River Ouse Bargeman Read online

  Laurie Dews pictured in 2016 with the ‘paying out pennant’ from the Ada Dews, which was only to be flown on the keel’s maiden and final voyages. (Laurie Dews)

  But before we continue with Sam’s story, Laurie has memories of other family members from Bill’s generation.

  ‘Bill’s youngest sister was Edith. She was born in 1886, lived until she was 101, so I knew her too. She had a wonderful memory, and told us tales of life on board with my great-grandfather.’

  Edith had been born on board a barge moored at Victoria Dock on the River Hull.

  ‘When times were good, they hired a horse to pull the boat along the canal. However, if times were hard, the barge was pulled by person power. Edith and her father would take it in turns to put on a leather harness and pull the barge along stretches of the canal.’

  Two of Bill’s brothers were also on the boats. They were Abraham – or Uncle Abe – and Uncle Tommy. Laurie met them as a lad when they had been working the river for most of their lives, and they made quite an impression on him.

  ‘Uncle Abe had a proper Yorkshire accent, or as we called it, he was a bit “short-tongued”. One day I was working mate with him in Alexandra Dock, and his wife Polly was on board, so we needed a bit of water to make things look proper. In those days, the only way to get fresh water was to hang a bucket on your boat hook, and the water boatman would come alongside and fill you up for sixpence. I always remember what Abe asked me to do. He told me, “Go fetch t’watter boat to fill t’watter tank – tell him I’ve got t’wife on board for t’weekend.”‘

  As for Tommy, Laurie remembers him being ‘sharp’ in two ways.

  ‘Uncle Tommy was a gent. Skipper of the Leeds Neptune, he always wore a bowler hat. He’d spend nights in the cabin with the oil light burning, smoking his pipe and telling me his wonderful sailor’s tales. I’d be on board, sat in the cabin, me on one side and Uncle Tom on the other. Every so often, he’d take out the pipe, give a little cough and spit at the fire. He never missed! Always the same fire bar, and always the same satisfying sizzling sound when that hot bar was hit.’

  Not surprisingly, these old salts knew a trick or two to make the most of anything the boat owners would give them. One way of stretching the wages came into play when it was time to refurbish the boats.

  ‘Tom was also a crafty old b****! Every year, the barges had to be painted, and it was the captain’s job to see it was done. The company supplied brushes and paint, but the skipper got paid eight guineas (£8.40 or around £200 today) for the job, which was very good money indeed.’

  In the early 1930s, a bargeman’s annual pay was around £150, so this payment for doing the painting was about a fortnight’s pay, or perhaps working two return trips between Hull and Selby. It was certainly a sum of money worth having, however hard painting a 100-foot long barge might have been.

  ‘The ship’s side had to be tarred and everything from the waterline upwards was to be painted, including inside the cabin and fo’c’sle, which were by far the most difficult to do. When you got to Selby, you told the jetty foreman that the job was done, and the transport managers would come down to inspect, and pay the money if the job was good.’

  The company livery was for the exterior of the barges to be blue and red above a black-tarred hull.

  ‘So, Uncle Tom would open a tin of blue, paint everything he could and throw the tin away. Then he’d do the same with a tin of red. On arriving at Selby, he’d announce that he was ready to be checked. In due course, the manager came to look around the Neptune. When he asked if he could look down in the cabin, Tom said, “I wouldn’t go down there if I were you – the paint’s not dry yet.” The blue and red paint on the top part of the boat looked new so the manager guessed the rest must have been done too, passed the Neptune and Tom got the money without having to do the hardest part of the painting.’

  Those reminiscences have taken us forward to the 1930s, so it is now appropriate to go back and fill in the thirty years before that. With the coming of the First World War in Europe, it might have been thought that a cargo boatman might be considered a ‘reserved occupation’ and be protected from the ‘call up’ as they delivered vital supplies. Although Bill tried to argue this case, the army didn’t see it that way, and Sam was called to the colours.

  ‘Granddad Bill wasn’t one to stay at home, and declaring that if he couldn’t work with his lad on the Ouse, said, “If he goes, I go,” and went to sea on Spillers’ barges between Hull and Whitby.

