely, and we can’t afford that sort of delay in arriving at Gourock.’

“And off we went at a very douce eight knots or so which to the folk on the steamer must have seemed ass if they wass standing still.

“Well, it’s me wass the mighty relieved man I can tell you, for though the owner wouldna be right pleased at havin’ to pay for a tug to come doon and fetch us up the river, at least it wass better than the shup broken to bits on Garroch Head: and he’d have to do somethin’ aboot the enchines at last.

“So I wass even beginnin’ to think the break-doon might be a blessing in disguise, when we heard another great blatterin’ o’ whustle blasts astern. Comin’ up on us very fast indeed wass the King Edward’s great rival, the Duchess of Fife, on her way hame from Brodick, the beat o’ her paddles like chungle drums and the crowds linin’ her rails to cheer as she swept past the turbine steamer ass if she had been lyin’ at anchor.

“The paddler’s Captain wass out on the wing o’ the brudge and he doffed his kep and bowed very courteous-like to Captain Wulliamson in the wheelhouse of the Edward as he went by, but when he put it back on he waved very mockin’, and blasted oot a sarcastic toot-toot-toot on the steam whustle.

“Even from the deck o’ the Vital Spark two chains astern, you could hear the murmur of anger goin’ up from the truppers on the King Edward, and I saw Captain Wulliamson come runnin’ oot to the enchine-room telegraph on the starboard wing: it wass plain he wassna in good trum at aal. Next thing I could hear the shrill bell of it clanging furiously ass he rang loud and long down to the boys in the enchine-room.

“Ass you know the Edward hass three propellers aal druven by this new-fangled turbine enchine, and she hass aal the go of a greyhound. Wulliamson had called for emergency full speed ahead and she near enough lifted her bows out of the watter as she took off after the paddler.

“The trouble wass, of course, that she near pulled the bows of the puffer under the watter ass soon ass the tow rope tightened — which it did so fast I feared it wud snap: and I could wish it had, for I thocht every last wan o’ the next fufteen minutes wud be my next. If Dougie wass here he would tell you himself.”

I nodded: “The laws of physics, Captain,” I said. “If I remember aright, any smaller vessel towed at speed by a significantly larger one is liable to be dragged under by the downward distortion of its normal centre of static gravity caused by the stress momentum associated with any uncompensated horizontal acceleration …”

I am glad to say that the Captain looked unimpressed by this explanation.

“Whateffer you say yourself,” he said at length. “But we were near sinking and the bows wass gettin’ lower and lower in the watter as the King Edward went even faster. Things wass lookin’ black for the shup! Wulliamson had completely forgot we wass there at aal, and we had nothin’ which we could cut the steel hawser he wass towin’ us wi’ and no’ way o’ sluppin’ it.”

“So Captain Williamson just couldn’t resist the challenge to the turbine’s reputation?” I asked.

“It wassn’t chust that,” said Para Handy. “He knew fine that the Duchess of Fife was making for Kilchattan Bay chust like himself, and if she got there first she’d lift Wulliamson’s excursion perty, and leave the Edward sadly oot o’ pocket. So they were both hell bent on gettin’ the first berth at the pier, and each had a man on the brudge keepin’ a close lookout on the pierhead semaphore boards to see which o’ the two the piermaster wass givin’ the right o’ way to — the Duchess of Fife in the offshore poseetion, or King Edward inshore of her.

“Wan o’ these days there’ll be a colleeshun, the way they boats iss aye racing to the piers. But aal I wass worried about wass what wass likely to happen to the Vital Spark, and I had chust wan way of remindin’ Williamson that we wass there, so I hauled doon on the steam-whustle and held it wide open. But we wass chust like the banshee howlin’ in the wilderness, as it says in the Scruptures, for Wulliamson neffer heard a thing but kept the steamer flat out for the pier, an’ by now the sea wass running green over our bows.

“It wass the piermaster at Kilchattan Bay who saved us, for ass the two steamers rounded the point and lined up for the pier he must have realised that there wass effery likelihood of a real smesh, and so he closed up both their semaphores and brought in the old Texa instead as she came limpin’ in from Glasgow on her cargo run to Loch Fyne.

