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COAL  TO  KILKEEL


by Captain Richard England


The topsail schooner Via of Brixham, 99 tons register, 210 tons burthen, was built by J. Upham at Brixham in 1864. From 1927 she was owned and commanded by Captain James Doyle of Kilkeel, County Down, Northern Ireland, who employed her in the trade between Ireland and the West Coast ports until her loss off Carlingford Lough in 1931. Captain England, former owner/master of the schooner Nellie Bywater served as a boy in the Via almost up to the time of her loss. In this article he gives a vivid account of the everyday life of the Via's crew of four in the late 1920s.

The October afternoon was cold and grey, with a bitter easterly wind blowing across the Mersey, as the schooner Via towed up to Garston to load coal for Kilkeel. Close inshore in the Garston channel we skirted a park, a welcome patch of green. Smoke from the tug, blowing back over the Via made it difficult to see so that Weddock, the schooner's mate, was compelled to lean over the bows in an effort to sight the dock entrance. As the stone piers loomed through the murk, the tug sounded a warning blast and rounded to. One of her crew hailed us: "Schooner ahoy! Let go!"

"Let go!" repeated the mate. John, the A.B. slipped the tow rope which splashed overboard The Via glided silently towards the pier where a small group of piermen huddled in the lee of the watch-house, waiting for her to drift within range of their heaving lines.

"Will you be all right now, Captain?" inquired the tugmaster, leaning out of his wheelhouse window. "Aye, we'll do nicely, thank you," replied our captain. We heard the tug's telegraph ring;  there was a violent thrashing alongside as her screw churned the water into foam, then she was scurrying away down river at full speed, in quest of another tow. The piermen threw us a line and hauled ashore our warp. "All fast, Captain! Take in the slack. Berth alongside the Goldseeker." The captain waved an acknowledgement to the dock-master's instructions as we pulled in the slack of the warp and took it to the dolly-winch. The sound of the prawls rang out as we hove the Via into the dock.

The old dock was crowded with ketches, schooners and a few steamers. They lay three and four abreast against the West Wall. All the loading berths under the tips were occupied. It was my job to run out the warp afresh. I jumped into the punt towing astern and sculled ahead of the schooner, reading the names of the regular Garston traders as I passed under their long bowsprits: Solway Lass, Bengullion, Nellie Bywater, Baltic, Lochranza Castle and many others were there, waiting to load. A couple of men jumped aboard the Via to help John and the mate on the handles of the dolly. Greetings from old friends, scraps of news and a good deal of banter were shouted to us as the schooner warped down to her berth alongside the Goldseeker. The Via was snugly moored by the time dusk set in. Sitting in the tiny galley cooking supper, I watched the dockside lights come on. Every now and again , between the wails and shrieks from the coal tips, I could overhear bits of news and gossip being exchanged by John and the mate with the crew of the Goldseeker. It was good to be back in Garston again .

Four days passed before a loading berth was available for the Via. The weather was glorious for the time of year and Weddock kept us hard at work. I was up and about before daylight. My first task was to light the galley fire and put the kettle on to boil. After helping the others wash the decks, I cooked the breakfast and set the cabin table. The meal was followed by chores, then, armed with a scraper, I was hoisted aloft to scrape the topmasts. John and I scraped both masts from the trucks to the deck. On the third evening after our arrival Captain Doyle informed the mate that the had bought a cargo of house coals and had arranged for us to go under the tips the following day.

Early next morning, the Via was made ready to receive her cargo. The booms were guyed out and the yards braced hard against the backstays. The outboard braces were unrove, and after stripping the hatches, the hatch boards were laid across the decks and galley-top as a protection against the avalanche of coals which would soon be shooting down on us from the tips. We got up old tarpaulins from the forepeak and draped them over the cabin skylight and the companions. After dinner we were told that the loading berth was clear. I ran a line across the dock and we warped the Via under the tips. There was much shouting from the quayside as we moored. Somebody wanted the ship further ahead, but someone else required her moving astern. The gang of trimmers, waiting to join us, joined in the general hubbub. As length the Via was made fast to the satisfaction of all.

