I am aboard the Westcountry trading ketch ‘Bessie Ellen’ (built in 1904) thinking of her as a bridge to the Westcountry trading ketch ‘Ceres’ (1811-1936). I have six men in mind – Henry Petherick, William and Walter Petherick. Barnabas Shazell and Donald and Alfred Petherick, three generations of the same family, each man closely involved with running ‘Ceres’.
I have been wondering about the term ‘master mariner’. An official definition is: “A Master Mariner is the professional qualification required for someone to serve as the Captain of a commercial vessel of any size, of any type, operating anywhere in the world.”
I’m not thinking of the official qualification, designed to satisfy a regulating authority, I’m thinking of what it takes to be a master mariner in sailing vessels like ‘Ceres’ and ‘Bessie Ellen’.
We spent a day in Fowey while the mainsail was repaired – an excellent repair by the sail loft at Toms Boatyard in Polruan, and returned to the Helford River the following day. The pub at Helford Passage was welcoming, the meal back on board the usual high standard, and the bunk . . . . well, I don’t remember.
This will be the last day of my first voyage on a trading ketch. I am comfortable with my place on the ship. I know where I stand. If I were to apply for a job, I wouldn’t employ me yet. But that’s ok, I know what I would have to do to get there.
It is 2300 on our second night at sea. The promised storm is two days away. It is a fine, star-lit night. We are keeping close to the Irish coast as the tide is more favourable here. The lights of Dublin are beginning to loom on the horizon ahead of us.
We had the tide through the North Channel and Beauforts Dyke. During the day we have seen the Mull of Kintyre, the Mull of Galloway, Belfast Lough and the entrance to Strangford Lough, as well as the Isle of Man. We are very approximately at the focal point between Scotland, Ireland, England, Wales and Cornwall I mentioned in the first of this series.
At breakfast the next morning I watch ‘Bessie Ellen’ glide quietly across the Sound into Oban. She looks grand – every bit as fine as I have imagined. This is why I am here.
Elsewhere on this site there are photographs of another Westcountry trading ketch, ‘Ceres’. Although this vessel has lived with me all my life, she has inevitably been a figure in my imagination. Yes, I have seen photographs – imag(in)es, read what others have written about her, listened while members of my family have told me about her, I have even spoken about her myself. But I never stood on her deck, never handed a rope, set a sail, steered a course, never felt the lift of that first wave on leaving harbour.
At the No.8 buoy the channel turns South away from the coast. These final eight buoys – (red can buoys even numbered, green conical buoys odd-numbered), lead out to the Exe Approach buoy and the sea. As I raise sail, a yacht passes, running for the channel. We raise hands, exchanging friendly waves. Ahead of me, a distant yacht is tacking along the coast towards Berry Head.
Early this morning, in the calm of the mooring at Turf Lock, I bent on the light genoa. This is now set and drawing well. The wind has got up and blows from a little West of South, the sea is choppy. The wind will increase this afternoon, but I hope not too much in the six short miles I have to cover. It will be a very close haul to Teignmouth, the contrast from this morning complete.
The yacht ahead turns off Teignmouth and heads out to sea to clear Hope’s Nose on the next tack. I watch the coast go by – Dawlish Warren, Langstone Point, Dawlish, the Parson and the Clerk, Teignmouth. The mainline trains hug the coast. The sun dips in and out behind the clouds. ‘Blue Mistress’ rides the waves with an easy motion. I concentrate on steering her towards The Ness and the entrance to the Teign.
When we get there – (in good time, around 1530), the wind has risen another notch and, if we were going further, I would have had to change the genoa for the working jib. Approaching the entrance, I feel the Captains tensing, gathering together, looking over their shoulders at me – (see ‘The Exe – 3/6’ for details of The Captains). The sea is choppier here, affected by wind over the falling tide from the estuary. Turning into the that wind to drop the sails, my usual slick procedure for dropping the genoa neatly onto the foredeck fails and the leach drops into the sea. I go forward to retrieve it, cursing mildly, my routine broken. By now the mainsail should be down. The boat is bouncing up and down in the sea, the mainsail is flapping wildly, I slip over in the cockpit like a rookie. Eventually the tangle is sorted out and the boat settles down.
In the meantime, The Captains have raised their eyebrows and looked away! But, as I say to them, when things go wrong as they will, a good sailor will deal with them quickly and calmly. So, when I get back to the mooring, (under time-pressure to be home), knowing I have to tidy ship and inflate the dinghy before I can go ashore, only to find the mooring lines tangled tightly round the buoy, you will understand my reaction. (Quickly and calmly, I say!)
These two days have been a ‘wandering’ – some might call it a mini adventure but I don’t believe it qualifies for that. I took two days out to experience The Exe Estuary and to reflect on what it might have been like for my forebears when they took their Westcountry trading ketch up to Topsham and Exeter. I am now back in Teignmouth, which they also visited on several occasions.