“Mercifully Wulliamson’s eyes were better than hiss ears and he bided by the piermaster’s instruction. It’s us were the happy men when we saw the way come off her, and our own bow liftin’ above the watter again ass the tow-line slacked off. But it wass a near thing.

“Ass it wass, both steamers were late on their run home for by the time the Texa had finished unloading they were sadly behind their schedules, and I’m told both Captains got a reprimand from the owners efter passengers had complained aboot the delay — and the piermaster had protested aboot the race.

“But — for all the pierhead gossip I hear aboot — it wass not the blame off the Vital Spark. How could it be?”

I shook my head sadly.

“You’ve obviously not heard the full version of the story as it reached Glasgow, Captain,” I said. “The Kilchattan piermaster’s report didn’t blame just the two steamers.

“He said he had been confronted with three vessels racing for the pier.”

I took a crumpled copy of the previous day’s Glasgow News from my pocket, found the report I was looking for, and read aloud: “The Kilchattan piermaster reported to the Clyde Port Authority that he had denied access to the pier to the packet steamers Duchess of Fife and King Edward. Though they were racing each other for the first berthing opportunity, this was standard practice and not in itself his reason for turning them away.

“His fear was that the presence of a third vessel could have had serious consequences and indeed threatened the safety of all involved. ‘The two steamers were neck and neck at about 20 knots,’ he told our reporter this afternoon. ‘Though it is hard to believe, there was a Clyde steam-lighter immediately astern of the King Edward which, with her whistle blowing a demand to be given right of way, was clearly attempting to overtake both passenger ships at once. In the circumstances the only course of action open to me was to close the pier to all three.’ ”

I am sorry to say that Para Handy has made no effort to deny this report but, rather, has enjoyed the kudos of the qualities which certain credulous individuals now ascribe to the puffer.

My duty, I feel, is to set the record straight.

FACTNOTE

There was intense competition on the Firth at the turn of the century, the heyday of the paddlers and the first of the new generation of screw steamers on the Clyde: and of course these years were the zenith of the puffers too. Keen races for first berthing opportunities at the piers between passenger vessels operated by rival owners were commonplace — and notorious.

For the steamers, the prize was not simply the prestige of superiority in speed: it was commercial success. The faster ships attracted the greater attention and publicity and thus by reputation the greater — and more loyal — following. Of more immediate concern to the captains was that, if two steamers were closing down on a pier crowded with trippers awaiting the chance to return to Gourock or Glasgow after an excursion for the day ‘doon the watter’, fortune favoured the first arrival, which would scoop up the potential passengers and leave her unsuccessful rival with an empty pierhead.

A trial of speed in open water was one thing: but a high-speed convergence in the narrow confines of some isolated pier was very different and there were regular (though thankfully almost always minor) collisions: there were also frequent near-misses or, to describe them with rather more accuracy, near-hits! One collision, documented in the pages of the Glasgow Herald, did actually take place off the Garroch Head, in 1877, between the Guinevere and the Glen Rosa, when they side-swiped one another with consequent damage to their paddle-boxes.

The advent of the turbines inevitably sharpened the rivalries as the hitherto unchallenged crack paddlers found themselves under threat from the new upstarts.

Probably the greatest duel of all, however, was played out on an almost daily basis between the established paddle-powered speedsters Lord of the Isles and Columba. They both ran daily services from Glasgow to Bute and on through the Kyles: the Columba to Tarbert and Ardrishaig, her rival continuing north to Inveraray.

Their schedules usually found them leaving Rothesay on the outward passage at exactly the same time, and from there it was a race to reach the Kyles piers (the first of these being Colintraive) ahead of the opposition. The passengers invariably took up an extremely partisan stance but, as the contemporary newspaper accounts testify, they were as ready to heap abuse on a losing Captain as they were to cheer a winner’s triumph.

TURBINE ELEGANCE — King Edward was launched from Denny Brothers’ Dumbarton Yard in 1901 — the world’s first turbine-powered merchant vessel — and ran the daily service from Greenock Princes Pier to Campbeltown and return. Capable of over 20 knots, she is seen here edging into the Kintyre capital’s pier with a ‘standing room only’ crowd on board. Note the vessels on the stocks of the shipyard in the background.