  ‘When the war was over, granddad became skipper of the Leeds Eclipse and Sam went skipper of the Selby Vega, brand new from Beverley in 1919. She was one of the final four oil-carrying barges, Vega, Castor, Pollux and Lyra.’

  Sam married Laurie’s mother, Elisabeth, the daughter of a policeman, in 1920 when he was skipper of the Vega. For a short while, she used to journey up and down the river with him. They had quite a few hair-raising experiences.

  ‘Once, whilst being towed full, down to Hull, it came in foggy off Hessle and the tug ran aground. Now because Vega was “dumb” with no power of her own, when the tug ran aground, the tow rope went slack and there was nothing to keep her going in the right direction. Sam and Elisabeth were at the mercy of the current – not a good situation when you’re loaded up with 200 tons of animal feed, you can’t see what’s coming and you’ve got no engine. The only control you have is the use of the tiller. So, Sam “knocked off” the tow rope to let the Vega drift downstream but the strength of the current was so great that the tiller did a bit of its own “knocking off”. A violent swing of the tiller pushed Sam over the barge’s aft rail. As Sam was wearing heavy sailor’s boots and a big overcoat, he was odds-on to sink in the Humber without a trace, especially since, despite all his years on the river, he couldn’t swim. Sheer luck meant Sam’s flailing left hand managed to grasp the aft rail and Elisabeth managed to haul a bedraggled hubby back aboard. He had the presence of mind to grab the tiller to steer the barge into the bank to await a pick up from the tug before going below to warm and dry through in front of the fire.’

  Women helped to look after the welfare of the boats with some sharp wit, too. There was often a bit of a free-for-all around the docks. When it came to keeping things tidy, sometimes deckhands weren’t so keen where the rubbish was swept. You had to be prepared to give as good as you got.

  Mam Elisabeth Dews (née Smith) on right, and her sister, Mary. (Laurie Dews)

  ‘One day a narrowboat was moored next to a large coaster. The woman on board the narrowboat was in the cabin when she heard a thump on deck. Coming out of the cabin she saw a pile of rubbish on her deck and a deckhand with a broom in his hand on the freighter high above. “Oi! You get yourself down here and clear up this mess,” she shouted up, but the deckhand ignored her cries.

  'More shouting brought an officer on deck, looking all officious and with plenty of scrambled egg around his cap. “What seems to be the matter madam?”

  ‘“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?? Your lad has just swept your rubbish onto my deck and I want him down here right now to clear it all up!”

  ‘“Madam, please don’t speak like that. Do you know who you are talking to? I’m the mate of this ship and I’m second in charge after the captain.”

  ‘“So?” came the triumphant reply, “I’m the mate of this ship, and I sleep with the captain!”

  ‘The deckhand meekly came down and cleaned up the mess.’

  Elisabeth didn’t spend much longer crewing for Sam as Laurie’s elder brother Frank was born on 9 June 1921 and Laurie himself followed the next year, on 19 September.

  Chapter 5

  A CHILDHOOD IN SELBY AND HOLIDAYS ON THE RIVER

  After a bit of a struggle to find a place where everyone was happy, Sam and Elisabeth settled down in Selby. Laurie then enjoyed an active childhood, with plenty of exercise and fresh air.

  ‘Mam and Dad bought a house in Aberdeen Street in Hull, but didn’t settle. We moved to Portholme
Villas in the centre of Selby and went to Selby Abbey School. Sam and Elisabeth moved again to 1, Mirkhill Road, a little further out of town, but we still went to Selby Abbey school. You got fit in them days – we’d walk to school in the morning, then come lunchtime we’d walk back home again cos we had ninety minutes for lunch then back again for the afternoon and another mile or so to get home at the end of the day at four o’clock. Best part of five miles walking every day! When we were a bit older, me brother got a pushbike and he’d crossbar me all the way to school and back.’

  If you were growing up in Selby in the twenties and thirties you met a bunch of mates that stayed with you for life.

  ‘You’d go to school and pal about with a bunch of mates, and after school and you’d had your tea you’d be out in the street playing about or round each other’s house. Didn’t matter what job you went into after school, there would always be that friendship to call on.’

