Books
Alec Crawford displays appealing sangfroid in his fascinating account of exploring shipwrecks off the Scottish coast
Allan Massie reviews Treasure Islands by Alec Crawford
As a small boy on Fraserburgh’s often chilly beach, I was fascinated by the wreck of, I think, a fishing- boat on the rocks outside the harbour. We were of course forbidden to explore it, but that is the nearest I have come to the subject of Alec Crawford’s absorbing account of his first adventures in the salvage trade, so I didn’t really expect to enjoy his book. Obviously it would appeal to many, but it seems worthwhile to say that you don’t have to be a seagoing enthusiast to find it fascinating. Moreover you will also learn a lot, and this is always good.
The book is the story of his early adventures in the salvage business 50 years ago, first in the Firth of Forth, then off Barra, then to Shetland, Fair Isle and Foula. It was in the waters off Foula that he and his colleague Simon Martin located the wreck of the White
Star liner Oceanic, which had been the biggest ship in the world when launched as a passenger liner from Liverpool in 1899; she carried 2,000 passengers on her first transatlantic voyage. She was temporarily transferred to the Admiralty in 1914, and ran aground and sank the following year. An attempt at salvage was made in 1924.
Undertaking salvage of the ship was a huge task for Crawford and Martin, but promised to be very profitable. Copper and brass, the most valuable finds, were in rich supply, especially from the huge propellers. The description of their work is beyond me; I understood little except the obvious danger. Readers with an understanding of technology will find it riveting. I assume that Crawford is drawing from a log he kept at the time. If not, he has a remarkable memory. One must suppose, however, that many
of the conversations are imaginative reconstructions.
They would not have managed to work on the wreck without the support and friendship they met with from the islanders. There weren’t many left; Crawford remarks on the number of abandoned crofts. Yet he gives a warm and evocative picture of the island’s life, warm enough, I daresay, to have readers wondering about when they might go there. They
should remember that Crawford is recalling Foula as it was almost half a century ago.
There is interesting stuff about the legal position and rights of salvagers, and this is likely to be new, surprising and interesting to readers. There is a government body called the Receiver of Wrecks, which can authorise attempts at salvage. Crawford and Martin dealt with an office in Lerwick. But the
matter is complicated. A sunk boat or ship remains the property of its owners or their heirs. Often of course this is something that cannot be traced; there are hundreds, even thousands, of wrecked and sunken vessels around the British Isles, some dating back centuries. ( They found the wrecks of ships that had formed part of the Spanish Armada of 1588.) But there is another complication. Vessels will have been insured and, if insurance money has been paid, then the property rights may belong to the insurance company, though it may of course no longer be in existence. Crawford and Martin had a tussle with a firm based in Glasgow which claimed that the Oceanic was now their property, and threatened them with accusations of trespass and
The tone recalls an older Scotland, an older and now vanishing Britain
theft. The matter went to court, but the Glasgow company failed to make good its case and withdrew from the action. Crawford and Martin were free to make their fortune, but only after some very anxious months.
Crawford writes of difficult and very dangerous work with a good deal of sangfroid. Indeed, one may call his tone of voice old- fashioned, for he goes in for understatement. The tone recalls an older Scotland, an older and now vanishing Britain. It’s the tone of the British war films of the Forties and Fifties, or indeed of the wartime air- crews, of pilots who downplayed the danger of their work and described a dodgy landing as “a piece of cake.” The good humour and absence of boasting and hyperbole make this an unusually likeable, as well as interesting, memoir.