All rights reserved - Copyright - Jonathan Gillespie, 2016.

Book extract - Garrison Fields

Author - Jonathan Gillespie

Chapter 1 - A New Beginning

The noise of the tram was all around her as it rattled along the iron tracks, banging and crackling overhead at each junction as the electric pick-up bounced against the overhead- wires. It was a sound that she
had become well used to in the last few years. Yes, it was around the turn of the century when they had
electrified the trams; what a mess they had made of the beautiful streets, with those big ugly poles for the
electric. Well, at least now they were more reliable.
She cast her mind back to when she was a child and all they had known was the horse drawn trams. She
and her own mother had been delayed several times when a horse had just dropped dead in its trappings.
Nothing could run, until the knackers yard turned up and dragged the poor unfortunate creature on to their
cart. Yes, electric was more reliable things were really changing in this new age they were calling
Edwardian. A voice roused her from her thoughts.
'Missus... Missus, this is your stop, unless you've moved house?' The tram shuddered to a halt, as the
conductor alighted gracefully twirling at the same time, so that he was facing the passengers to aid any who
wished too step down. It was true, these street stops with their cobbles were sometimes quite difficult to
alight from, especially with a long dress and slim boots, you could easily catch it in the hem and make a fall
quite likely.
The condition of the streets, with refuse and horse detritus didn't really aid in any shape or form either. So
Jane, ensuring all the groceries she had purchased were in order, moved to the exit. The conductor held his
arm aloft, so that she might use it as a continuation of the handrail. As she stepped to the street she nodded
slightly to the conductor, in thanks for his assistance.
She had used this tram for several years and although they knew each other from these trips, there
politeness to each other was one of strangers performing a function. He had, many years ago talked to her
quite unreservedly. It must have been five years previously in 1901, on the occasion of the old Queens'

death. She remembered it very well he was quite shocked, as were most that day.
As the tram pulled off, she crossed the road and proceeded into Kimberley Street, the home they had
purchased some five years before. A new century and a new beginning, as her husband Albert - had
remarked, when they had seen it freshly completed by the builders. It meant they could leave the small old
cottage that they had rented, when they were first married. They had many happy memories there, but also
their share of worries. There was to be, no more damp, no more silver fish and definitely no more snails and
slugs crawling through the downstairs floorboards. She had given birth to her first two children Matthew, the
eldest then Luke, in that slum and it was only by the grace of God that she hadn't lost Luke to the damp.
Since moving to Kimberley Street she had given birth to two more children; Alice her only daughter and
her husbands little girl and Ted her youngest. Everything, she had ever hoped for could be summed up by the
contents of this house and its occupants. She felt an intense feeling of pleasure, as it came into view. It was
silly to feel this way about a house but, it was more an extension of who she now was.
It was the end of summer and as she walked further up the street the sun hid behind the rooftops, she
could feel the coolness of the salt air against her face, as the northerly breeze brushed past her. Stopping, she
stooped to unlatch the black wrought iron gate and pushed it open. It was an ornate gate which yawned as it
opened with the sound of the metal hinges rubbing. The garden was very small with a lawn the size of a
postage stamp and a hydrangea bush planted under the bay window, a present she had been given shortly
after they had moved in. Turning she closed and latched the gate behind her glancing quickly around, before
walking the three steps to the porch. Checking her boots, for street detriment, she gave them a precautionary
scrape on the boot scraper fixed in the lower wall of the porch, just in case.
After ensuring everything was in order, Jane felt inside the palm of her left glove, to retrieve her front
door key. It was precautionary, but she had heard such tales of robbery in the streets, that she always liked to
keep her key where she could feel it. If, on those days when she had to take a bank note out with her this was
also where she kept it, safe and secure. Bank notes were far too valuable to lose if you lost one of those then
the housekeeping money was gone and you wouldn't eat for a week, not until the next pay day. The other
option - if such a disaster befell you - would be to pay a visit to Blacklocks and go round the back to his
pawn shop, with whatever you had that was worth a few shillings to pledge. His window made you realise
that everything had a price, indeed it was more a sea of despair than a shop window.