The trimmers disappeared down into the hold just before the first truck of coal cascaded partly through the main hatch and partly on the deck. The Via listed over and was enveloped in a choking cloud of coal dust which turned our spotless little vessel into a filthy shambles. Throughout the afternoon and evening a stream of coal poured down from the tips. A great heap extended from rail to rail over the main hatch with its peak subsiding every now and again, as the invisible trimmers shovelled the cargo into the wings of the hold. How those trimmers could work down below will always remain a mystery to me. The ring of their shovels and the steady disappearance of truck-load after truck-load of coal into the black depths were the only idications of their presence on board.

Above, the busy staithes presented a fantastic sight after nightfall when the lights went on. Ships listed drunkenly in all directions, some down by the head, others by the stern; their tall masts reeled and swayed to each fresh onslaught of coal. Clouds of choking dust rose into the air. The noise was continuous and deafening. It was impossible to sleep with the screech of the tips and the thunderous roar of the falling wagon-loads of coal. From below in the Via, the scrape of steel shovels added to the din. Long into the night and until the early hours of the next morning loading continued.

The last truck-load teemed down with the wlcome shout: "Here's the one you're looking for," from someone on the tip. Shortly afterwards the trimmers crawled out one by one, through a mere rat-hole in the centre of the filled main hatch and trooped wearily ashore. Banging impatiently on the fo'c'sle scuttle, Weddock the mate interrupted our all too brief rest. It was just breaking dawn as we  warped the heavily laden Via back to the West Wall. As we struggled to start her moving the mate found fault with everything we did. Even John, the A.B., who was usually bubbling over with good humour, barely spoke a civil word. We moored up in out old berth.

Things were not so bad when the hatches had been battened down and the surplus coal cleared off the decks. Clad in oilskins and seaboots we gradually got rid of the coal dust, beginning on the booms, house tops and rails, and finishing with the decks. Every drop of water we used had to lifted from the dock in a draw-bucket. How I envied the steamboatmen their powerful deck hoses for washing down. The worst of the job was done before I was alloowed to get the breakfast ready.

The Via was due to sail the following morning, but thick fog on the Mersey and a total absence of wind kept us made fast in dock. I was in the punt alongside, cleaning the hull, when the master of a steamer which was leaving the dock hailed me: "Will you run out some wires for me, boy?" When I had laid the wires out to his satisfaction, he shouted for me to scull under the wing of his bridge. "Hold your cap out, son," he said. I could hardly believe my good fortune when I saw he had dropped two half-crowns into my outstretched cap. I hastened back to the Via and tumbled aboard. "Look what he's given me, John. Here! You have one of them." But before my shipmate could take the proffered coin, a great hairy paw came swiftly from behind me and grabbed both half-crowns. In he twinkling of an eye, they both disappeared into the mate's trouser pocket, without so much as a word being spoken. How we hated old Weddock and his mean spiteful ways.

The next day dawned fine, but chilly. As I lit the galley fire the captain came on deck and took a turn up and down. He glanced aloft to the main truck, where a wind sock fluttered gently, now and again, in the light early morning airs. It gave every indication of a fair breeze from the south-east later on. At a word from the 'old man', Weddock rolled up to the galley door. "Hurry up with the breakfast, we'll be sailing at tide time." After a hurried meal, the Via was warped down close to the dock entrance. We hoisted the punt, stowed it on its chocks on the main hatch and then flaked all the running gear in readiness for making sail as soon as the lock gates were opened.

