FORGOTTEN TRAGEDIES THAT TERRIFY AND INSPIRE

DESCRIPTION:

The Tay Bridge collapse of 1879, the Gretna train crash of 1915, the Piper Alpha fire of 1988—Scotland has had its share of major catastrophes over the years. But as well as the disasters that have entered popular mythology, there are many that touched the lives of previous generations that are all but forgotten today. There were terrible pit explosions in which miners perished; spectacular storms at sea that claimed sailors’ and fishermens’ lives; theatre and cinema fires in which audiences were trapped, with tragic consequences.

It is with less well known incidents such as these that this book is concerned. The author has delved into the archives and come up with the untold, human stories behind the grim statistics. He has uncovered outstanding examples of both heroism and villainy.

These glimpses of how our parents and grandparents coped in times of adversity make for gripping reading and a book which is terrifying and inspiring by turns.

EXCERPT:

From Chapter 2: ‘A Killer Wind: The Lost Eyemouth Fishing Fleet’

Scotland’s weather has long been a topic of conversation. Never a day passes without some comment about that over which we have no control.

Although this country is considered to have a moderate climate, it still suffers occasionally from extreme weather. Within living memory, the great blizzards of 1947 and 1963 and the mighty gale of 1968 all spring to mind. Similar conditions were experienced in October 1881, when a great hurricane blew across Scotland and left behind a trail of destruction never seen before or since.

The week had started quietly for the fishermen of the town of Eyemouth on Scotland’s east coast. The herring season had been over for a month and the nets normally used to catch them were being repaired before being stored away to await the new season. At the same time as repairing the nets, the men were making up fishing lines, as they would be needed later that week when the boats would be going to sea, hoping to catch haddock and other white fish.

The Eyemouth fleet totalled 45 boats, all but four of them being large deep-sea vessels. These larger boats normally carried a crew of seven, whereas the smaller ones, or yawls as they were called, had space for only four men.

Friday morning, 15 October 1881, dawned with a bright blue cloudless sky and only the gentlest of breezes. About half a mile outside the town’s harbour is a group of rocks protruding above the surface of the sea and known as ‘the Hurcars’. In any weather, the waves always break over the rocks, giving an area of white surf, but that morning, beyond the rocky outcrop, the water was only occasionally speckled with foam.

As the men readied their vessels for a day’s fishing it was noticed that the reading on the barometer on the end of the harbour wall had changed from ‘Fine’ to ‘Stormy Weather’ and that the pressure was now showing 27", which was the lowest ever recorded in the town. The harbour master ran the storm warning flag up the mast and brought these facts to the attention of the fishermen. However, due to the fleet having lain idle all week, which meant that the crews had not earned any money, and with shoals of fish known to be close to the shore, the fishermen decided to put to sea, trusting their ability to read the sky and the sea better than any barometer.

As there was hardly any wind that fine morning, the brown coloured sails, the trademark of the Eyemouth fleet, hung limp. The boats were rowed by the crews until they had cleared the Hurcars and the shelter of the bay where they found that there was enough of a breeze for the sails to take over.

By 8 a.m. that morning, the harbour was empty. All 45 vessels were making for the fishing grounds, which lay between six and ten miles from the shore. For one vessel, the Press Home, it was a special occasion. She had only been delivered from the builders the night before and now it was on her maiden voyage.

On reaching the fishing grounds the crews cast their lines and fished quietly until just before noon, when dark clouds quickly came rolling in from the east, completely covering the sky and the sun. The darkness was such that it was impossible for one boat to see the nearest boat to it. A crew member later remarked that the darkness came upon the fleet ‘like the clap of a hand’.

Then came the roaring hurricane winds, whipping the sea up before it in a frenzy. Some boats managed to take in their lines, whilst others deliberately cut them as the fleet attempted to run for shelter. The fierce winds tore the sails of almost every vessel to shreds. The boats were tossed about as if they were toys while waves broke over the vessels, sending a spray of salt water to drench the crews. The howling wind forced the accompanying rain and hail hard into the faces of the crews, stinging them with a pain, the ferocity of which they had never experienced. The mountainous seas split the fleet into two groups. Some of the vessels were forced towards the shore while others were pushed farther out to sea.