Thank goodness then that she had a good situation through her husband, a beautiful family and a lovely
home. Finally, teasing the key out of her glove, she unlocked the door, picking up her basket she crossed the
threshold and closed the door behind her. To the right was a hall-stand on which she placed the basket and
began to remove her kid skin gloves and coat, this was finished in what was described as a faux mink collar.
It was still the result of some poor unfortunate animals demise, probably a fox, but most certainly not mink
and finally her hat. This required the removal of two hat pins. One would have been enough but, it was
always good to be careful. They were rather elegant finishing touches with their mother of pearl tops they
really did finish off the effect of the hat, with its exotic feathers splayed out.
Having hung the coat and placed each of the other items carefully on the hall-stand, she looked at herself
in the mirror adjusting her hair, moving one or two hair grips and using her hands to plump it up. Her hair
was black and shone, pulled up into a bun on the top of her head. Her eyes were green and sparkled, she
required little make up, as her youth and vigour radiated out. It would be fair to call her a pretty woman,
with very feminine features, enhanced substantially by the bone corset she wore, which gave her the waspish
waist that so many craved.
She was pleased to be home. Her attention switched from herself to the house. She caught the reflection
of the hall in the mirror and took a moment to look around her, admiring the house. Indeed, to be just turning
thirty and her husband to be self employed and so well thought of that he not only had a bank account but,
due to his prospects and collateral was given a mortgage to purchase this property was unthinkable. In fact,
not more than one mile away at Cheap Side and High Garth there were families with: eleven, twelve,
thirteen and maybe fourteen children living in squalor some not even having two rooms. The only common
asset in these tenements and hovels being the bugs and cockroaches they shared, which came for free.
Each day she thanked God for her familys fortune. Living in a house built only six years previously, at
the turn of the century, with every modern appliance. Even the wash house in the back yard with its tall
chimney housed a small boiler to heat the copper. This with its custom made agitator and mangle was state
of the art allowing Jane, to have a laundry day whenever she chose.
However, time was pressing and day dreaming could wait, there were many chores to be performed
before Matthew and Luke returned from Ladysmith Street Elementary School. Her next door neighbour Mrs
Bivens was looking after her youngest children; Alice and Ted. She was an elderly lady and an absolute

godsend, but it was good to be prompt and not abuse her hospitality.
Their arrangement was a mutually beneficial one. Jane shopped for the heavier items for Mrs Bivens and
in turn Mrs Bivens looked after the children. This allowed Jane a little bit of time to herself, for which she
was grateful and of course last but no means least her husband Albert. He had left early, very early that
morning. His partner Derek Beech had heard that a large ship would be steaming into port that day.
Derek had several friends, who he plied with drink, until they became really good friends. At the moment
he had a good friend in the Marconi office, who had let him know, confidentially of course, that they had
received a telegram from Amsterdam stating that a ship had finished off-loading her cargo but, had a boiler
issue which would mean she would have to return to her home port immediately. They wanted an engineer
to be waiting when she docked. The owners wanted a quick turnaround and the men would be glad of
another voyage. The alternative, after they had spent their voyage money, was their wives seeking food at
the Parish Relief and their children waiting for a thrift ticket.
Albert and Derek knew what this news meant, they were the only Foy boatmen aware of this ship coming
into port. This one ship was worth a months wages to them, if they brought it up the river and docked it.
But, there were always risks with their job, the main one was the other Foy boatmen. It was a race, the first
one to grab the rope cast down from the ship, had the right to negotiate the price and bring the ship in.
She had heard them talking quietly that morning, it was well before dawn when Derek had arrived. Even
in the safety of Albert's house, such was the thought of capturing a ship like this that they kept their voices
subdued. After all, it was tying up ships like this to sea and river buoys and ferrying their crews which made
Foy boatmen some of the best paid men in their local communities. Better, than most bowler hatted mangers
in the yards. Even if not many lived to see their retirement! They created their usual plan, they would go out
early and let the others race for the small coastal traffic no one would be expecting this large ship.
They would then, push off to the three mile sea buoy and wait there. She would be bound to head straight
for that buoy and the safe channel it afforded. If it became dark she did have a boiler issue after all, they
would raise their lamp when they could hear her and get her to heave too. No ship of that size would risk
coming in without the aid of people in their trade and a pilot, especially not with the way the tides changed
the sand banks in a couple of days. Their plans being set, they finished breakfast. Jane was always up
ensuring that they had something hot and substantial before spending the day at sea.

They soon burned the energy off with the vigour of their work: porridge, toast and tea were the
staples of breakfast. It was thus, at five o'clock on that morning the two men left the comfort of the kitchen.
It was a dry morning Jane, had prepared Albert's, bait to eat for that day. She had also made a tin of tea, it
would be cold by the time he came to drink it, but at least it would have some taste to it.
She handed Derek his bait and tin for the day. It was something she had done since Albert and Derek
had started working together, all three of them had grown up together, played in the street together, fought
the world together, laughed and cried together. The only place they had ever been separated was at school,
when the bell had been rung, each queued at their side of the building. The boys filing in through the
doorway with 'Boys' carved in sandstone above it and 'Girls' at the opposite end. How Jane, had wished to be
a boy all those years ago. In time, she had married Albert, no one was surprised. The friendship of all three
though was one that would endure for life.
She picked up their hob nailed boots which she had been warming with their jackets on the cooker range
and handed them to them. They were warm to the touch, they put them on, finally knotting and tightening
their mufflers around their necks, they pushed the tails into their jackets, anything to keep out the cold. With
their caps pushed up slightly as if they were going to a football Match, they tucked their wet weather sou'westers under their arms, grabbed their ropes and tackle and bade farewell to Jane. She kissed Albert and as
was his usual jokey self Derek would point to his cheek, sometimes it was obliged with a peck as well, other
days he got a little slap on the arm for his cheek. They went from the kitchen into the back yard and opening
the high gate they joined the other men in the lane being cast down towards the quays and the ship yards like
a vast torrent of flotsam and jetsam.

