The Story of The Lifeboat “John Foster Spence”

And more lifeboat lore from old newspapers…

By James Linkleter

In 1905 my great-grandfather, W. Dalton Linkleter, wrote this stern letter to the Shields Daily News to correct the public record after a drowning off Tynemouth’s Longsands. The incidient had sparked an erroneous and unseemly dispute in the Tynemouth Corporation over the running cost of the Longsands lifeboat, which had saved ove 90 lives during its tenure.

In this letter Dalton recalls how, after a drowning in 1878, his father, James Linkleter, designed and oversaw the building of a lifeboat and carriage which was later named the John Foster Spence. The boat went into service despite long delays from the Council, and quickly proved its worth by saving lives, including nine in its first year.

James did the work without pay or recognition, providing the lifeboat entirely for public safety, and in the letter Dalton Linkleter, refuting the misleading Council statements about funding, explains that the actual allowance for lifeboatmen is just £2 5s in total for the busiest days of the year. He also defends the bravery of local boatmen and lifeboatmen who risk their lives for little or no reward, against criticism from “ignorant outsiders”.

Transcribed:

Sir,—Noticing the report of the Tynemouth Council meeting relative to the recent triple drowning fatality on the Long Sands, in your issue of yesterday, I take the opportunity of explaining some true facts regarding the Long Sands lifeboat “John Foster Spence.”

In 1878, after a similar accident to this, a committee, under the chairmanship of the late Ald. Shotton, was formed to consider what could be done to prevent, as far as possible, drowning cases on the Long Sands.

James Linkleter, then managing bathing machines on the Long Sands, was asked to give his opinion. He offered to design and superintend the building of a lifeboat and carriage suitable for the work if the Corporation would defray the cost. At the request of the Committee he submitted a model and plan of same, and these, I may add, lay forgotten in the archives of the Corporation for long over twelve months, until another drowning accident gave rise to an outcry.

The late Alderman John Foster Spence then brought up the question of J. Linkleter’s plans, and instructions were given to him to have the boat and carriage built. He superintended the building of the boat, and on its completion it was given into his charge. Twenty-six years have elapsed since then, and he has not yet relinquished that charge.

The lifeboat was named after Alderman John Foster Spence, and had not been 24 hours on her station until she was instrumental, in the hands of her designer, in saving the life of one of Mr R. S. Donkin’s gardeners. The first year she saved nine lives, and in the short 26 years of her life, has saved over 90 lives.

James Linkleter neither asked nor received any payment nor thanks for the labour, time, and great risk he undertook in providing the Corporation with a lifeboat for the safety of the public on the Long Sands.

The facts in regard to expense are these—The Corporation defrayed the cost of building the boat and carriage and repairs and renewals of gear, and grant an allowance of 7s 6d per day for the employment of a lifeboatman on Whit-Monday and Tuesday, Race Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, and August Bank Holiday, making a grand total of £2 5s, and I may add that at this “generous” figure a man is underpaid for the risk he runs, and responsibility he takes, on the busiest days of the year.

In case the Mayor and Councillor Williamson’s remarks may mislead the public, I must state that there is no grant of £5 per year for the lifeboat, and I am surprised that one of the oldest and most responsible councillors should attempt to enlighten the public on a matter of which he appears to be entirely ignorant.

The suggestion that competent lifeboatmen be employed is a good one, and if carried into practical effect would be welcomed by the bathing machine proprietors and boatmen of the Long Sands, whose only reward for risking their own lives appears to be the insolent criticisms of ignorant outsiders.

I am, dear sir, yours truly,

W. DALTON LINKLETER.
4 Percy Street, Tynemouth.
July 20, 1905.

In setting the record straight he shows that the John Foster Spence was a community lifeline created through his father’s skill and sacrifice, and that the Council’s contribution was minimal compared to the service given by local men.

Altogether this inshore lifeboat was in service for 47 years, being retired in 1926. In that time she saved 150 lives.