For example, on 15th September 1888, the ‘Ceres’, Captain Walter Petherick, master, left Saundersoot in South Wales carrying 82 tons of coal for Teignmouth. She arrived in good time and on 29th September, she left Teignmouth for Bristol, carrying 82 tons of clay. Maybe she berthed at New Quay to offload the coal and take on clay, maybe further upstream. One day I shall find out.
I finally get home at 1730. The day is not over. Two hours later, we are sitting in The Pavilions Teignmouth watching a simultaneous broadcast from the National Theatre. In 1966, Tom Stoppard wrote a play around two minor characters in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”, namely “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead”. Peggy and I first saw it an unbelievable fifty years ago. The word-play is as enjoyable today as it was then.
Still buzzing from my two days on the boat, I wonder how my great grandfather would have thought of this play. Was he in a position to have seen any of Shakespeare’s plays? Would he have wanted to? And what about my great-grandchildren? Will they enjoy some future production with its fast word-play? Times change. Today we are able to share laughter and sighs with audiences across the globe simultaneously, something we never even thought of in the 1960’s. How will they be viewing such plays in future – a hologram in the round perhaps?
Or will more mundane matters concern them – the erosion of tolerance, patience and respect in our political relationships; the effect on our lives of the change in weather patterns? Speak up now, there’s plenty to do.
The day begins calm and cloudy. I awake refreshed. There is no hurry, the tide will not suit until 1030 at least. There’s an egg for breakfast, peanut butter on a biscuit and coffee.
During the night, I reflected on yesterday’s comments about attitude. “The Captains” thought I should stay away from that stuff (“You’ve no more sense than you were born with”), but nothing we ever do occurs in a vacuum. My little research trip is no exception. There are always other things going on and they will flourish whether we like them or not. If we don’t speak up, what then?
I am determined to take the boat to Topsham before heading for home – I’ve promised to be back in Teignmouth in time to greet my in-laws. The channel gets narrower and shallower further up and I am torn between needing to get away early and avoiding going aground. I start the engine and drop the mooring at 1030.
Cloudy or not, the morning is stunning. The channel winds abruptly. The outer edge of the curve is the deeper part.
I have around 3 metres at the turn, which descends to 2 metres a little further on.
and so I reach Topsham . . . by water, thinking of ‘Ceres’ – (previous post).
The original plan had been to moor here at Trout’s Boatyard for the night. That would have been a totally different experience – very fine, but I would have missed everything I saw this morning.
This is as high as we go. I make a tight turn to enjoy this sight . . .
I knew she was there from an earlier visit on foot; just a hint of what it must have been like in ‘Ceres” time . . .
(to be continued)
‘Blue Mistress’ is on a mooring at Turf Lock on the Exe Estuary; the wind is getting up and the temperature outside has fallen. There are no other vessels on the moorings here today. I have decided to remain on board, despite the proximity of the Turf Hotel. There are ham and eggs, fruit and beer in the locker for later. For now I have found a biscuit, made a cup of tea and converted the cabin to ‘office’ mode. I am now ‘working’.
Elsewhere on this site there are images of and references to the ‘Ceres’, a Westcountry trading ketch, built in 1811. My family acquired her in 1852 and owned her until she sank in 1936. She served a hard working life of 125 years.
‘Ceres’ touched five generations of my family, three of whom owned her. The first of the owners was Captain Henry Petherick, my great great grandfather, then Captain William Petherick, my great grandfather and finally Captain Alfred Petherick, my grandfather. During that time, William’s brother, Captain Walter Petherick, was master of her for over fifty years, and their brother-in-law, Captain Barnabas Shazell, started as an apprentice aboard her, aged 14. The latter married Henry’s eldest daughter. For a while he held shares in ‘Ceres’ before going on to own another trading ketch, the ‘Joseph and Thomas’.
So, five captains from three generations, drawn together by one piece of technology – a wooden sailing ship, together with the knowledge, skills and judgement required to manage that vessel.
One of the features of relatives is that they will be our relations for ever. Whenever I go to sea in my small boat – all 25 feet of it, I ‘carry’ those five captains on board with me. There they are, standing on my cabin top in their great big sea boots, judging how I coil my lines, how I set my sails, how I steer my course. I enjoy sailing ‘alone’ and they are generally good natured about this, but, now and then, one or other will mutter, “The boy’s no more sense than he was born with.”
The Westcountry trading vessels were the bulk carriers of their age – before good roads, railways, lorries. Small ships like ‘Ceres’ – (she was just over 62 feet long), knew intimately the ports, small harbours and beaches of the coasts of Britain, Ireland and the English Channel. Typical cargoes were coal, manure, slate, salt, granite, cement, limestone, iron ore, barrels of resin, fire bricks, general cargo, scrap iron, potash, pine wood, china clay, pipe clay, blue clay, oats, barley or potatoes.