Chapter 2 - The Morning Chorus

As they joined the throng it became a vast snake of humanity winding its way down to the docks, every
now and then a face would appear and bid them:
'Morning Albert... Derek.' Faces they had known all their lives, faces they would know until they
died. There was no sociability; where are you going, what have you been doing? This was known. They had
been at work; they were going to work and would until they could do so no more.
They trudged together onwards for several streets the only sound being the metal in their boots striking
against the cobbles and the low hum of muted voices talking together. The gas lights were still lit and danced
invitingly in the cold air suggesting a warm allure. On and on they trudged, down the hill they went, the
grand procession snaking ever closer towards the docks. Eventually, they reached a beacon of light: The
General Wolf public house. By all accounts the largest pub in the town. A queue of men, maybe ten or so
were standing at a side door, the off-door, each waiting to have their flask filled, or topped up for the day
ahead. Derek joined the queue, as was his custom and Albert said his usual anecdote.
'Off to see the doctor for your medicine then.' The usual reply came.
'Better than any medicine you'll get from a doctor, his doesn't keep the cold and damp out.' The grin that
came with it was that of a school boy.
He joined the queue of men, as if waiting outside the headmasters study. Talking and chatting to the
others in the queue all with their hands plunged deep in their jackets, collars pulled up, kicking and stamping
their boots as if in the artic. On walked Albert, leaving Derek to get his medicine. It was only a few more
minutes down to the quay where their boat was moored.
Sometimes on a quiet day he would hear Derek, running down the hill after him catching him up,
skating down the flagstones coming to an abrupt halt next to him; like the cheeky school boy he had never
grown up from.
Otherwise, he would arrive at the boat as Albert was preparing it, with a yarn told to him in the queue
or some other gossip. But what could not be overestimated was that any story told to Derek, would have
grown three fold by its next telling!
In the queue Derek waited his turn. Only two or three could be accommodated within the small room

at the side of the General Wolf, the off-door usually was the place of choice on an evening where older
ladies not wishing to be observed or to timid to venture into the snug would go for a bottle of stout,
rumoured to give longevity and sufficient vitamins to keep the doctor away for indefinite periods. Wives and
children would be sent for a jug of mild n' bitter for their husbands dinner and the child that spilled it could
expect a stroke of the belt.
On mornings, it was the domain of the working man, a small supplement to their daily diet, many
shipyards were supposedly dry, but working outside on a metal ship in the middle of winter was not a job for
any but the toughest, and a drop to keep you going through the day, well, who would worry, and perhaps a
mint to keep the breath fresh afterwards. Eventually, Derek reached the door squeezing himself inside he
grinned as he managed to close the door behind him the heat instantly met him.
'Brrrrrrrr that's better.' he stated, all were friends and agreed. Shortly those queuing in front were
served and left and new friends squeezed in behind him. He was now at the front of the queue; he placed his
can on the mahogany counter and unscrewed the lid.
'The usual... if you please Mr Dunbar, and Ill be taking a box of swans from you as well, on the slate
till Friday if you don't mind.'
'Right you are Derek', he was a regular of Mr Dunbar's, both on a morning and an evening and on
Sundays he was even known to attend afternoon worship, as it was called, at the General. He had never
abused their arrangement, and was always punctual with payment. He was a most amicable regular, never a
spot of trouble from him, and most enjoyed his company and general jovial nature. As such Mr Dunbar
would for these morning excursions receive payment at the end of the week, after all, you wouldn't expect a
man to take money out with him on a morning, knowing full well he would be rowing into the North Sea
within the hour.
Derek took his filled pipe from his pocket and opening the box of swans on the counter, took the first
one out and struck it. It spluttered for a brief second before igniting, placing it over the bowl of the pipe he
slowly drew in the flame, blowing out the match with the same smoke and dropping it to the floor.
From the same pocket he now took a small piece of oil cloth and wrapped the match box in it. He
always lit his pipe in the General, just in case the matches were damp, after all he didn't want to be at sea for
ten hours without a pipe.

They didn't exchange many words, it was a little bit to early for each of them if the truth was known.
Derek's concentration on the can was short lived, as the can was being filled he glanced round the little
room, in front of him there was the mahogany counter, the only thing darker than the counter were the stains
ringed in to it, to each side of this counter in the narrow room were shelves with bottles of all size neatly
arranged, from the hardest of liquor too stouts, and near the front bottles of lemonade and some candy,
indeed it would not be unusual for a child to be treated to a lemonade and candy while the parents might be
inside for a drink or two. You would often see them playing or standing quietly outside waiting for their
parents to emerge, and now he gazed past the half pulled curtain behind Mr Dunbar to the bar beyond, a
place he knew well. The curtain served two purposes, it was always pulled slightly ajar to allow the barman
to see anyone entering and requiring serving, but equally there were many especially amongst the women
who did not want to be observed entering the General, even if on behalf of a their husband. The can was
filled, they bid each other good morning and Mr Dunbar always adding.
'And good hunting', a reference to Derek's task of seeking out ships and getting them safely moored.
With the can-lid checked for tightness Derek lifted it by the handle and left the off-door, stopping
briefly to pick up the heavy rope and other paraphernalia which he had dropped on his entry to that confined
little room. With everything about him he set off at a brisker walk than before down to the quay and their
boat. The briskness in his walk was as with any addict, was that his perception of his own addiction was
greater than that which others saw, and thus he would always try to overcompensate to justify his actions or
disguise them. Consequently in half the time it had taken Albert to reach the same spot he stood at the top of
the quay steps.
'Good God Albert is that all you've done, we're ganning out t'day y'nar, not the morrow.' He bellowed
down. Albert looking up saw that huge grin, within a second the large thick rope he was carrying was
thrown from the top of the quay into the back of the boat.
'Why, that cleared the ice off nicely man', then not taking into account the wet and moss covering the
quay steps, he took them two and three at a time, jumping the last couple into the boat. They both laughed
like two school boys.
'I see you've got your medicine, and it seems to be working already.' With that they made their boat
ready for sea, un-tethered it from its mooring and pushed off, all along the quay Foy boatmen were doing the

