Helen Blake’s colourful past adds to its legacy
DESCRIBES A YOUNG MAN’S EAGER QUEST TO ESCAPE OFF THE WEXFORD COAST
WHILST the story of the Helen Blake tragedy in 1914 has been well documented, much less is known about the previous Fethard lifeboats bearing the same name, the first of which was involved in a particularly colourful story, not immediately obvious to anybody looking at the simple entry in the RNLI records for 18th July, 1894, which states No Service.
Five years after its arrival in Fethard in 1886, the original Helen Blake was sent to the UK for a refit and in July of that year it was returned to station, shipped from Bristol to Waterford and consigned to 47-year-old Allan Leigh, the local land agent and president of the lifeboat committee (he is buried in St Mogue’s, beside Bill Banville from the 1914 disaster).
The ship was the SS Dunbrody, which in 1912 was sold to the Clyde Shipping Co. who changed the name to SS Arklow and by a strange twist of fate, this was the ship that two years later took the rescued crew of the Mexico from Waterford to Liverpool.
The Helen Blake had only been called out on two previous occasions, the first when it went to the assistance of the SS Torridon in January 1890, and the second for the barque Peeblesshire in October 1892, both ships coincidentally registered in Glasgow and both en route from London to Sydney.
Now, just a few days short of three years since the refit, it was launched to go to the aid of a fishing boat in distress a few miles off Hook Head. When they reached the stricken vessel, however, the crew found it had already been taken in tow by a trawler from Dunmore, resulting in the No Service entry. It was only then the full story started to unravel.
In the spring of 1894, 35-year-old Luke Kavanagh returned from California, where he had spent the greater part of his life, and moved in with his brother who was living in the family home in Churchtown. By all accounts, he was a good looking young man who spoke with an American accent, but his neighbours found his manner to be what they described as strange.
Whilst in America he had helped his younger brother in his quest to be a sailor and had paid for him to be kitted out when he found a ship to take him on. Sadly, during his first winter at sea, the ship encountered a violent storm as it rounded Cape Horn and the young man was drowned. As he had provided the means for his brother to go to sea, Luke blamed himself for the death and the tragedy clearly affected his mind.
It was at that time he decided to return to Ireland but, although he was originally from the area, he found it difficult to adapt to the way of life and did not mix well with the people around. Apparently he became ‘very violent and dangerous whenever he took drink’.
A good deal of his time was spent around the boats in Slade and Fethard and, on a number of occasions, the fishermen were amused when he asked them if they thought their boats would be able to sail to America. In Slade, he met a young boy who was staying with his uncle, a Mr Robinson who lived in the farmhouse, and one day took the lad out in a boat, calmly announcing that he was going to drown him.
Fortunately, he returned to land without carrying out his threat.
At the beginning of July, Luke was brought before Waterford magistrates where his general conduct and answers to the police led them to believe that ‘ his mind was not strong’.
No action was taken and a few days later he went into Fethard where he bought fishing line and hooks, regaling shopkeeper Peter Foley with the bizarre statement that he was going to ‘fish all the way to Frisco’.
Sixty-one-year-old Christy Bird lived in the houses surrounding the dock in Slade with his wife, Mary, and two teenage grandchildren.
On Wednesday, July 18, he was up early to catch the tide and was just finishing a cup of tea when neighbour Peter Power banged on his door and rushed in, shouting ‘Your boat is gone – she’s nowhere to be seen!’
Bird had tied his boat alongside his neighbour’s the previous afternoon and had checked it later in the evening when the men gathered outside Larry Moran’s shop to chew tobacco and exchange gossip.
Now, before the sun had even risen, there were only a couple of ropes hanging loose where the boat had been. Reports say he was devastated; it was his livelihood and without it he had no way to feed his family.
Before long, Kavanagh’s name was mentioned as the fishermen remembered his strange behaviour and his even stranger questions about sailing to America. Bird raced on his bicycle to Hook lighthouse where he raised the alarm and, with the sun just rising over the horizon, keepers William Gardiner and John McCarthy climbed to the top of the tower from where they scanned the sea with a powerful telescope, soon spotting a sailing boat far out in the channel that looked as though it was out of control.
The Fethard coastguards were contacted by telephone and a few minutes later the sound of a big gun could be heard, calling the lifeboat crew to their station. With eight men manning the oars and cox Charlie Cooke at the helm, the boat was launched at ten past five in the morning and headed out to sea where it soon encountered the trawler with the fishing boat in tow. It seems the rudder was lost when the boat hit the wall as Kavanagh tried to manoeuver it out of the dock, and since then he had been constantly raising and lowering the sails for no apparent reason.
As the trawlermen pulled alongside the little boat they were surprised to be told by the occupant that he was of unsound mind and that he was on his way to Frisco (San Francisco), a voyage of over 30,000 kilometres – including rounding Cape Horn where his brother had drowned – in a boat more accustomed to four or five kilometres.
Pointing to the Wexford coastline, he said he did not ‘see the use of living in that there country anymore’. In the stern of the boat, the trawler’s crew found what was described as a large American trunk, along with various parcels of food including bread, meat and potatoes. Kavanagh told them he planned to supplement his diet with fish he would catch during the voyage.
Both boats returned to Slade, with the lifeboat taking over the tow when they reached the bay and bringing the fishing boat back to its mooring, much to the relief of Christy Bird.
Kavanagh and his belongings were removed from the boat and his brother took charge of him. Hearing of his extraordinary adventure and fearing that he would harm himself, or others, the police in Fethard decided to arrest him and sent two constables to Templetown where they found him drinking.
Fearful of how he would react if arrested they told him there was a circus in the village, hoping to induce him to go there with them. Incredibly their ruse worked and he walked quietly to the barracks three miles away. On discovering he had been misled and there was no circus he got up to leave but when he was told to stay he is said to have become ‘very fractious, assaulting every man in the barracks in turn’.
With some of the constables receiving very ugly injuries, ‘Measures of a more than ordinary kind had to be resorted to in order to prevent him escaping’.
Exactly what those measures were is not recorded.
The following day a special court was convened where a number of witnesses, including Dr William Shee of Duncannon, gave evidence as to his unsoundness of mind and reports state that,
‘He was committed to the county asylum as a dangerous lunatic, where he was conveyed that evening by a strong guard of police.’