My intention, apart from the healthy desire to learn about my forebears, is to gain as much of the knowledge, skills and attitudes of the seamen who sailed in those days as I can, including experiencing the pilotage necessary to enter and leave the ports and harbours they frequented.
For instance, on 27th September 1882, ‘Ceres’, Captain William Petherick, master, left Port Madoc for Exeter, carrying 85 tons of slate. I don’t yet know the date she arrived, but on 19th October, she left Exeter for Bideford, carrying 82 tons of manure; thence in ballast back to Port Madoc, where she picked up another 85 tons of slate for Exeter. She spent Christmas there, and left on 3rd January 1883 for Bideford with 82 tons on manure.
The following winter, on the 18th December 1884, this time Captain Walter Petherick, master, she left Bristol for Topsham carrying 82 tons of manure. She remained in Topsham through that Christmas and left on 17th January for Bideford, carrying, bizarrely, 80 tons of manure.
This afternoon, I am moored at the locks to the entrance to Exeter Ship Canal, the direct route to Exeter. I am within sight of Topsham (below) and planning to visit there tomorrow.
My own vessel, ‘Blue Mistress’, is, of course, very different from ‘Ceres’. I have the advantage of size in terms of maneuverability and draft, the use of an engine, and no cargo of slate or manure!
But the tides are the same, the currents in the channel, the effects of the weather, the need for careful pilotage – (remembering the above passages were made in the depth of winter). I wonder if ‘Ceres’ was able to sail up with the tide, or whether she was towed by a steam tug – saving time but adding expense. Where did she anchor up? What would the crew have seen on the banks of the estuary? The railway line would have been there, (Brunel’s short-lived Atmospheric Railway had been built in 1847). Powderham Castle was there and some of the older buildings along the way.
The question I am asking now is by this experience, can I learn more of my ancestors attitudes to their life at sea?
The wooden sailing ship is a form of technology – (“Technology: the practical application of knowledge especially in a particular area” – Merriam-Webster). In the case of ‘Ceres’, this practical application of knowledge worked for 125 years, and, as I have mentioned, this vessel was known to five generations of my family. We have to look hard these days to find technology that lasts so long. Indeed, many forms of modern technology are outmoded even before we purchase them. Therefore, particularly within Western societies, less is handed down in terms of knowledge, skill and attitudes based on the older technologies. I notice, in particular, my grandson’s ability to use digital technology, and wonder, “Is what he has gained in his access to and mastery of new technology equally matched by access to longer-term human experience passed down through the generations?” And if this is a question involving my grandchildren, it surely equally applies to my yet-to-be-born great grandchildren, and, indeed, my great great grandchildren.
Which raises another question, what is the human experience that is worth passing on? At this very moment, there are three attitudes which would seem to be relevant – namely tolerance, patience and respect. This is why I am looking at the mariners in my family, and wondering about their approach to life. (In the case of seamen, respect means respect for the sea, respect for the vessel and respect for fellow crew members). I don’t believe sailors are innately any more tolerant, patient or respectful than anyone else, but they work in an environment where the absence of such attitudes are soon noticed – and they have to learn to deal with it. There is a loose-tight approach. Sometimes, we must be less tolerant, less patient, less respectful, but always there is a limit. However, there are people, especially some of our leaders, who no longer seem to understand that limit.
So that’s the serious side of why I have made this passage – in fact, why I make any passage. Yes, it’s fun, but it’s more than that.
The ‘work’ I am doing this afternoon is on the transcription of a journal written in 1845 of a voyage from London to Hobart, Tasmania. Some 23 years later, in 1867, young William Petherick made a similar voyage as an able seaman aboard a barque to Shanghai and on to Montreal, before returning to London. Two weeks after he returned, he sat exams in Plymouth for his master’s certificate. He wrote about his voyage. The journal I am copying at the moment describes such a voyage in daily detail.
The ham and eggs, fruit and beer were all good. The day finished with a stunning sunset.
(To be continued)
I have never crossed Bideford Bar but it seems that I have known it all my life. I thought I would check it out. Who knows? I may yet get the chance.
Many sailors have crossed this Bar, and many still do. To them I say, please bear with me. I am doing what I should do – looking at the water, reading the entries in the pilot book, looking at the chart. Also, I am looking at it from two different viewpoints – what it’s like now and what it might have been like in the nineteenth century. I have always had problems envisaging what it would have been like to live in a castle that now stands in ruins, but envisaging being at sea in a wooden sailing ship is different altogether – the sea is the same sea, the wind the same wind.
That there was a gale blowing and rain was in the air last week just made it more interesting. The outside bar was hidden in the murk . . .
From my grandfather, via my mother, we had inherited a box of flood-affected old photographs of sailing vessels, including a large number of my grandfather’s trading ketch Ceres. Among these were several of Ceres in dry dock.
Beyond Steeple Point 