same, the hunt was on.

Chapter 3 - Waiting Off

They rowed down the river to the open sea as usual. Several ships were already preparing to leave, the
shouts of the crews all around them, beginning their morning toil. Steam engines in the yards; thump,
thump, thumping as they started spewing out their white and black clouds to power the steam hammers
which were already pounding away. The sound of horses and morning deliveries being made, ships docked
and the noise of the morning routines was everywhere. They sailed through and past it all, occasionally
exchanging words with another river user, usually one of their own kind. A nod if close, or a raised hand if
further away.
'Whar y'off', and as always the reply from Derek.
'Our 'olidays, whar' y'off' and of course the same reply returned, at which point all concerned would
laugh and continue on their way. They could pick up a fair bit of trade in most parts of the river, from
sculling crews backwards and forwards to the shore. That was fine, a shilling here and there, if you wanted
the big money though, best get yourself down to the river-mouth and get a ship coming in. You had to moor
her and then ferry her crew backwards and forwards, you could count on roughly a shilling a trip. One day
they had made over thirty shillings, more than a roustabout would get paid in a week. Yes, there was money
to be made, if you stayed at it.
They would row down the river, they had the fittings for a sail, but it was not often that they used it. On
the way down the river the tide would take them to the river mouth and then they would row out to sea. In
any weather, they would work. There were other boatmen that had bigger craft, if you went to Tyneside or
Hartlepool or down Middlesbrough you would be able to see similar craft, some larger, some smaller, some
with a sharper bow line.
Their boat the Lady Jane, no prizes for guessing who she was named after, was a Saltburn boat. She had
been built in Saltburn just a few miles north, so had the classic lines of a Wearside Scull. She was the best
part of twenty years old, her previous owner built her and ran her, until his hands, arthritic with the cold and
damp, could barely hold the mooring lines.

The Lady Jane gleamed, she was not a colliers boat, covered in coal dust from hauling coal from ship to
shore. No, when she was not earning her keep, Albert and Derek would haul her out of the water. More often
than not, you would find them with a bucket of black tar waterproofing and preserving her. Derek's favourite
words to any one looking on was.
'She's as sound as the day old man Mally made her.' He would then take his lock knife from his pocket
and offer it to one and all.
'You find me a piece of rot on the Lady Jane, and you'll not buy a pint in the General this night?' He was
right the challenge never was won. Mind, it would have been a brave man who stepped forward to take up
the challenge.
There was talk going round, some of the men were trying to set up a list at Roker. You would clock on
and off the list, so the work might be shared out better. While Albert thought this was a good idea to benefit
all, the other side of the partnership was dead set against it. This may have been partly as a result of all the
time and effort Derek, went to knowing the comings and goings of the river. His contacts gave him a great
advantage over most, his reputation due to his happy-go-lucky attitude was that he could smell a ship three
miles off. Nothing could be further from the truth, his instinct, was in sniffing out the right men, in the right
pub, especially those from the Marconi office and getting them half cut.
Out they rowed, past the jetty with its beacon light, into the open sea. They followed the usual channel
and went past the half mile buoy, as they approached the one mile buoy they noticed that one of the other
boatmen was following on, it would be obvious if they continued further out, that they were expecting a
major cargo ship and knew, where and when to expect it. They tied up at the buoy and waited off. This
indicated that they were hedging their bets between coastal and major traffic coming in, the idea was to give
the others no indication of the arrival of the Caledonia Castle.
'Hallo Albert...Derek,' came the call from the other boatmen as they passed.
'You've steered a fast course this morning. We were going to lay off here. No mind, we'll pass down the
coast and lay off for the colliers coming up... Good luck.' These were the coal barges that travelled the
coastal waters, not much money in this kind of work and it was bloody hard. Neither of them were interested
in each others trade, therefore, there was no animosity between them.
They watched as the boat glided past and moved into the distance, they watched it go and wished them

