WATERMEN AND WIND JAMMERS

Evening Star, Issue 21320, 26 January 1933, Page 11

WATERMEN AND WIND JAMMERS

SUNNY AFTERNOONS AT PORT CHALMERS AND A " FRIGHTFUL EPISODE" “You should have seen the Port • Chalmers waterfront in the early days,” ■ an old-timer remarked to a ‘ Star ’ reporter yesterday afternoon at Port Chalmers. The . suggestion found its mark. A glimpse at the yesterday of a seaport! Pressed to draw aside the curtain of the intervening years, the old-timer told his story of watermen and wind jammers. The licensed watermen, he said, when they numbered well over half a score, made one of the pleasing and interesting features of the waterfront at Port Chalmers, away back in the colourful days, when homeward-bound white wingers carried the mail to London. . The watermen and their boats were then as indispensable to the departing barque, as to the arriving ship. “ Boat, sir? ” and the captain, or the cook, would be promptly conveyed to his ship. There was life and bustle and pound notes changing hands those days. Sea chanties, sea swears, and ■, sailor men and ships coming and going all the time. The departing ship had probably anchored overnight in the stream, in a final effort to fill the vacancies left in the forecastle by runaway sailors. The arriving ship was mot well down the harbour by port officials, ship’s agents, heads of stevedoring firms, and a host of others. They all required boating. The watermen and their fast-oared boats were busy—the lucrative fare rate rarely questioned. Every rope yarn of the game was familiar to the alert waterman, who may himself have been a runaway sailor, with a reward for his recovery on the police book, and that not so long ago. But that was bis yesterday; to-day was his to-day. ‘‘ To the Westland, sir? Just step aboard—be there in a shake. The Nelson should be showing up to-morrow.” ■ The boatmen also had their spare hours at the landing place. Then for brisk comment on everything from a Prime Minister to an anchor, or was it likely that the Opawa would have a now skipper this voyage. Bit of the sea lawyer, too, some of them. One occasion they dismissed the almost personal question as to whether a waterman' was a settle! - —nowadays we refer to all pioneers as the early settlers, but those days the view angle was different. The boatmen decided they were settlers in the full colonising sense of the word. It could not well he otherwise, because as one of their number pointed out, a man was a settler no matter whore he settled, provided he did settle. A seagull, for instance, was not another kind of bird because it decided to build its nest a day’s flight inland from tho seashore. A man more so, only with the slight difference that it was after all tho man who counted, not where ho lived. “ If he can strike a job,” observed Long Mack, as he mopped the stern sheets of his Sea Lark. But the decisions arrived at were not always so unanimous. Occasionally the question would be left open • and a little feeling might oven creep in when questions of national moment were discussed. Such an occasion was the one when the watermen felt themselves called on to decide whether judges should wear wigs in this now country of untold possibilities. Opinions differed. One waterman who retained youthful memories of tho London -river, could not for the life of him see bow a judge could control a bunch of contrary lawyers if bo did not wear a wig in court. At that stage tho discussion pearly swerved into a beckoning byway which did not make 'for finality on tho previous question. The byway was whether lawyers were needed in a new country which had not yet had time to make a network of laws for itself. What need was there, one debater -argued, for a lawyer to expound a law which plainly stated that when a man o’erjoyed himself on meeting a friend, tho fine was doubled for the second offence. Nothing could be clearer; it was plain as a pikestaff. Why then have a lawyer to bother tho bench? Reverting to the judge issue, the Lon-don-bred waterman stated, as a conviction, that a colonial judge without a wig could not apply English law to the settling of a colonial quarrel. That, too, should bo plain as a pikestaff. But it irritated a listening waterman who,

