MAN I JUST LOVE CHRISTMAS BUT I WISH I HAD’NT PINCHED THAT TOFFEE!!!

Amidst the serious business of dealing with phones ringing off the wall, delivering impossible requests and juggling potential fuel shortages we were reduced to tears of laughter when Nemo one of the Consols fleet of dogs pinched some toffee and gummed his jaws up. The picture says it all, its little incidents like this that dissipate tension and make the day go quicker, especially when its caught on camera.

We wrapped it all up at about 13:30 with all promises delivered and a healthy start in the ticket rack for monday morning as the Potato Boys look set to start planting the early crop with a vengeance if the dry weather continues.

My last task was to bank the days takings and breathe a deep sigh of relief as another memorable calendar year draws rapidly to a close. While our financial year ends in March the actual turn of the year always seems to be the best time to take stock as we enjoy a hard earned, well deserved break as with the winter solstice on the 21st the days will soon be opening out once more as the new year looms.

Then as usual on Christmas Eve I took some Scillonian scented narcissus, the symbol of renewal, over to St Day Old Churchyard where both my parents are buried in the shadow of the Old Church which was abandoned over fifty years ago. To see the ruin outlined in the weak sunlight was a striking reminder of how the villages fortunes have changed since the mining era when St Day was a hub of commerce adjacent to the then richest square mile on earth.

THE OLD CHURCH AT ST DAY.

Being in a pensive reflective frame of mind the scrunch of my feet on the gravel path of the church as I walked away took me back to Christmas Eve in 1981. Then the scrunch of  hundreds of feet on gravel amplified by the sombre silence of a cold bleak windless day was all that could be heard as we walked away from Paul Church.

Christmas eve is an inauspicious day for a funeral but this one was special as Trevelyan Richards (”Whackers”) the Coxswain of the ill fated Solomon Brown was laid to rest, it was a sombre but but strangely uplifting experience to pay homage to such an unassuming hero who died unquestioningly for what he believed in.

The story of the tragedy has been told often enough but members of that heroic crew were ordinary men who willingly sacrificed themselves to extraordinary circumstances, who touched my life in a very personal way. “Whackers” was a trawler skipper in his day job, a terrific character who personified the ethos of the Lifeboat Service inspiring such trust and confidence that they willingly launched that night into the teeth of the storm against what they knew full well were incredible odds, because there were people in distress.

I also knew Nigel Brockman well, Nigel was the ever cheerful man who worked at Bj Ridge Fish Salesmen and vessel agents in Newlyn which many years later I ended up owning. Nigels son Neil, until recently another legendary Penlee Coxswain was only a youngster that fateful night, he was turned back by Whackers with the heart rending but highly practical injunction that “One from each family is enough on a night like this”.

The crewmember that I knew best was Barrie Torrie who was also  a crew member on the Newlyn beamer SDJ. At that time I was aboard the Stevenson beamer Elizabeth Anne Webster and often used to have lengthy chats with Barrie on the VHF radio while on watch. We were all enjoying a bonanza as the grounds 30 to 40 miles south and west of the Scillies were opening up to beamers seeking (and finding) heavy monk and megrim catches which were then becoming Newlyns staple species.

The sunday before the Penlee tragedy a scud of southeasterly wind had blown us all back to Newlyn, after a lousy run home conditions in the gaps, even at highwater, were very poor as we followed the SDJ into the shelter of the harbour. Having moored up and squared away we were heading up the pier when Barrie and I fell into step and started yarning about the trip and the prospect of the looming Christmas break. At the top of the north pier as we branched to go our separate ways, having agreed that the chances of fine weather were slim Barries parting words were “lets hope we dont have to face this lot again this side of the New Year”, that was the last time we spoke. All the following week it was poor, no boats moved by the weekend it was too late anyway.

On the day of the Penlee tragedy, I, along with a group of friends, had arranged to have a meal in Falmouth, as the day closed in the weather was worsening with a vengeance as yet another deep low raced in. Walking up from the Custom House Quay car park the rain was lashing down and the southerly gale was really starting to hustle. A shiver went down my spine as the thought crossed my mind that anyone out there tonight would be taking a pasting, oblivious to unfolding events twenty miles to the west.

We had a cracking evening when we came out of the warmth about 10:30 the storm was at its peak  on the way home the wind was buffeting our car to a worrying degree as the screaming wind did its worst. Next morning the wind had moderated away and there was watery sunshine that signified the wind had veered to the north west as it usually does as the depression passes through. Mother said something about the Penlee Lifeboat being lost was on the radio news. A phone call confirmed the worst while the radio and TV were reporting the tragedy contiuously as the whole country seemed to shudder with disbelief and collective grief.

Some years later, with my then teenage son we watched a TV documentary that brought the awful events vividly back to life as they broadcast the final message from the Solomon Brown. To my dying day I will be haunted by those crackly last words to Falmouth Coastguards over the radio before the eternal silence that signified her end, apparently so close to success.

THE PENLEE CREW WHO WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.

Reflections such as this seem so appropriate at this time as we enjoy the safety, warmth and comfort of home and family.These ordinary men performing extraordinary service to their fellow men without thought of risk or reward put things in perspective and highlight the sheer futility of avarice, consumerism and excess that seems latterly to signify this special time of the year for so many.