good luck, they truly did, it was always a grievous injury to all of their kind when they heard of any seafarer
in calamity.
They would wait here. There would be several ships due in, there would be other Foy boatmen coming
out, but they were the first, so they would claim the first ship that came by. The list idea to a degree would
work when you were out waiting. In the river you could get called, much like a passing hackney cab, out
past the breakwater though, you would tie to the buoy and as the ships came in you would cast off and call to
them.
'Foy boatman for hire?' If they required mooring by a Foy boatman, you would see one of the deck
officers instructing the throwing of a weighted line, he would bellow through his megaphone.
'Line away' you, secured this and were pulled behind the ship. These modern propeller driven ships
were a nightmare; they pulled you into their wake and threw you around like a cork in a bath tub. Most of
the Foy boats had tarpaulins stretched over their front half's. One of the reasons for this was that the wake of
the ship could be so violent that it would break over the front of the Foy boat and could easily sink her. If
you took on too much water, you would have to release the line, and lose your job. There would always be
someone further up, able to moor them. The ship would not slow down or stop, for them, time was money.
They secured to the buoy and scoured the horizon for the first one to come. Derek as usual was not
taking any chances and had a good idea of what was scheduled to come in that day, there was no point in
pushing off for something that didn't require their services.
They waited for less than half an hour, before a coastal cutter appeared. Her tall masts and sails looked
as if they were trying to rip themselves out of the deck. She sliced through the water, appearing to glide, the
spray rising off of her bows as she touched. Aye, that would be a nice warm up for the day ahead.
Derek leapt on to the walking bar that ran the circumference of the large red buoy they were moored to
and pulled the knotted rope releasing it. Throwing the rope into their boat and as the tide turned the boat
nearly touching the buoy, he stepped into it, casually as if out for a Sunday stroll. Albert had the oars in the
gunnels and began to pull the short distance they needed to go, to intercept the vessel. When they got to the
spot they pulled in the oars Derek stood waiting and as her bow came alongside, he shouted to them.
'Foy boatman for hire?' The megaphone response came.
'Watch your head,' as the weighted line was thrown over the front of their boat. Derek leapt on it and

secured it to the gunnel at the front of their boat, the small amount of slack in the rope was now taken up by
the forward motion of the Cutter. They felt it go tight and then braced themselves as they felt the lurch as it
began to pull them. The bow of their boat was now under the control of the Cutter, where she went, they
were going. Albert was at the rear of their boat, on the rudder steering through the wake as best he could.
They watched in nostalgia, as the sails were trimmed, she made her way into the breakwater, they heard and
knew all the commands which were being shouted on the deck of the cutter, she glided to a near stop by a
buoy in the middle of the river.
The order came for them to secure her to the buoy, they cast off and ropes were thrown down to them.
Derek leapt onto the buoy and tied her up, as the crew cranked the capstans to pull her on. They then
returned to the side of the ship, where fresh instructions were given to ferry the captain and some of the crew
to the shore. It was Albert as usual, the business head of the partnership who sorted out the financial
arrangements with the Captain. Within moments they were all back in the boat and being ferried to the jetty
and the harbour masters office. They waited for the captain and ferried him back to his ship. He would now
use his longboat, if he needed to go ashore again, he was waiting for his dock space, with out engines he
would have to have to have one of the steam tugs push him in.
They pointed the Lady Jane in the direction of the river mouth again, with Albert at the tiller. As they
past down stream they looked for any ferrying work that might be required. But all was quiet, it was now
late morning and as they reached the mouth of the river, near Barnum's shipyard, they steered the Lady Jane
into the quay and moored her up. There was a standpipe on the jetty where they washed the grime of the
morning off of their hands and there they sat for the best part of half an hour, to have some of the tea and
lunch that Jane had prepared for them in their bait boxes that morning.
They sat quite idly, as if on a Sunday morning excursion. Derek, his back supported by one of the large
steel capstans, legs outstretched crossed one over the other, the heel of his left boot resting on the steel toe
cap of his right. Picked up gravel from the side of him and flicked it into the water. Albert was sat on the
edge of the quay with one leg hanging over; the other was pulled up nearly under his chin. His two arms
were wrapped round it, to stop it slipping forward into the position of the others.
'You heard about Barnum's,' he paused to ensure Albert was paying attention.
'There's talk in the General that they are planning to build the largest ship in the world there!'

Albert mulled it over for a second in his mind. This wasn't really news, there was always some
speculation or rumour, each time a ship owner was seen in a yard. Nine times out of ten they would go round
several yards, until they obtained the most competitive price. The ship in everyones imagination was always
to be the biggest or grandest. Derek was quite childish sometimes in his belief of others information. The
best option was always to answer, with the facts. This was not that they would, but the fact that they could.
'Aye you're right there, Barnum's is the only ship yard that can sea launch, their slip-way takes a ship
straight into the North Sea. They can build a ship any size they want.' A truer word was never spoken, Derek
broke in.
'Belfast, the Clyde the Tyne and the Tees, they can all only side launch...' It was now time for Albert to
break in, his chin now rested on his knee as he gazed down into the water as he spoke.
'I've been up to the Clyde...It's a big wide river... It's a bit like a basin... The angles of the yards to it
mean, they can bow launch most ships of any size, it would have to be a real big un', for them not to be able
to cope.' Derek broke in again.
'Aye, that might be, but Barnum's can still build bigger!' There was some North Eastern pride at stake
now, best to just agree.
'Well you can't be wrong if you're right'. It was now time to move the conversation on. What would be
of interest? Henry Campbell Bannerman had just won the general election at the beginning of that month
and was now the Liberal Prime Minister, no many things might have happened in February, but this would
hold no interest to Derek.
'Have you heard about Doxfords, they're launching a new ship every two weeks? They say they are the
busiest shipbuilder in the world. This would be music to Dereks ears and would appeal to his local pride.
'Aye, Ive heard that, well, it proves we build the best!' There could be no argument to that, he mulled
on being the best. He packed his pipe with his thumb and lit it.