finding the discussion getting beyond bis depth,'- stated aggressively that a hash had been made of the whole discussion, which was only a lot of nonsense anyhow. But that kind of statement did not make for harmony on the waterfront. The man from the Thames-side, the upholder of wigs, bristled. Ho was wild. Dipping his brush in the paint pot and, halting before he stooped down to ' strike . the waterline along his Saucy Kate, he delivered his ultimatum to the man who bad mentioned hash. “ Shivery britches,” he said, “ you are a pigheaded ass.” That was an exceptional and extreme occasion. It occurred at the boat grid where many pleasant discussions took place in leisure hours. The workmen’s reading room was afterwards , built alongside its site. On that grid or miniature slip, the watermen’s boats were hauled up for cleaning and paint-, ing, when no overeas ship was expected for the next week or ten days. Having learned from the lastest oversea arrival of the approximate dates of departure from London, Liverpool, or Glasgow, of the regular “liners,” the watermen could forecast their probable dates of arrival in Otago Harbour fairly accurately. Past performances were well known. The watermen knew the number of days tho Wild Deer, the Hurunui, or the Jesie Headman had taken to make tho outward passage for the past five or six voyages. Striking an average, and including in the ■ calculation the probable steadiness, of the wind along the Roaring" Forties at that particular season of the year, they could foresee the Wild Deer arriving off Taiaroa Heads about the middle of next week, and the Hurunui signalling for a pilot at the beginning of the following week. Such forecasts were often remarkably accurate—“ near enough for half a dollar on it.” The more so, perhaps, when allowance was made for the uncertainties of the horse latitudes, the doldrums, or the new skipper an quest of sailing records. But the inclusion of these probable or possible factors did not quite eliminate that element of uncertainty which made the arrival of a sailing ship very interesting—apart from bringing the, latest world news from London. In those days weather prophets had not been classified as scientists; and nobody on shore worried about the weather beforehand. With seamen.the weather prophet carried less weight than Davy Jones’s Locker, and the presence of anticyclones* in the Tasman had 'never been heard of. In those days, too, the sun shone freely for the Christmas holidays. So tho watermen spent the sunny afternoons at the boat grid, if shipping were slack for a few days. A SOCIABLE LOT.

The watermen were a fine, sociable class of early settlers, and there was a noticeable atmosphere of friendliness about the boat grid'. Non-members, of the guild would often halt in passing and listen to the boatmen’s edifying discussions. Unfailing courtesy was extended to such stragglers, and even their opinion might be asked on an unimportant point. Piquant expressions, such as the topsides of a tea clipper being “ as black as the Earl of Ells riding boots,” served to attract rather than repel tho listeners. When, however, a lady in passing halted to admire the tidy, well-kept boats, ordinary free discussion was battened down for the time being. Usually the boat which, bad tendered the Great Eastern at Williainstown was pointed out as a special item of interest. For watermen, taking their boats with them, were amongst those who bad hurriedly left the Yarra for Gabriel’s Gully. The memorable afternoon was as sunny and soothing as any since the fine weather bad set in that summer. Bob the Butcher, down for a crack with watermen, was sitting on the grid, with his back against the bow of the Sailor Prince, and smoking his pipe. He stiff held that tho Wild Colonial Boy was a bushranger. It was along about 4 o’clock in the afternoon that a middleaged lady, with a purposeful expression, walked down to the grid and accosted the watermen at their work. “ Good day, ma’am,” Charlie, the nearest waterman, greeted her, thinking she wanted to be rowed to Portobello. Ho was wrong. “ 1 am going to jump into the harbour and drown myself,” she announced .emphatically. Such a shocking announcement bad never been beard before at that grid. Heads popped above the gunwale of every boat on the slip. Bob the Butcher said he was damned. The boatmen were certainly taken aback. The one who bad first greeted the lady strove to hold.his balance, and maintain the cheerful tenor of the watermen’s

