River Ouse Bargeman Read online

  The bargemen were back at work after nine days, and some of the dockers’ gains had been shared by the bargemen, as the entry for 25 February shows an increase in pay rates of ½d (or about two per cent) per ton. Not much, but a step in the right direction. However, a few days later Robie broke down and the convoy had to return to Hull, meaning more hire costs for OCO and another long day for Sam as he had to wait for the evening tide.

  Moving forward a year to February 1925, we find the Taurus falling foul of a hazard that was a common affliction at Selby.

  The Taurus ‘fell athwart’ Selby bridge whilst returning empty to the jetty at Selby, to wait for a tug to Hull. Short of sinking, this is possibly the worse fate that can befall a barge. If you hit another craft or a fender at the dock, then provided actions weren’t negligent, this is an accident that can be accommodated. A few dents in a steel ship weren’t fatal and Hull had a Dry Dock where repairs could be swiftly carried out. Both bridges and barges had meaty fenders so some collisions might be more sound than fury. Even running aground wasn’t always a disaster. Although you could be trapped on a sand bank and risk the back of the barge breaking as the river level fell, a pull from the tug or fixing a rope on a tree on the bank and pulling hard might get you off. But once a barge had fallen athwart or across a bridge you were stuck there for the duration of the tide, with its force exacerbating any damage that might have been caused by the original collision.

  But how could experienced helmsmen make such a mistake? It’s all down to the difficulties of navigation caused by how the presence of a large object – in this case the stanchions of a bridge – affects the flow of a river.

  The barges generally came upriver with the tide. It is clearly an advantage to work with the tide rather than against it, but it does have implications for the speed at which the barge travels. The barges didn’t just ‘surf’ on the tide. If it was as simple as that there would be no need for the tug.

  The convoy had to be travelling more rapidly than the tide was flowing to have what the bargemen called steerage – that is, to allow the rudder to have an effect on the direction of travel as they made headway through the water.

  Whilst travelling along a rack the tiller work was fairly straightforward – keep the bow pointing ahead, but hold hard onto the tiller to stop the wake from the tug pushing the barges too far apart. Rounding bends in the river meant a slight adjustment to the tiller, but nothing out of the ordinary. However, once you approach a bridge, the water flow is affected by the bridge supports. In a similar way to the way in which an airplane wing generates lift because air is flowing faster over the top surface of the wing than the bottom, different speeds and directions of water flow create unbalanced forces on the barge’s bow.

  Extract from Sam Dews’ log 1925. Going athwart. (Laurie Dews)

  Engineer’s Drawing of clearances at Selby Toll Bridge,1988. (Author)

  Here the increased force on the starboard bow tends to push the barge towards the pillar. The tillerman would have to move the tiller to the right so that the barge was steered towards starboard to counteract this effect. This required muscle power and a bit of common sense, but normally simple bridges like Hook Bridge and Barmby Bridge could be passed relatively easily.

  Unfortunately, Selby has two bridges in close proximity, being separated by merely 200 yards. From a bargeman’s point of view this is tricky territory indeed. The difficulty of the passage is heightened still further by the way in which the river has narrowed, exacerbating the effects of any current. A successful passage of the bridge requires the piloting of a twenty-foot-wide barge through a thirty-five-foot-wide gap, as shown by the Engineer’s diagram of 1988.

  Whilst the bridge has more than one gap between its pillars, to attempt to take a barge through anything other than the central opening span was certain disaster. The current flow and potential problems can be summed up in the text and diagram below.

  Once successfully past the ‘normal’ navigational problem of the rail bridge with its single pillar, as at A, a course slightly across the river had to be set to approach the open span of the Toll Bridge. However, that left the barge open to lateral forces from the river, turning the bow around (as at B).

  Diagrammatic representation of how currents can make a barge go athwart. (Author)

  Here is the Risby trapped across Selby Toll Bridge on the Barlby side in December 1979. She was not part of the BOCM fleet, but going athwart was a concern for any vessel. Although she looks to be in a bad way here, after being freed by the tide, she survived to remain in cargo-carrying service (although not for BOCM) until at least 2001. (Richard Moody)

  This could be resisted by stout work on tiller and tug, but if the angle became too great, things had gone beyond human control. The barge would be turned to lay across the river, and as this was happening the tow rope would be struck off. The barge now had no steerage and was merely a 200ton, 100-footlong stick being propelled on the tide towards a thirty-five foot wide gap. Bang!

