Keeping our maritime past afloat remains a tricky and expensive venture
FOLKS along the False Bay coast on Saturday morning would have seen the British Antarctic survey and patrol vessel, HMS Protector, arriving in Simon’s Town whence she sailed in brilliant light on Monday afternoon. She had berthed in Cape Town on Tuesday before heading for Simon’s Town.
While in Simon’s Town, matelots aboard Protector would have noticed a grand old dame of the seas, Cable Restorer, now well past her three score years and 10.
Having been alongside in Simon’s Town for more than 20 years and in Simon’s Bay for more than 50 years, the old cable ship is to go the way of all ships, sad news, for the 1944vintage vessel is unique.
If memory serves me correctly, she came this way in about 1966 to undertake submarine cable repairs, and in preparation for the laying of the so-called SAT-1 cable from Melkbosstrand to Portugal.
Managed by Safmarine and moored fore and aft to buoys in Simon’s Bay, she was commanded by the amiable Captain Henry Goodbody who sometimes commuted to and from his home up the line from Simon’s Town. To keep her ready for sea, Safmarine seconded local officers to her to complete their mandatory sea time or to hone their knowledge before writing examinations for their next certificates of competency.
On several occasions, she did venture out of Simon’s Bay to repair cables or to head for Cape Town to refuel and to keep the old steam machinery in working order. In strong head seas, the old steamer could barely make way, causing her to have a high fuel consumption.
Much to the displeasure of Captain Goodbody, she was chartered to a film company, which temporarily lengthened her funnel (already buff, the colour of Union Line’s funnel) during the filming of a movie on the life of Barney Barnato, the mining magnate who allegedly jumped overboard from the Union liner, Scot, in June 1897 while returning to Britain. The fourth officer dived into the sea to try to save him, but Barnato drowned. While in the water, the officer managed to help to recover the body, a daring act that earned him a hundred pounds, a substantial sum in those days.
On the Simon’s Town jetty one morning, I saw umpteen people dressed in Victorian attire as they awaited a boat to ferry them to Cable Restorer for the day’s filming.
Into False Bay she steamed, her engineers contriving a large pall of smoke from the funnel to satisfy the demands of the film producer who sought to emulate the emissions from Scot’s coal-fired furnaces.
Transferred to the South African registry in 1972, Cable Restorer continued her sojourn in Simon’s Bay, but when changes in communications technology made her obsolete, she was decommissioned in December 1993.
Soon after, she became a hive of activity. As part of the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Normandy landings – and her own golden jubilee – a team of volunteers, all qualified for their respective ranks, planned to steam her to France.
Sadly, the fuel supplier who had promised the bunkers for the voyage, pulled out, the volunteer crew who had worked hard to get her shipshape went home, and the old ship celebrated her amazing career waypoint alone in Simon’s Bay.
Sold for a nominal price to Simon’s Town Museum, Cable Restorer was chartered to serve as the offices of a local businessman and boat operator. For a short time, her crew accommodation was home to students following the maritime courses at Simon’s Town School, a good idea at the time, particularly as the youngsters had the opportunity to live aboard and to commute ashore by ferry each day, but fraught with practical difficulties.
She moved to moorings near Admiralty House and the schoolboys used a make-shift jetty to embark and disembark. However, a good old blow one night caused the ship to break her stern mooring, carrying away the jetty and the utility services to the ship, and the timely arrival of the naval tugs stopped her from grounding. The lads never returned to the ship as the school built a new hostel from 47 containers donated by Safmarine that has since been replaced by a custom-built facility, donated by the TK Foundation, associated with the Vancouver-based Teekay Tanker Corporation.
For a good meal, served amid the nostalgic atmosphere of a 1944-built vessel, folks went to the Roaring Forties Restaurant aboard the old cable ship. The schlepp of entering the naval dockyard was, I suppose, a deterrent, prompting the sad demise of the Cape’s only restaurant aboard a ship of that size.
Most folks believe Cable Restorer will be scrapped, although the asbestos linings on exhausts and elsewhere will present complications.
In the event of her scrapping, her wonderfully crafted fittings, including brasswork and wooden panelling, her steam-reciprocating machinery and a range of other items – even her whistle on the funnel – should be preserved and kept at appropriate sites where they will be free of vandalism and be maintained properly.
As it had close ties to the ship in the 1990s, Simon’s Town School’s Lawhill Maritime Centre would be particularly interested in accommodating and preserving a number of items for posterity. Her funnel with the whistle and an anchor come immediately to mind.
Her preservation should also be considered as I am sure would have happened had she been in the Netherlands, where folks seem to have real concern for old ladies of the sea. However, many factors militate against this option.
She is too large to haul up on to the hard, while leaving her in seawater would be terminal, but costs remain the most lethal blow to any move to turn her into a museum.
With all the wealth available, even the US could not garner enough funding to restore the liner, United States, that lies rotting away in a backwater in Philadelphia harbour.
South African enthusiasts have also tried to preserve some of the country’s interesting maritime past. Nearly half-a-century’s service in remarkable salvage and harbour operations did not save the legendary tug, TS McEwen, from being stripped and scuttled in Table Bay.
A similar fate befell the old coaster, Gamtoos, while another unique vessel and the last of her class, SAS Somerset, lies totally neglected near the Aquarium.
After her decommissioning from the navy, she lay idle in Simon’s Town for a few years until she was given to the Maritime Museum and towed to Cape Town by a naval tug, commanded by her last commanding officer. The neglect during her years in lay-up was quickly banished as a team restored her beautifully.
Her former chief engineer, a delightful, enthusiastic man whom folks called Mac, took me around the ship. With great pride, he showed me his team’s handiwork, and finally, he marched me into the engine room with its gleaming brasswork.
“I didn’t worry too much about those dials,” he confided in what seemed like a Geordie drawl. “I put me hand here,” he placed his flat hand against plating adjacent to the dials, “and if she’s going like this,” more manual demonstrations followed, “I knew she was going well!”
Indifference in so many quarters caused Mac’s hard work to come to nought as the derelict Somerset – once thronging with visitors – awaits her date with naval gunfire or aerial bombardment, or, with her sea cocks open, she may simply slip beneath the waters of Table Bay, a serious indictment on the museum and parts of the shipping sector.
Old salts tried to preserve the submarine SAS Assegai and Villiersdorp steam enthusiasts had a bold plan to refit the pilot tug, Alwyn Vintcent, the last steamship on the local register, but bureaucracy (in the case of the former vessel) and lack of funding (in the case of the latter) torpedoed valiant efforts to keep a small slice of our maritime heritage.
And within a few years, the salvage tug, SA Amandla, will be disposed of. Now there’s another case for the preservation of a most remarkable, locally built vessel with an amazing record. This time, let’s do it!