'I suppose we should push off and find some more work, or we'll be in the poor house by tea time.' They
climbed down into the Lady Jane and cast off, setting the bow on their previous course.
They had calculated with the Caledonia Castles reduced engine speed it would be late afternoon
before she would reach them. It was early afternoon now and there were several others of their ilk already

tied up; they greeted each other and prepared to wait their turn.
They settled themselves down in the boat, the only company being the clanging of the bell on the top of the
buoy, beating out a tune, to the beat of the tide and the waves as it moved from side to side and up and
down. They were so used to this noise that they paid it no heed, continuing to talk about anything and
everything that took there fancy.
They smeared lard, which they kept in the boat box onto there hands to replenish where the salt
water had leached it off. It was that time of year where the cold and salt water would split the skin on your
hands down to the bone if you didn't look after yourself.
After they had completed their preparations Derek, drew his matches from their waterproof wrapper
and lit his pipe. He had let it go out when they had started rowing from the quay after lunch. He cradled the
bowl of the pipe, it was a wooden briar pipe which he had owned for several years, it was dark and
blackened with years of use and had an average size bowl and was an 'S' type of shape, one of those, that
sort of hang down by the chin rather than stick out. He held the bowl of the pipe between his thumb and
index finger as he drew on it, he could hear the tobacco crackle inside. He would take it out of his mouth and
breathe out the thick smoke, looking into the top of the pipe he could see the white and black ash on top and
the red embers like a small furnace underneath. He gazed into the bowl lost in his thoughts, once his pipe
had expired, it would be time to move on to the next buoy.
The afternoon seemed slow, another Foy boatman had joined them. He mentioned that most of the
old boys had earned enough for their drink for the day, and were off home. The buoy seemed crowded, it
was a quiet day for work, this signalled the exodus of two more boats who made their way back in, to try
and pick up some sculling work. It was a good excuse for Derek and Albert to slip their mooring and move
further out, to one of the deep water channels. Knowing full well, this would be the way the Caledonia
Castle would come. They bid the others goodbye, none of them were worried, they believed that Derek and
Albert were reducing their chances by going further out.
They slipped the mooring and continued, taking turns to pull at the oars, the wind was feint and it
reminded them of the old sailors stories, of being caught in the doldrums for days on end in the china seas,
with no wind to ruffle a sail and waiting for the tide to carry them back to the trade winds. But those stories
usually had one additional item; the lethargy that the heat gave to those sailors. The north east coat of

England did not lend itself readily to lethargy, the cold prevented it. You needed to work to keep warm, it
made more for pulling steadily and strongly on those oars and so with only the occasional sea gull for
company they rowed to the next buoy, swinging the boat round, so that the bow pointed towards the
direction of their expected quarry.
They hoped, that they would not have long to wait. But you could never be certain. They listened and
observed for the tell-tale sign of smoke on the horizon, amusing themselves as best they could. Drinking
their now cold beverages and eating what was left of the food prepared for them this morning. The
perfunctory pipe was lit by Derek, he then proceeded to bait a couple of lines he had in an old baccy box
with a few crumbs saved from his bait and let them out.
Sometimes, they might be lucky and for the scant resource supplied, retrieve one or two cod or
haddock, which would of course be prepared fresh by Jane on their return. For the loss of two crumbs, it was
worth the effort, after all there was nothing else to do, whether they were here for five minutes or five hours.
His other occupation after his housekeeping was performed, was to read. Derek's preferred reading
matter would be called popular literature. This included any of the penny dreadfuls which were to be found
in copious supplies. Albert on the other hand, once conversation had been exhausted, would usually just
relax and listen to Derek reading aloud. They both in turn would comment enthusiastically on the plot and
any other area which took their fancy. On some occasions referencing the plot, or writing style to one or
more of the great authors and so the hours and for their partnership the days and years had rolled by.
At what they believed to be the appointed time for the Caledonia Castle to arrive, they began to make
ready. They would have several minutes, when they sighted her, but it was their way. Neither carried a
pocket watch, as this would have been wasted in the salt water. They gauged the hour, by the knowledge
they had acquired over the years; monitoring the sea and its tides and the rising and falling of the seasons
and so they began to make ready.
After less than half an hour, they saw the tell tale sign of a coal burning leviathan on the horizon.
Within minutes its stature grew, this was the ship that they had waited for and today they were the only
boatmen within hailing distance. It was late afternoon now and the light was fading, the Lady Jane silhouette
was low in the water. Derek went forward and out of the boat box produced the lanterns; they lit and fixed
them in position.