Lifeboat Tales, from the Newcastle Sunday Sun, 1928:

😲 The First Lifeboat Came from Tynemouth, not South Shields…

Transcribed:

SONGS OF PRAISE AT NORTHSEA

Why Timmuth Made Cullercoats Jealous

COXSWAIN JAMES MAVIN (right), of the Tyne lifeboat “James Young,” which has been in service since 1884—the year in which the Albert Edward Dock was opened. With him (left) is James Boyle, a member of the crew, which consists entirely of foymen and pilots.

BY ROB J. INSON.

There was until recently lying on the Low Light shore at North Shields an old hulk which is all that remains of the William Wake. It was the first Tynemouth lifeboat, and Tynemouth—rejecting Willie Wouldhave’s claim for the South side as the birthplace of the lifeboat—claims that this was the first lifeboat regularly commissioned for life-saving.

That may be true.

The Willie Wouldhave was the first self-righting lifeboat; but long before it was built the crew of the Willie Wake made a living by foying sailing ships up the river and attending them.

After the Willie Wouldhave, built in in 1878, there was the John Foster Spence, built by James Linklater. It had 47 years on the beach at Tynemouth, and saved 150 lives. The shell of this old 20ft. boat, with its air boxes rather badly perforated, still is preserved in their workshop by Mr Linklater’s sons.

The Tom Perry was placed in service on the south side of the river about the same time as the John Foster Spence was put into service on the north side beach.

Thus the James Young lifeboat was placed in commission by the Tyne Lifeboat Society in 1884, and still, manned entirely by foymen and pilots, is on service as a surf lifeboat.

James Marvin, whose stepfather was in the William Wake, has been coxswain of the James Young for 31 years, and still remains in command. He does not affect the characteristic sou’wester as his head-gear.

“Always wear a hard hat,” Lucky Lukey recorded.
“Why does he wear a hard hat?” I asked.
“It’ll be to keep his heed war-r-m, Aa warn’d,” politely the Senior Angle made reply.

Always the William Wake was avail- for life-saving or salvage in those days when frequent service was required by the wind-jammers caught on a lee shore.

The wooden fleet was helpless in an easterly gale and as many as a score of ships in sail have littered the shore north and south of the Tyne after a big breeze.

“Skipper Appelby was the gaffer o’ the William Wake. Mind on him nicely,” the Senior Angler of Northsea recollected. “Rescued monny a life, him an’ his crew. Skipper Appelby was in his aad age when Aa was a laddie. Poor sowl, although he had been skipper of the lifeboat, he came to the end of his days in some straits. Aa mind me fethor was one whe teuk up a collection amang the shipowners at Newcassel Quay to help th’ aad skipper anm’ myek him comfortable at the finish.”

OLD NED FRY.

We both remembered the old hulk of the Willaim Wake, and many old-time figures seemed to come out of the long-ago and stand around it.

“Seems to caal up aal th’ aad characters,” said Lucky Lukey, in a somewhat awed voice. “Did ye knaa Ned Fry?”
“Yes, I knew him,” I answered.
“Fine aad chep,” Lukey testified.
“Thor was a bit poetry aboot him. Summick like this:

For Aa’ve swum aroond the Haven an saved the lives o’ sum
That might hav met a wattery grave:
O lads! You should see the sport
When the sea gans moontains high.
Hev ye ivver heord tell of a boat gannin doon
That’s been built an’ rigged oot
B’ the Pride o’ the Haven, Ned Fry?

“Then thor was the chorus. Aal the songs had a bit chorus to them i’ them days. ‘Ay, noo, he’s the boy,’ was the chorus te this one. Queeor chep Ned Fry.”
“In what way?”, I made the inquiry.
“He could taak a horse’s heed off, the syme chep,” the Senior Angler certified.

WRECKER AT WORK.

Ned Fry is well and affectionately remembered along the coast. He was commodore of a fleet of pleasure boats in Tynemouth Haven; afterwards taking himself and his craft along to Blyth.