  Lads were always interested in what was going on around town. In the 1930s, Selby was on the railway East Coast Main Line, with all the famous expresses that thundered through.

  ‘If we were in town and we heard that special whistle of the Silver Jubilee we’d run to the station, get on the bridge and be there when it went under. All that steam and smell and noise as it clanked over the bridge. We saw the Flying Scotsman too.’

  A cinema advert from the Selby Times of 1933 – the kind of entertainment that Laurie and his mates could enjoy at a matinee.

  Selby had various cinemas that showed the favourites of the day as well as having live music- hall type acts.

  ‘Of a Saturday afternoon me and me mates used to go to the cinema for the matinee. It were great fun. A proper afternoon out for just sixpence. We’d get in for about tuppence then we could buy five aniseed balls for a ha’penny - so we’d sit in the back of the cinema eating our sweets and watching the film. When we came out, if it’d been a cowboy we’d all start chasing around slapping our backsides making out we were cowboys on horseback. Marvellous fun!’

  Although the houses in and around Mirkhill Road are quite modest Victorian terraces, going in to town on Flaxley Road there were much larger properties, and turning away from town there was easy access to the delights of the open fields, woods and streams.

  Map of parts of Selby that were important to Laurie when growing up. (Author)

  ‘We moved in to Mirkhill Road and had a wonderful time. We could look out over fields to Brayton Barff, play football and cricket in the cornfields and Mr Dujardin, the boss at OCO, had his big house, The Pymbles, there. He was an aviator and used to fly his plane over the area, which we thought was great! He used to take off and land from Sherburn airfield just a few miles from Selby – and I’m sure when he flew over the cornfields, if we waved at him, he’d tip his wings and wave back at us.’

  Brayton Barff, barff being from the Norse for ‘small hill’, is a wooded hillock in the village of Brayton, a couple of miles to the south of Selby. Climbing through the woods to the top gives a view back across the plain that Selby is situated on. As well as playing around the Barff, there were more attractions in the village of Thorpe Willoughby, that lay just beyond. In the summertime Laurie and his mates used to go out to play by Selby Dam, a tidal stream that runs from Thorpe Willoughby into the River Ouse in the centre of town.

  ‘Mam would always warn us not to go swimming in the Dam, and we’d always promise not to – but when we got to our favourite spot, a little plank over the river we called Shakety (shaky) Bridge it’d be clothes off, straight in, diving and larking about. That’s where we learnt to swim.

  ‘Course we then had to spend a bit of time drying off and getting our hair straight – so when we got home and Mam said, “You’ve not been swimming at Shakety Bridge have you?” we could look her straight in the eye and say, “No Mam!” Sometimes you have to fib a bit.’

  Mind you, sometimes not obeying authority could cause problems.

  ‘When I was about thirteen I’d got a bike and would cycle around town with my mate David Sykes. One day we were cycling back home and there was a policeman on point duty at Scott Road. As we came towards him, he put his hand up telling us to stop, but lads being lads we cycled straight past. We didn’t think he’d do anything but he chased us, caught us up and took our names and addresses. I was really worried and asked Dave what would happen. Dave reassured me – “Don’t worry, he’s just trying to scare us – he’ll rip that bit of paper up when we’re round the corner.” I thought nothing more of it until next week – when Plop! – through the letterbox came a summons from the police. Mam was really annoyed. “You’ve let the family down what with your granddad being a policeman. You’ll get a criminal record.” We all had to go down to the Magistrates Court – stand in the pulpit with the brass rail and everything. We got fined five shillings. Quite a lot of money back then. Mrs Sykes was really unhappy. She searched in her purse and then threw the coins at the officer saying, “Here you are then – go off and buy yourself a new police helmet.”‘

  Five shillings was quite a stiff fine – a fair portion of Sam’s weekly wage. Laurie’s bike could also be used to go on outings a bit further away from Selby.

  ‘Sometimes of a Sunday afternoon we’d cycle the seven miles or so from Selby out to the lock at Naburn, just south of York. A quick shimmy down to the river bank and a quick change into cossies – and there you had it; a fine river for swimming in. The standard trick was to get in and swim the fifty yards across to the west bank and return. Any approaching craft had to sound their horn on approaching the lock, so there was no danger of being “run over”.’