  Going athwart was about the worst navigational crime a barge skipper could commit. His barge would be trapped against the bridge whilst the tide flowed; at least five hours when nothing could be done to earn money. Damage to either barge or bridge would result in financial loss to either company or captain. Finally, there was the risk of loss of cargo or even sinking of the barge should the currents make the craft turn turtle. Beyond those considerations were the effects on transport through Selby. Closure of the bridge meant a major north-south road link was blocked, and pedestrian and public transport access between Selby, Barlby and beyond to York greatly restricted. The situation was only resolved at the cessation of the tide.

  Extract from Sam Dews’ log, 1926. (Laurie Dews)

  In the log entry of 1 March, a ‘change in working conditions’ is recorded. As this is almost exactly a year since the dock strike of 1924 referred to above, perhaps this is an echo of the resolution of that dispute. The next extract covering the period April to June 1926 is full of incident, with different kinds of strikes.

  On 4 May, Sam records that the General Strike had begun; in response to a specific case of hardship endured in the coal mining industry, a General Strike was called. Many manual and transport workers ‘downed tools’ but unlike in the 1924 Dock Strike, the government did not offer pay increases and the walkout fizzled out after nine days. Returning to work on 18 May, it was not long before there was another collision with the Beatrice, and on presumably 1 June (although the log has it as being May) both stowers and the tiller are washed overboard, and nine days later, the boat (presumably the cob boat) is lost at Howdendyke. Mate Sam Sissons clearly had had enough as he was paid off on 30 May.

  Our next extracts are from the autumn of 1927. Just two brief extracts to show how major incidents were recorded in the tersest possible way.

  October seems to have started in a normal way, but there was a burglary, with a minor but important loss recorded on Monday 3 October. From time to time, skippers would secure their craft and go home to Hull or Selby. Perhaps this was done after discharging and settling up, and Sam took a Sunday away from the Docks, but the cabin wasn’t as secure as he thought. It was unlikely that either Sam or OCO had taken out what we might think of today as ‘contents insurance’, so replacements would come out of the wages.

  Extract from Sam Dews’ log, Oct. 1927. (Laurie Dews)

  Extract from Sam Dews’ log, Nov. 1927. (Laurie Dews)

  The Selby Pollux (written Polax here) was primarily an oil tanker, so may well have sunk as a result of her cargo shifting making the barge roll over. The Pollux must have been refloated after this incident, as Laurie’s mate Johnny Roddam was on it in one of their wartime adventures. As the page from 1928 shows, the handwriting has changed, indicating a fresh author for the log. The writing is certainly easier on the eye, and shows the wide variety of cargoes and tugs that the Dews’ vessel was involved with. There are at least eight tugs and five different cargoes described, including soot and oi
l.

  Looking at the pay rate for the cargo that was settled up on 19 July, it was now down to 1/2 (6p) per ton, a marked reduction from earlier in the decade.

  On 25 August, payment for painting the barge is recorded. Spring 1931 saw the barge laid up for almost a month. As it was around ten years since the Dews took delivery of the Taurus, perhaps this was a ten-year ‘check up’, or perhaps ‘survey’ and ‘repairs’ hints at some kind of accident linked to an insurance claim.

  The crew was paid for this down time – albeit not at the same rate as for voyages. In all £10/17/6 is paid for twenty-nine days in dry dock. A tragedy occurred around Christmas 1931. A new mate, C. Wreathall had been taken on in the autumn. Coming up to Christmas – when the bargemen normally had a few days’ holiday – he was paid just over £4/8/- wages, a good amount to see Christmas in with.