I could see far down the Mersey, past the New Ferry stage and the Conway training ship. A nice steady south-easterly breeze ballooned the clewed-up topsails as we freed them from the gaskets. We regained the deck just as the lock gates started to open. Slowly gathering steerage way, the Via glided out of the lock into the yellow, swirling waters of the Mersey. We were all out of breath by the time the mainsail was set. A Woodside ferry, packed with city workers, swept fussily past. Liverpool landing stage, with its liners, packets and ferry boats dropped astern. We had the Via under full sail by the time we were abreast the Rock lighthouse. The first of the ebb tide began to give us its powerful aid as the Via joined the long procession of outward-bounders making for the open sea.

After dinner, Weddock sent me over the bows to give the bowsprit a coat of linseed oil. Out on the footropes, hidden from sight by the square foresail, I took my time over the job. From the extreme end of the bowsprit I had a grand view of the Via sailing towards me. "Thought you'd fallen overboard," grumbled Weddockl as I put my gear away in the lamp-locker aft. After supper watches were set. John and the mate went below until midnight. I kept a lookout but the sea around was deserted. Gradually the mist closed in reducing visibility to about half a mile. "Better get the foghorn out of the locker, Dick!" called Captain Doyle from the wheel as a blanket of thick fog drifted down like smoke and shut us in completely. There was a rattle of gear from aloft and the low thunder of slatting canvas as the breeze failed us altogether. The watch passed slowly, with the Via idly rolling to the swells without steerage way. I sounded the horn at regular intervals and listened for other ships. I was very cold and drowsy. The fog saturated the sails and rigging and big drops of moisture pattered down on deck. The booms kept up a monotonous creaking as they chafed against their saddles to the movement of the ship.

It must have been nearing midnight when the captain suddenly asked: "Can you hear anything, boyt?" We both listened for some moments, but I could only hear the usual noises of the ship and the sea. "Sound the horn again!" As the order was given, the bows of a large vessel loomed out of the fog and bore swiftly down on us. Her great side, agleam with lighted ports, towered above us as she surged past, then she was gone again, swallowed up by the clammy mist. Her wash set the Via rocking so violently that the sea splashed and gurgled through thed washports, and John and the mate rushed on deck alarmed by the sudden commotion. "It was the ruddy mail boat. They never even saw us," raved the 'old man', startled out of his habitual calm by the narrowness of our escape. We had certainly been close to complete disaster and it made be realise how swiftly a ship could be lost in fog, despite every seamanlike precaution.

The fog cleared as the Via rounded the Chickens and a moderate breeze from the south picked up. As soon as it was daylight we all turned out with the usual routine of scrubbing the decks and a short spell at the pumps. By the time I had cooked the breakfast of bacon, eggs, potatoes and onions I was ravenous. Thank goodness there was always plenty of good food in the Via and you could eat your fill.

Vague, shadowy outlines of the Mourne Mountains were first sighted when they were barely distinguishable from the banks of cloud. As we closed the land, it revealed itself as a vividly coloured patchwork of mountain, fields and bog, dotted here and there with little white houses. A mile or so offshore we put about and stood off and on to await the tide. At a word from Captain Doyle, Weddock commenced taking in sail. By the time it was half-flood we had flaked down the warps, put out fenders and cockbilled the port anchor in readiness for entering harbour. "There shoud be enough water for us now, Jim," said the captain, "Stand by to go about!" The Via sailed up into the wind and as the headsails backed, we hauled them over. We could see Kilkeel harbour entrance with a cluster of ships' masts behind it and as we got closer to the piers, a crowd of men and boys put off to the Via in small boats. They swarmed over the rails  and took possession of our decks. It was great fun to see the boisterous mob warp the Via into Kilkeel harbour, turning the labour into a light-hearted frolic.

We were not allowed to do anything except furl the topsails aloft. By the time we had regained the deck the Via was snugly moored up with sails furled and coated, running gear coiled down and decks tidied up. Our helpers had even ranged the port cable in the waterways and guyed out the main boom to list the Via towards the quayside.

"That'll do, Jim," said Captain Doyle as he stepped ashore. "Be ready to start at eight in the morning." A few moments later I watched my two shipmates hurrying up the harbour road, bound for their homes ......




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