Back on land, the severity of the storm meant that the school children of Eyemouth had to be sent home from lessons, while houses and shops were left empty as the people, worried about the fleet, hurriedly made their way to the harbour. The crowds waited, braving the torrential rain and ferocious wind for almost two hours before the first vessels came into sight. Three boats were spotted and the spectators were tense as they watched them battle with the huge seas. With every minute that passed, the vessels were getting a little closer to the harbour.

As they entered the safe haven, it was noticed that they were not part of the Eyemouth fleet, but yawls from Coldingham Shore, a village further south along the coast. Nonetheless, their crews were given a warm welcome.

Next to come into view was an Eyemouth boat, the Onward. She fought her way to safety, but not without cost, as she had lost one of her crew, the captain’s son, who had been swept overboard as they had neared land. Two more of the Eyemouth fleet, the Alabama and the Britannia arrived at the harbour safely, with only the damage to their sails to show for their struggles.

Just before 3 p.m. two more boats from Coldingham arrived at the pier, and their crews were pulled onto land, safe but exhausted. Just as this was happening, the spectators observed another Eyemouth boat, the Harmony, a few hundred yards away. The vessel was fighting hard against the elements. She was forcing her way through the heavy surf, occasionally disappearing from view. As she reached the entrance to the harbour, she was lifted up by a large wave, which seemed to want to sweep the boat into the haven. As the vessel sat atop the crest of the wave, another, larger, wave rose up behind the Harmony and crashed down onto her, smashing her to pieces. Not one of the seven crew was seen again. Although it had happened close to them, none of the crowd could offer any assistance due to the appalling weather.

Word of the Harmony’s fate spread quickly through the town, as men, on their way to bring life-saving apparatus from a shed a half mile away from the harbour, related the story. By the time the men returned with the equipment over a thousand people, a third of the town’s population, had gathered in the harbour area. The crowds stood in silence, numbed by what they had just witnessed. Just then, another vessel, the Radiant, loomed out of the darkness, on the same course as the ill-fated Harmony.

The Radiant battled the raging seas and was about ten yards from the harbour entrance when a tremendous gust of wind, much stronger than previous ones, blew across the bay. A large wave bore down on the vessel and smashed her against the rocks at the side of the harbour walls, breaking her into pieces. Desperate to make some effort, the crowd threw ropes which, although weighted with stones, were blown back over their heads.

The crew were seen struggling in the foaming water, their cries and screams mixing with those on shore. One man was observed trying to swim towards the rocks, but because of the waves, he could not climb onto them. A number of men from the harbour formed a human chain in an effort to reach him and they got close enough to speak to him, with the last man even briefly touching the swimmer’s hand. Just then, a wave brought a broken piece of the Radiant down on top of the swimmer and he sank out of sight, like the rest of the crew, never to resurface.

As this episode was being played out, yet another vessel loomed out of the darkness and into sight. The crowd quickly identified her as the Press Home, as she was the only one in the fleet to bear white-coloured sails. So new was she, she had not yet had her name painted on her bows. As the vessel steered for home, a giant wave struck her, turning her upside down. Through the rolling waves, some of her crew could be seen climbing on top of the upturned boat, but a moment later she was struck by another huge wave and both vessel and crew disappeared beneath the seething waters.

All the men perished, but still the storm had not finished with the Press Home, as a minute later, she rose from the depths and was smashed to smithereens on the rocks. The wife of one of the crew members was led away in anguish. They had been married for only a week!

The Pilgrim, of the Eyemouth fleet, had been directly behind the Press Home, on an identical course. She had been caught up in the same waves as the preceding vessel and looked likely to suffer a similar fate as she was forced towards the rocks. The Pilgrim disappeared from sight in the trough of a tremendous wave and the spectators gave up all hope for her safety. As the sea ebbed, the crowd saw the Pilgrim lying in the smooth waters between the shore and some rocks. The wave had lifted her clear of the danger and the craft was undamaged. Lines were thrown to the vessel and the crew were landed safely.

What was happening at Eyemouth was being repeated at other harbours on the east coast. At Burnmouth, a small fishing port about four miles east of Eyemouth, locals gathered at the harbour to await the return of their small fleet of vessels. Apart from two cobbles (small boats) belonging to their own village, the first large vessel to reach Burnmouth was the Janet, from Eyemouth. Two hundred yards from shore, she struck a group of rocks known as the ‘Carrs’ with the loss of all her crew.