  Extract from Sam Dews’ log, in a different hand, 1928. (Laurie Dews)

  Extract from Sam Dews’ log. (Laurie Dews)

  A tragic entry in Sam Dews’ log. (Laurie Dews)

  Whether he saw Christmas in too well will never be known, but his sad demise on Boxing Day is recorded, again without ceremony. The elongated holidays that now seem commonplace around Christmas certainly didn’t apply in the 1930s. It was back to work after, at best, a couple of days – and nothing special for New Year’s Day.

  Overleaf is the tale for December 1933, and we are in familiar territory. Problems with the weather, problems with tugs, loading and unloading, and managing to get finished for Christmas.

  A new year entry in Sam Dews’ log. (Laurie Dews)

  Final entries in Sam Dews’ log book 1933/34. (Laurie Dews)

  Laurie as a schoolboy, at an age when he would have begun taking trips on Sam’s barge. The Selby Abbey school cap shows the ‘Three Swans’ badge of Selby. (Laurie Dews)

  For no apparent reason, the log concludes abruptly on 1 January 1934, and thirteen years of re-cording the daily trials and tribulations of barge skipper and his charge come to an end.

  At the start of 1934, Laurie was ten years old. Whilst no examples of Sam carrying him, brother Frank and Mam Elisabeth on board are recorded, and indeed Sam might have been in trouble with the company if such a voyage had been known to officialdom, Laurie was now of an age when the family outings down to Hull in the summer holidays could begin.

  Chapter 4

  HOW THE DEWS FAMILY CAME TO WORK ON THE RIVER

  To begin the story of Laurie’s career on the river, study of his family tree shows that he was almost destined to have a career there. It is clear that Laurie had ‘boatman’s blood’ going back four generations and almost 200 years. Laurie is described as a ‘lighterman’ and ‘barge captain’. The latter job description is obvious, but the term ‘lighterman’ perhaps needs some explanation. Lightermen are involved in the ‘alighting’ of goods, using that word in the same archaic sense encountered when passengers are asked to ‘alight’ from a bus or train at a stop or station. People move from one mode of carriage to another. On the docks, the craft such men work on is deemed a ‘lighter’, a flat-bottomed cargo-containing dumb barge, restricted to work in a dock complex. In the Dews family case this might involve transferring goods between one craft in Alexandra Dock and a different one in Victoria Dock. As Laurie was involved in movements like this with barges like Taurus, it’s accurate to state that he was a lighterman.

  The rivers of Yorkshire have carried trade between the workshops of the West Riding and the fields of the East Riding to and from the ports on the East Coast for centuries. Laurie’s family is one of dozens that were involved in this business.

  Not only were the Dews family involved on the water, they lived close to it. As well as the obvious links to the Humber at Hull and the Ouse at Selby, Horbury, near Wakefield is on the River Calder. The Knottingley roots of the family were close to the Aire and Calder Canal. In the nineteenth century, the Dews family boatmen seem to have been available to take cargoes to many parts of the waterway network of this part of Yorkshire, having been recorded as taking cargoes to Wakefield and Leeds, Sheffield and Gainsborough. In the nineteenth century, craft were not the dumb barges pulled by tugs that were Laurie’s father’s vessel of choice. Instead, Bill and before him George, and before him Thomas depended on the power of the wind and when the wind didn’t blow, the haulage effort of a horse. These craft were keels and sloops, hence Laurie’s forebears’ job descriptions.

  Extracts from Laurie Dews’ family tree. (Laurie Dews)

  Schematic diagram of the waterways worked by the Dews family. (Author)

  Keels and sloops worked on the inland waterways in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, both ideally suited to the Humber and its associated waterways of narrow creeks and treacherous sand bars. They were highly manoeuvrable, with a very shallow draft, being able to work in as little as three feet of water. A Humber keel could carry around fifty tons of cargo. The major difference was in the rigging of the sails. Keels are thought to be derived from the Viking longship that would have ventured up the Humber in the days before the Norman Conquest and were first noted in the fourteenth century as a vessel called a ‘Keyll’. Their sail is suspended symmetrically from the mast. A sloop had a boom so that the sail could project beyond the boat, and also had a foresail.

  Diagram of the outline of a sloop and a keel.