“His last shift was Blyth,” Lucky Lukey recorded. “In winter times he wor-r-ked maistlies aboot wrecks. Him an’ his brother, Tom.”
“What was he doing among wrecks?” I investigated.
“Salvin an’ brickin’ up,” was the information supplied. “Ned was one of them men, when a wreck com’ ashore, te tyek on the job o’ gettin’ the sails off’n hor, Like a ganger ower the men. He was the responsible party, like. Whativver they could save, was salvaged. Queer chep. Taal. Clean shaved. Had a lour of the shoulders.”
“What caused that?” I asked.
“just wi’ lettin’ hissel gan, at his wor-r-k. Sum cheps is like that,” the Senior Angler stated. “Not monny dis that. Ay, he was a queeor chep. One of the queeorest. Aa mind when the ‘Fairy Maid’ was ashore heor, under the cliffs. Ned had the job tryin’ to get hor off. He set the men on that he thowt he wanted for the job, an’ they ran a rope away from hor, when she was lyin’ high an’ dry, te stop hor gannin’ onny further up. An aad fisherman heor caaled Jakey Stocks was wor-r-kin for him, an Ned tell’t Jakey te put the rope aroond that big rock.

“‘Myek hor fast te the rock,’ Ned shooted.
“‘Which rock?’ Jakey shooted back at him.
“‘The big rock thonder,’ sayed Ned.
“‘Aa cannot see ne rock,” sayed Jake; an’ wi’ that aad Ned com’ ashore fr’ the Fair Maid iv a temper te put the rope aroond the big rock hissel.”
“Well, did he do it?” I asked.
“No,” said Lucky Lukey. “The big rock torned oot te be a big bath tin, bottom up. Thor was ne rock. Ay, he was a funny ‘un, Ned. Used te tell funny stories. Clivvor tellor o’ stories.”

JUST JEALOUSY.

It was necessary mildly to remark the original subject was lifeboats.

“Just so,” the Senior Angler coincided, as though he had never deviated from the topic, “Which Aa was sayin’ Tinmuth was elways forst iv ivverything. Tinmuth was the forst te hev a reg-lor lifeboat, the forst te hev Linkleter’s safety rafts an’ deck seats, an the forst te hev the life brigade. Aa mind when the brigade was oot te a ship wrecked near the peor a brigade man caaled Arkles, was weshed off the peor. Thor was a sang aboot him:

He was weshed from off’n the peor b’ a dark an’ treacherous wave,
An’ aal the efforts that we tried, his life we could not save,
You all know who I mean, his name I need not tell,
He stood in harness at his post, an’ like a hero fell.

Ay, it brings the scene aal back to ye. Thor was a chorus te the sang. Mebbies ye wad like to heor’d. Ye’ve got te heor’d, onnyway:

So attend te yor drills, me lads, an’ aal pull together,
Myek yorsels efficient, for fear o’ stormy weather;
Ye’ve got a name te keep, ye’re knaan fr’ shore te shore,
England’s lookin’ on, me lads. It’s Tinmuth te the fore!

“Elways te the fore i’ them days. Aal th’ uther places wor jillous o’ Tinmuth. Cullercoats was aaful jillous of hor hevin’ a lifeboat.

“Just jillousy, ye knaa. That was wiv Tinmuth bein’ elways forst iv ivverything. Elways te the fore i’ them days. Thor a lang way back noo. Aa’s eftor thinkin.”

🌊 How to Take The Tynemouth Bar and Avoid Being Wrecked:

In 1898, following the famous wrecking of the barque, Diamant, my great-great-grandafther James Linkleter, mentioned above, gave this wise advice to the Shields Daily News on entering the harbour in a storm:

“In an interview with a correspondent, Mr. J. Linkleter, of Tynemouth, who enjoys a world wide reputation for his inventions in life saving apparatus &c., stated that in his opinion that there would be fewer occurrences of the kind if the captains would carry more sail than they do in making the harbour in an easterly gale on an ebb tide.  That is the mistake, he said, made by most foreigners when entering Shields Harbour. A sailing vessel must have the force of the wind behind her to contend against the outgoing tide, which runs very strongly round the edge of the Black Middens and the Battery Point.  Providing no mishap occurs to the steering gear, a vessel is pretty safe to come in all right with a good spread of canvas.  To give point to Mr. Linkleter’s remarks, it was observed that the barque which came in before dusk on Saturday had very little canvas spread, and any defect in the steering gear might easily have led to a repetition of the morning’s exciting incidents.”