  Naburn Lock from the South, 1930 - just the era when Laurie and his mates would go swimming at the site. (www.naburnvillage.org)

  As well as individual outings, Laurie was in the local Scouts and played a cornet in the Scout Band. Canon Solloway at Selby Abbey used to lead the practice.

  ‘When I played a bugle in the Scout Band, one of the highlights was the Sunday School outing to Bridlington. The families would meet up in the middle of town and we’d meet up as a band too. We’d start playing and march in procession to Selby station. The big steam train would be waiting and we’d all pile on and put our instruments in the guard’s van. When we got to Brid, we’d form up again and march them all down to the beach. Plenty of time for fun on the beach, a nice bite of afternoon tea in a cafe in town and then when it was home time we’d get together as a band and play some more tunes. That got everyone’s attention so they formed up behind us again as we marched everyone back to Brid station for the return trip.’

  Selby Scout Band outside Selby Abbey in the early 1930s, lined up and ready to march under the leadership of Canon Solloway of Selby Abbey. (Laurie Dews)

  Locomotive for children’s seaside excursion at the north end of Selby station, with scout band in attendance. (Author)

  Trips to the seaside were more for paddling and sandcastle creation than swimming in the sea. Swimming in a more formal way sometimes caused problems.

  ‘I remember when we were going to swim in a competition at Selby Baths in the Park. I didn’t have a swimming costume so Mam knitted me one – out of wool! When I got in and they got wet they dragged me down. I managed to do my length but when I got out at the end they were sagging right down to my knees!’

  Outings like the one to Brid were fine, but Laurie could go on a special kind of jaunt all of his own – on Sam’s barge down to Hull.

  ‘But best of all was when the school summer holidays came round. Mam would pack some clothes in a case and bake some bread and cakes. This would all go in Dad’s big basket, she’d lock the house and we’d all walk off early of a morning to the Railway Jetty in Ousegate. This jetty was opposite the old railway station. We would all go and live on board Dad’s barge, the Selby Taurus. It was a marvellous feeling when we stepped on board at the Railway Jetty. Mother went down in the cabin to tidy things up and put the food in the cupboard, whilst me and my brother Frank stood on the c
abin deck watching all the activity that was going on all around us. Men were shouting orders out and others were getting the tow ropes ready for when the tug came to tow us downriver to Hull.

  ‘As well as the Taurus, there were usually three more barges to be on the tow, the Orion, Jupiter and Leo. The tug was the Robie, a steam tug with a big black and white funnel that had thick black smoke pouring out. When it arrived, the mate attached one tow rope from a barge to the port hook, and another to the starboard. The other two barges would hang their ropes onto the aft of the leading barges. It was now time for the journey to begin.

  ‘When the tow ropes were put on the tug’s towing hook, the captain gave a short blast on the tug’s buzzer and my father let go of the stern rope which was hung on the jetty and we were on our way downstream to Hull. More smoke came out of the tug’s funnel as the skipper rang the telegraph asking the engineer for more steam.

  ‘When we were underway, Dad would steer with the tiller, and his mate would stow the ropes. Navigation had to be careful, as there were often half-built boats at Cochrane’s shipyard on our starboard side and freighters unloading sugar beet or molasses at the sugar factory jetty on our port bow. After we had passed the shipyard and sugar factory my father handed the tiller over to his mate who had just walked aft, after securing the ropes on the forecastle. The mate’s cabin was at the fore end of the barge.

  Profile of a Selby dumb barge. (Alice Prince)

  ‘We went down in the cabin where Mother had got our breakfast ready. The cabin was a wonderful place. The door panels were all pine with beautiful grain marking and the locker tops where we sat were all mahogany and highly polished. The transom cupboards were mahogany with two mirrors and all the knobs on the doors were brass. The cabin fire had a side oven which was black-leaded with brass knobs and a brass fender in front. The blower piece at the top would slide up and down to draw the fire up. Wooden steps with brass plates led up into the hatchway. The cabin floor always had a nice pegged rug on.