  When navigating canals, the mast could be detached and left at certain locations to avoid fouling canal bridges. Once this was done, horsepower was vital. If a horse was not available, sometimes human power had to be pressed into service.

  Although somewhat shorter than Laurie’s 100-foot-long barges, keels and sloops had several features that he would have recognized. These included: ‘stowers’; boathooks and warping lines used for heaving the craft around in docks and narrow waterways; a water dipper and anchors that could be used for steering as well as securing a mooring.

  Family life on board revolved around a cosy cabin with a separate, smaller cabin for a mate. Whilst the cabin may have been cosy, the working day was full of hard manual labour.

  Laurie’s great-grandfather George became a Humber keelman around 1860 and married Harriet Dixon, of another Hull boating family, the Turpins, in 1864. George and Harriet went on to have thirteen children. The first child was John William – known as Bill. He was born in late 1864 and married Ada Sheard, daughter of yet another nautical family, this time from Knottingley, when he was twenty-four years old. Bill and Ada had three children, Samuel, Thomas and Alice. All three followed in the maritime tradition. Daughter Alice married a sea captain, George Williams, whilst Thomas went to sea and obtained his master’s certificate, but the story continues with Laurie’s dad, Samuel, or Sam as he was always known.

  Examples of the Humber Keel and Sloop. The top image shows a keel being hauled by muscle power. This is probably staged, as if there was no wind to catch the sails, they would have been furled. The lower image, a painting by Reuben Chappell of the sloop ‘Lillian’, shows how by rigging the sails differently, wind power could be harnessed from several directions, unlike with the keel. This allowed sloops to tack upriver, and so make progress irrespective of the state of the tide, whilst keels could only drift with the tide if they had no following wind. (Top: Yorkshire Waterways Museum. Lower: Goole Museum)

  A Dews family group in Hull in 1935. Back row: brother Frank, cousin Kenneth and Laurie. Middle: Ada and Bill Dews. Bottom: Cousins Colin and Barbra and Roland, son of George Williams and Alice Dews. (Laurie Dews)

  *See also Laurie's ‘family tree’ page 64.

  Postcard view of the reach at Goole - where Sam Dews had a narrow escape when a babe in arms. (Susan Butler/Howdenshire History)

  The first keel that Bill owned was also named Sam, and was involved in an incident that, had it have gone differently, would have meant that there would have been none of Laurie’s stories to tell – and indeed, no Laurie.

  ‘Once when Sam was very young and on board with Bill and Ada the
Sam was moored alongside of Goole dock with a load of silk, waiting to pen up. A steam-powered coaster dropped heavily alongside of them, crushing her timber sides and loosing her mooring ropes. Being a wooden keel, Sam started to sink. Whilst she was sinking and drifting upstream with the tide topside of Goole jetty, Ada wrapped Sam in a shawl and threw him as a valuable parcel ashore to people stood on the jetty at Shuffleton. Bill and Ada managed to escape in the cob boat.’

  Whilst all three survived the incident, the vessel was less fortunate and was damaged beyond repair. But not much was ever wasted back then and Sam’s hulk found a use as Laurie will tell later. A more pressing problem was for Bill to try to regain the value of his keel so that he could begin trading with a new boat.

  ‘Bill lost the insurance claim because they said in court that the ship wasn’t moored properly, as it was only tied up with a head rope and no stern rope. Bill claimed she was tied up like that because he was about to go into port and the tide would keep her alongside to the jetty. But the court said that didn’t alter the fact that he wasn’t moored properly so Bill lost the case and any chance of compensation.’

  Painting of the keel Ada Dews by Goole maritime artist Reuben Chappell. (University of Hull Art Collection: Pettifer Collection)

  Bill managed to find himself a new keel, named after his wife, the Ada Dews.

  Sam followed in the family trade and became a Humber keelman, and around the turn of the twentieth century, when Sam was thirteen, he went mate on the Ada Dews with Bill. The Ada Dews carried cargo on the Humber and Ouse and also through to Sheffield via the canals and up to Leeds on the Aire and the Aire and Calder Canal. When Sam went mate, his mother Ada could stay at home and look after the family.