The athletic Derek, once again undid the mooring ropes while Albert, using one of the oars pushed
off from the buoy. They steered a course towards the Caledonia Castle. The bow lookout had already spotted
them, as before they positioned themselves ready.
It was apparent to all, what type of boatman they were. Captain Trent instructed his First Officer to
prepare for the Foy boat to be taken in tow. This was more dangerous than the previous sailing ship, if they
were to close the rope bails fixed to the side of their small boat would bounce off the hull of the larger ship,
the bow wave caused by the larger ship might cause the smaller boat to be bounced in its swell. It was
essential for the safety of themselves, that they grabbed that rope and tied off as quickly as possible. Derek
this time took the rudder and kept the Lady Janes bow running parallel to that of the Caledonia Castle. He
had to ensure that once they were secured and she pulled them into her wake, that the Lady Jane was not
side on. If she was, the wave that they rode into the wake would, in all probability be big enough to sink
them.
As soon as she was in hailing distance, they called her with the usual writ, offering their services.
Through the megaphone the deck officer acknowledged and as before the line was cast to them, in less than
a minute they were secured, they slack was taken on the rope and they were hauled into the wake of the ship,
they bounced over the stern wave. The deck officer thought they were far out, it was unusual for boatman to
be this far out. But, if you needed the money you took your chance.
They indeed were quite far out, the pilot had not yet joined the Caledonia Castle. His steam launch
was now in site and was large enough to come alongside the Caledonia Castle. A rope climbing ladder with
wooden steps was cast over the side of the ship. The pilot in his dark blue uniform stepped neatly onto the
ladder, and began to climb. The pilot launch now veered off and made its way back to port.
Once on board the Harbour Pilot would be taken to the bridge, where he would present his
credentials to the Captain. This was essential so that the captain could fill in the ships-log, to show the
details of the time he had boarded and taken what was in essence control of the ship. It was quite usual for
all parties with several years seafaring experience under their belts to have met several times previously.
As such all were convivial and with the matters arranged, the ship was negotiated into port. This was
not as may seem, an easy or indeed a repetitive task; with the lunar cycle and tides there would always be
shifting sand banks near the entrance to the port, jagged spires of old cliffs that had long since eroded and

retreated now covered by the sea waiting for any unsuspecting sea-farer. At best the ship might simply run
aground for several hours and at worst could be sunk within sight of the port. Such were the calamities that
befell sailors, who did not take on a good local pilot.
There were pictures in the town museum and lending library of the great local heroine Grace
Darling, in a boat not dissimilar to Albert and Derek's. Rowing out to rescue poor seamen, whose ship had
been wrecked on the rocks in a violent storm and none but her, the bravest would venture out of port to save
those souls. There be the lesson, for the sailor and also for the ship-owner. Better to lose a few pounds than a
ship.
The Caledonia Castle slowly made her way into port, the first officer directing with his megaphone from
outside on the open bridge giving instruction to each. The captain observing and monitoring the dock side of
the ship; gently the ship slipped up to its mooring position in the centre of the river to wait its turn. When the
first officer reported to the Captain that they were in the correct position, he issued his confirmation.
Very good Mr Grindell, please carry on. With this the first officer went out to the docking platform
which runs slightly out from the ships bridge on each side and allows a view along the length of the ship and
raising his megaphone gave the first instruction.
'Let go f'ward line.'
'Let go aft.'
As the Caledonia Castle had gently halted Albert untethered the towing rope from the Lady Jane and
had made their way to the bow of the ship to receive its bow line. It was Albert's turn this time. Derek rowed
the short distance to the buoy, where he heaved the sodden rope onto the mooring lugs. They repeated the
same operation with the bow line, the ship was secured. They were alongside the ship now and could hear
the telegraph bell clicking from the bridge to the engine room 'Finished with Engines', the signal was
repeated back to the bridge and the bell on this glorious brass instrument signalled its reply.
Now was their chance, the deck officer hailed them through his megaphone once more, their work
was about to begin. Firstly engineers from one of the yards, were to be ferried backwards and forward from
the dockside to investigate the repair required. Once, this had been assessed there might be time for the crew
to go on-shore. Albert and Derek would fetch and carry, until they were needed no more, there was going to
be a pretty-penny to be made with this ship.

Chapter 4 - Calling on Mrs Mills

The daffodils and April had both arrived in unison that year. But, the joy of spring was to be short lived
in the Burns household. The damp and wet had hung longer than usual, leeching itself in to every brick in
the house. No coal fire was sufficient to keep it out. The ceilings in all but the richest houses dripped with
the wet condensation, the only way to stop it, was to light the bedroom fire in each room. Well, there were
not many that could afford that. So the older boys had been put in one room: Albert, Jane, Alice and Ted in
another room.
Each evening, Jane would place hot coals in the copper bed pan, moving it from bed to bed, warming
each to take the damp out of it. She paid particular attention to the cot, which Alice and Ted had been
sharing. She had moved Alice into their room as the child's small room, always felt damp and cold. Ted had
thought it all great fun and it was indeed hard to get him to sleep for the first few days. Latterly she had
noticed that Alice had been coughing, as a precaution she moved Ted in with the boys, just in case.
Her suspicions had proved well founded, as a couple of days later, she seemed to have a very bad cold.
It was at this point that Jane had lit the fire in Alice's room and airing it out moved her back in. She moved a
high backed chair to the side of the fireplace, so she could be close to the child. It was important that she
keep her in isolation, to have one sick child was bad enough, but she had another three to consider and
Albert just being back at work after his sickness; she couldn't take the chance. She would just have to burn
more coal and worry about paying later, cheaper a bag of coal than a doctor for them all. She knew of a local
woman that might be able to help, she had nursing experience and people said she was as good as any
doctor!

