Complete new Tales of PARA HANDY

With almost every year bringing some further, dramatic advance in the range of navigational and mechanical instrumentation and infrastructure (and domestic comfort) available to mariners the world over I have always been forcefully struck by the apparent failure of even the most basic improvements to the sailors’ lot to come (or be brought) to the attention of Captain and crew of the Vital Spark.

Year on year that most kenspeckle component of the entire Clyde puffer ﬂeet remains ﬁrmly anchored to the anachronistic maritime technology of the year in which she was launched, even in terms of her domestic arrangements.

Thus (to take just a few examples) the revolution of wireless communication has passed her by, as has the more widespread installation of the repeating engine-room telegraph: the now normal provision in the wheelhouse of a handsome, brass-cased instrument combining compass, chronometer and barometer: the switch to electrical incandescent lighting: the provision of running water from a central tank: and the use of bottled gas for the purpose of cooking.

Aboard the Vital Spark, therefore, Para Handy still puts in to the nearest village blessed with a Post Office to communicate by telegram with his Head Office, and gives his instructions to the engine-room either verbally, or with a tap of the boot on Macphail’s ﬂat cap. A small pocket compass of very dubious accuracy is the sole aid to navigation, and the battered tin alarm-clock hanging by a string from a nail in the fo’c’sle the only rough guide to the real time. Weather prediction is always accomplished ﬁrst thing each morning by sending Sunny Jim up on deck to see if it is raining or not. Dougie still trims and curses dimly-ﬂickering, temperamental oil-lamps for the ship’s navigation and safety after dark. On deck, Sunny Jim rinses out dirty pots and dishes in a bucket of sea-water, and down below in the fo’c’sle he cooks on a smoking coal stove.

Thus the facilities enjoyed aboard the speeding Columba are as far removed from those deployed on the wretched puffer which she regularly leaves in her wake, as the accoutrements to hand in the douce terrace houses of Kelvinside are an advance upon the amenities of a Hottentot hut.

Given Para Handy’s blind devotion to his command this was not an easy topic to broach, but encountering the mariner on Dunoon pier recently I took the opportunity to draw to his attention the favourable reception accorded to the recently-electriﬁed tram service on Bute, and asked whether he foresaw, in the near future, any likely major improvements to the maritime services on the Firth — and particularly to the lot of the puffer-men who provided so many of them.

“None that I can really think of,” he replied, catching hold of my elbow as he did so and steering me gently, unobtrusively and almost absent-mindedly (though with unerring accuracy) in the very precise direction of the Licensed Refreshment Room located at the eastern end of the pier.

“But surely there are many things which would help make life easier for you,” I continued a minute or so later as the barman wiped our corner table with a damp cloth before setting our glasses on it. “What about weather prediction, for instance. A barometer would allow you to make some sensible judgement about likely conditions over the next twenty-four hours…”

“Barometer!” exclaimed the Captain, almost choking on his drink. “Don’t talk to me aboot barometers. They are nothin’ but a snare and a delusion, as it says in the Scruptures.

“The owner sent one doon to the vessel a year or two back wi’ a wee note ass to how to work it, and said it would help us plan our week better if we had some idea of the likely condeeshuns when we wass at sea. I am not a thrawn man, so though I didna like it I hung the dam’ thing up in the fo’c’sle and effery morning and effery evening I would be lookin’ at it to see what it said.

“It aalways pointed to the same thing. Set Fair. It didna matter if we wass marooned in Tobermory wi’ a howlin’ gale, or stranded in the fog in Ardrossan Harbour, or gettin’ snowed on like we wass in the Arctic, but us chust in Colintraive. Set Fair. That was the message even on, month efter month.

“I stuck it oot, for it wassna my property and anyway I had learnt chust to ignore it, but we had Jeck wi’ us for a couple of trups and I tell you he took ass ill to that dam’ barometer ass if it had been a temperance campaigner in the Yoker Vaults at the Gleska Fair Weekend.

“He ﬁnally snapped one mornin’ when we wass comin’ doon from Arrochar. It had been rainin’ on like a second Flood for three solid days and we wass aal on a short fuse ass a result. Mebbe I should have seen the warnin’ signs the previous night, for Jeck had spent maist o’ the evenin’ swearin’ at the barometer ass if it wass personally responsible for the doonpour.

“Chust before mid-day I wass in the wheelhouse, wi’ Jeck and Dougie off watch in the fo’c’sle, when suddenly the fore-hatch crashed open and Jeck came clatterin’ on deck wi’ the barometer clutched in baith hands.

“He jumped onto the main hatch and held the barometer high over his head wi’ its face to the sky, and the rain wass harder than ever and the clouds wass that low you could have touched them wi’ an oar.

“ ‘Set Fair!’ bellowed Jeck. ‘ Set Fair, is it, ye eejit! Weel maybe ye’ll believe the evidence o’ yer ain eyes noo, ye leein’ blackguard!’ — and he fair shook the implement in his hands and thrust it up and into the worst o’ the rain — ‘Tak’ a good look at that. Set Fair my auntie!’

“And wi’ a ﬁnal roond o’ curses I wouldna give myself a red face by repeating, he swung the barometer round above his head several times for luck and sent it hurtling up and oot and over and into the loch and oot of oor lives forever.

“Naw, I am not a great man for any o’ these new-fangled gadgets at aal, for you almost neffer ﬁnd them to be aal they is cracked up to be. I am chust perfectly content so long as I am provided wi’ the staples that have made us Brutain’s hardy sons,” the Captain concluded, mournfully staring into his now empty glass with a pointed purposefulness to which I felt it best to respond.

Para Handy’s frustrations with the recalcitrant barometer, however, were as nothing compared with the encounter with the new technologies which he experienced a couple of weeks after our conversation in Dunoon.