About twenty minutes later, the Lily Of The ValIey was seen making her way toward Burnmouth’s haven. Not far from the entrance the vessel was struck by a large wave which capsized her. Her crew were never seen again. Both boats were carried away on huge waves and smashed to pieces on the rocks. Three more Eyemouth vessels, the James and Robert, the Sweet Home and the Brothers, were all driven onto the rocks, but their crews were rescued by some Burnmouth villagers who were bravely manning small boats.

As night fell on the fishing port it became clear that of the 45 boats that put to sea, only seven had been accounted for. Lights burned in almost every house in the town, as hardly a home was unaffected by the day’s events. Relatives of the fathers, sons or brothers still missing sat up all night, waiting for word and praying for the safe return of their loved ones.

The next day, Saturday, brought no relief to the population of Eyemouth. Some of the relatives had hoped that the fleet had sailed further out to sea in an effort to ride out the storm, which in turn meant that it would take longer for the vessels to return to their home port. Their hopes were dashed when news began filtering through from other ports along the coast of wreckage and bodies being washed ashore.

Later that day, reports were collated from the surrounding areas which showed that twenty vessels, thirteen of them from Eyemouth, were confirmed as sunk, with the loss of ninety-four men. The small port of Cove was particularly affected. Twenty-one men from the village had put to sea that fateful morning, but only ten had returned. Cove had lost more than half of its fishermen in a single day.

Early on Sunday morning, word spread around the town that a boat was approaching the harbour. In minutes, the harbour walls were crammed with townsfolk, eager to catch a glimpse of the vessel. Very soon, the boat was identified as the Ariel Gazelle and she slowly steered herself into port. Relatives mobbed the exhausted crew. One more vessel from the fleet also arrived later that day. The Economy limped into harbour without her captain, who had been washed overboard during the hurricane.

During that day, more survivors arrived in Eyemouth, but not by boat. The crew from the White Star arrived from North Shields, while the men from the Enterprise had travelled from Berwick, sadly minus one who had perished. Just before midnight, the crew of the Fisher Lassies arrived in the town, having walked from the railway station in nearby Burnmouth. They had managed to berth their vessel in South Shields. By now, 11 boats and 71 men were still missing. As each crew or vessel returned, the elation of the relatives was tempered by the sorrow of those other townfolk whose hopes had been dashed, when they realised that their loved ones were not among the survivors.

The following two days saw a number of funerals taking place in Eyemouth. The only people not to attend the services were those whose loved ones were still missing. They were out searching the shoreline in an attempt to find any trace of their relatives.

By Wednesday all hope for any more survivors had vanished. The final count revealed that the hurricane had claimed the lives of 189 fishermen from the east coast, 129 of them from Eyemouth alone. Only 30 bodies were ever recovered.

A Disaster Fund was immediately set up. Cities, towns and villages the length and breadth of Scotland, and England too, all sent donations. £100 was sent from the fund of the Tay Bridge Disaster, which had occurred only two years earlier. Queen Victoria also sent a donation. Within two weeks, £54,000 had been received into the fund. It was enough to provide a weekly income for the 73 widows for the rest of their lives, during which time they had to bring up the 263 fatherless children left as a result of the great storm.

REVIEWS:

‘An eye-opening read.’—The Sunday Post
‘An astonishing book, looking at the untold stories behind some of the country’s most serious accidents.’—Scottish Daily Express
‘A fascinating book.’—Edinburgh Evening News

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY:

Donald Fraser was born and brought up in Glasgow. One of his earliest memories—as a three or four-year-old—is of being wakened early every morning by the noise from the boots of thousands of workers as they passed by the tenement houses of Smith Street, Whiteinch, on their way to the many nearby Clyde shipyards. Perhaps his deep interest in the sea, and history, both with a Scottish slant, stems from these early mornings.

Since leaving school in 1969, he has been researching and writing accounts of ‘true-life dramas’, mainly in his spare time, as he combines his writing with a full-time job. Only in the last five years has he allowed any of his articles to be published in a number of magazines. This is his first book. He is married, with three children, and still lives in Glasgow with his wife, Linda.