pleasing way. So he managed the simple phrase: “Indeed, lady!” “Yes, indeed,” she replied, even more emphatically than at first, adding: “ And—and don’t you dare try to stop me.” SUICIDAL BENT. This further announcement was more than shocking; it was flabbergasting. The watermen bunched, and whispered. One suggested sending for a policeman, and was told that was useless, for the policeman was down the harbourside that day looking for illicit whisky stills, and if the farthest away one was visited he would-not'get back before dark. The first waterman did not know what to do. One could not use a tiller on a job like this. “Bill,” he hoarsely whispered to his mate, “ the lady is after doing sooicide.” The more phlegmatic. Bill whispered back: “Let her do it; it’s her own business, ain’t it; it will be a pick up job later on.” Long Mack' looked at it differently. “ A fine strapping figure of a woman.” he commented sotto voce, “but the puir body must be sair worried to come on such an errand in her Sunday claes.” “ Well, ma’am,” the spokesman continued loudly, “of course you know best, but ” “ Of course I know best,” the lady rejoined. “But,” he resumed, regaining an added measure of confidence and pointing to the expanse of deep oozy mud which the ebbing tide bad left uncovered in front of the grid, “ the present time is not opportune in a manner of speaking. Why not wait for high tide and clean water?” “Yes, wait, wait,” responded the lady impatiently. “ Just like a man, but lam not going to wait.” Stepping up on the shore end of the grid the determined lady placed her umbrella and Maori kit bag in one of the boats. “ Lord-a-mussy!” growled the boatman, “ she’s a-going to strip.” But the boatman was mistaken. Swinging her arms for free ntoveraent, the lady rushed towards the water and leapt from.the lower end of the grid. The leap carried her only halfway 4 towards the receding tide, and she landed in the mud with a shriek that brought people from all directions running towards the watermen’s grid. Even the postmaster came hurrying bareheaded from the post office, and inquiring as he ran: “What is it? What is it?” The boatmen were dumbfounded and for the moment helpless. Long Mack had detected in that desperate shriek a more woeful note than bagpipes ever sounded. The debonair but now demure boatman from Limehouse avenue thought of the Last Trump. All the watermen were badly shaken. But no coarse foreign oaths burst forth. _ A fine handling of the Gaelic idiom, with a “blime!” or two injected, fully expressed the horror of all present. But little time was really wasted. With the watermen delay in a deed of salvage was a deadly sjn. Boathooks proved too short, and boat gratings sank in mud when stepped oil. The one available plank was quickly launched across the mud. A waterman ventured on the plank to find it was at least 2ft short of its objective. Despite the excitement of the moment he halted at the outer end of the plank to point out to bis anxious mates that the lady was up to her waist in the soft sludge—unless, of course, the unfortunate dame had originally come to rest in a sitting posture, which would minimise the quicksand tendency of the mud and therefore bo all to the good. “ Here you are,” cried one of the boatmen on the grid, as he , hurriedly cast a bowline in the end of a boat painter, “ slip this over her head and we’ll haul.” Another boatman proffered a tiller, while yet another, gathering up an armful of paddles, suggested their combined use as a skid. >

The anxious rescuers were thus getting a little confused when Tom Geelong stopped from amongst the crowd of onlookers and took charge of activities on the grid. Picking up three or four boat rudders he moved along the plank and threw them in a heap on the soft mud at its outer end. Then he pluckily stepped on the rudders, and, bending low, peered closely into the lady’s face to see if she had fainted. Either his face or its nearness must have alarmed the lady, for she shrieked again, and there was now a note of horror in it. But Mr Geelong

was not dismayed. “ Get a move on,”* he shouted to the men on the grid,' “ and bring , planks from Bauchop’a, saw-mill to form a ramp.” The boatmen had been all movement, but so far too little purpose, for their experience in quest of fares had made for irw dividual rather than concerted; effort. Now it was different. As one man they; sped along Beach street to fhe sawmill, and soon a ramp of planks spanned the mud from, the grid to the unfortunate lady. Firmly they extracted her from- this gluey, mud, and quickly had her standing on the ramp.■ With a little assistance she reached the grid, and there stamped her feet to loosen more clinging mud. Then she picked up her umbrella and kit bag, and made her way ashore through the assembled crowd of onlookers. As they parted for her to pass they noticed she limped, for she had lost one of her elastic-side boots in being pulled;out of the mud. ' When the rescued lady reached the road line she turned round. as though to say a word of’ thanks to her rescuers. The boatmen were eyeing her from the grid. Addressing them, she said: “What are'you standing staring there for, like a row of stookies; gqi and get my boot.” A deep silence fell oyer the scene. Not a man moved, until Long Mack picked a stretcher out; of bis way,, muttering, “Aye, a thrawn limmer ” the man frorii'Londofi 'Riyer,: also in 4 whisper, adding “Not ’arf.”