The incident is best related as it was reported in the columns of the Greenock Telegraph in the following terms, which I here reproduce by kind permission of the Editor of that respected journal:

A NEAR MISS AT ARDNADAM

(National Press please copy)

After exhaustive enquiries by the piermaster concerned, the steam gabbart Vital Spark has been held solely responsible for the regrettable incident at Ardnadam Pier at 10 p.m. last Saturday night which resulted in minor damage to the structure of the pier and to the upperworks of the paddle-steamer Dandie Dinmont, which was berthing at the time. Of more immediate concern was the mental and physical distress occasioned to a large number of excursionists, of both sexes and all ages, who were waiting on the pierhead to board the steamer for their scheduled ‘moonlight-cruise’ return journey to Craigendorran.

It transpired that, as part of a planned refurbishment of the puffer, her owner had contracted with the Ardnadam Foundry for the supply of a new remote-control signalling apparatus between wheelhouse and engine-room: and a steam-whistle of improved design and performance.

These had been ﬁtted under the supervision of the Captain and Engineer of the steam lighter, though we understand from the foreman of the Foundry that there had been constant bickering and altercation between the two as to the most effective way of achieving satisfactory installation of the new equipment.

With beneﬁt of hindsight it is now apparent that certain grave errors and miscalculations occurred and that neither piece of equipment was correctly instated.

The results were unfortunate to say the least.

As the Dandie Dinmont approached, the Captain of the steam lighter, which had been tied up alongside the head of the pier, loosed his moorings and signalled for dead slow astern in order to move slightly inshore to leave a clear berth for the steamer. Unhappily it is now apparent that the signalling device had been installed back-to-front and the instructions which were displayed in the engine-room in fact called for emergency full-speed ahead.

The puffer collided bow-ﬁrst with the paddle-box of the approaching steamer but, mercifully, the damage was slight as even at maximum revolutions the acceleration of this type of vessel is notoriously ponderous.

On realising what had happened (though not, unfortunately, why it had happened) the engineer of the puffer engaged full speed astern, at which the vessel proceeded to bear down on the pierhead, now crowded with the steamer’s intending passengers.

In the wheelhouse the vessel’s Captain, powerless — in the time available — to prevent the imminent collision with the pier, pulled sharply on the lanyard of the new steam-whistle to sound a warning.

Unfortunately the valve-pipe from the boiler which was intended to power the whistle had been erroneously connected not to the tubing at the base of the whistle shaft, but to an old, narrow and disused ventilation pipe which led directly into the base of the vessel’s smoke-stack.

As a result, instead of producing the intended warning whistle, deployment of the lever which should have controlled that instrument sent a great blast of scalding steam straight up the shaft of the funnel and resulted in the immediate and widespread emission of an enormous cloud of smoke and soot of quite volcanic proportions which, in the prevailing wind, was deposited thickly onto the pier and onto the persons and clothing of all those standing upon it.

It is understood that several parties are consulting their lawyers as a result of this contre-temps, and that when last seen the Captain and Engineer of the steam-lighter were on the point of exchanging blows on the mainhatch as the vessel, still under power but not apparently under control, drifted out from the pier and vanished into the darkness.

In the meantime, although I cut out the newspaper’s report and pasted it carefully into my commonplace book, I have made a mental note never again to broach with Para Handy the subject of the new technologies.

Till the very end of their era, the puffers were the most basic of vessels, embellished with few reﬁnements and even less evidence of modern technology.

They relied on the seamanship, experience and total familiarity with the waters they sailed which were the hallmark of their skippers and their crews. Indeed as more one than former puffer man has told me, that instinct was often more to be relied on than the best efforts of modern science. Those most gifted were able to ‘feel’ a storm coming in from the west, or ‘sense’ the imminence of fog before it closed in — and take the appropriate avoiding action in good time.

Ardnadam Pier, some 70 yards from shoreline to pier-head, was the longest of the Clyde piers. Indeed it still is because it has survived as a result of having been the pier which served the US Navy throughout their 30 year lease of the anchorage of Holy Loch as the North Atlantic base for their quite unholy nuclear submarines. Improved and refurbished, scrupulously maintained as a result of its totally unforeseen strategic importance, the venerable pier is today in immaculate condition, set fair to celebrate its 150th anniversary in 2008.

The communities centred around Holy Loch and its immediate environs, were — at the zenith of communication by water on the Clyde — the very heart of commuter-land both in terms of travel to work (in Glasgow), and travel to shop (either in Greenock or closer at hand in Dunoon.) As a result, within a space of just a few miles on the Cowal shore of the Firth, there were steamer piers at Blairmore, Strone, Kilmun, Ardnadam, Hunter’s Quay and Kirn. All had regular communications with the principal Cowal pier at Dunoon, and with the railheads of Gourock, Greenock and Craigendorran, as well as the Broomielaw or Bridge Wharf in the heart of Glasgow itself.

The Dandie Dinmont, launched from the Partick yard of Messrs A and J Inglis of Pointhouse in 1895, was the regular Holy Loch steamer for most of her working life. Named, like all steamers in the North British Company’s ﬂeet, after a character from one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels, she was 195’ overall with handsome saloons fore and aft. Her contemporaries in the North British ﬂeet included the remarkable Lucy Ashton, a product of the real ‘Upper Clyde’, built by Seath’s of Rutherglen in 1888. Only MacBrayne’s Iona — broken up in 1936 after no less than 72 years in service — could be regarded as a more potent link to the Victorian era. ‘Lucy’ survived two World Wars and was only withdrawn from service in 1949, still within the living memory and, above all, the practical experience of countless Clyde enthusiasts.