Any malady might be best treated with a poultice applied, to the affected area. That was Mrs Mills
advice, for all ailments. It was the phrase that all who encountered her would say religiously like a
catechism. As she prepared her poultices of linseed, tar, indeed whichever mixture she deemed to serve the
occasion. Sometimes the mixture smelled more palatable than the recipients last meal, but more often than
not the smell indicated that it must possess some curative power, as edible it most certainly was not.
The lady in question lived several streets away from Jane, on the road leading to the docks, a modest

two up, two down mid terrace. For those unable to afford the fees of the local doctor, it was known that she
might assist. Her reputation had been built on years of experience of her own family and neighbours; indeed
she had only had two of her children die during childhood and her with fourteen at the last count, a good
success rate by any standard.
A formidable looking woman well into her fifties with a round and ruddy face used to hard work, her
black hair pulled tightly back, an apt description would be to refer to her as big boned; she always stood
very upright, in a high blouse, dark long skirt, and small heeled boots. Her apron was crisp and white and
ran nearly the full length of her skirt. Her habit when opening her front door was to stand on the door step,
quite erect with her arms crossed and to ask in a stern tone the nature of the interlopers business. She
invariably knew the nature of the call and so wished Matters to be conducted on a business like footing from
the start.
That morning it was Jane's turn to knock and as was customary Mrs Mills answered the door, they
knew each other by face, if not by name and it was Jane who started the conversation.
'Mrs Mills, I'm Mrs Burns... Jane Burns, I live up Kimberley Street... I think my youngest might have
the flu and I've heard it said that you've been able to help some folk.' A moment passed before Mrs Mills
responded.
'Yes dear, I used to be a nurse and people say that a few of my medications have helped them.' she
stated in a non-committal way.
Clutching her purse she spoke, a sign not totally unobserved by our nurse. Indeed, this was the
trigger that Mrs Mills had been waiting for.
'I would make it worth your while, we could come to an arrangement'.
'Don't worry about all that at the moment my dear. You just go home now and look after your
young'un. I'll be round in the hour, I'll need to prepare some of my remedies. You're at number sixteen aren't
you?' The question was responded to in the affirmative.
'I can't thank you enough Mrs Mills...'
'Now, don't worry dear, you just get yourself off back home.' With that Jane turned away, she half
shrank away, it was as if, all the air had been take from her lungs, this was a result of the anxiety that she felt
and the knowledge that she had shed some of the burden for the moment. A sudden feeling of fatigue

overtook her, her last reserves of energy dissipated she left.

'Who were that lass... weren't after money were they.' Enquired Mr Mills as she went back into the
kitchen. Plonking herself down opposite to him in one of the two comfortable chairs that were positioned on
each side of the kitchen-range she relayed the story to him. At times like this she was quite inflated with her
own self importance.
'Kimberley Street, y' say, well thar' should be a couple o' bob init at least'. Such was his concern.
'when y' gannin' round love?'
'I said within the hour. Ill be making your dinner first though.'
'Ay, that's a bonny lass.' She left him to his calculations, of how best to spend his new income and
prepared a cold dinner of left-overs. It was a curious matter that any major meal would be called dinner.
Although - for most - the time of day would have dictated that this meal was lunch. On some occasions only
one meal a day might be forthcoming; therefore best call it dinner, then you'd not felt as if you'd missed
anything.
Dinner being quickly prepared and finished she cleared the table. Mr Mills resumed his customary
position in the armchair by the fireside, while she went to the cold larder and took a few jars with foul
smelling concoctions out and from her dresser, a few clean linen rags. Reviewing all on the kitchen table,
she tapped the lid of each jar with her index finger, a mental note of each being made. She pondered on one,
no more than the next.
Satisfied all was present, her old battered brown leather shopping bag was pressed into service. She
removed some old newspaper from the bottom of it, the last occupants of the bag had been: potatoes, carrots
and a cabbage, from the Greengrocer. The newspaper served to catch any loose soil from the vegetables, her
hand swiftly moved around the inside of the bag, she retracted it and checked her palm.
'That'll do, clean enough.' Taking care not to soil her white pinny, she rubbed her hand underneath it,
thus removing the traces of soil. Each item was now placed in the shopping bag. Lifting it off the table - the
jars clattered together - as she made her way to the back door where her only coat was hanging from a nail
bent to make it more amiable as a clothes hook. Placing the shopping bag down for a second, she donned her
outdoor wear and slammed the door behind her.