Solving puzzling tale
OVER several centuries the Southport (and North Meols) coastline has been – and still is – a very dangerous one, with literally hundreds of ocean-going vessels coming to grief here.
Local legends are rife with associated stories of mishap and intrigue.
But there is always one particular ship that still comes up in conversation, time after time, for the simple reason it appears on so many seafront photographs and postcards.
If you took a stroll down the Promenade in the early to mid1890s, passing the old pier forecourt bustling with daytrippers or hurrying to the paddle-steamers to venture to other resorts north or south along the coast, you would have almost certainly spotted a sailing ship marooned in the sand, about 100yd north from the centre of the pier.
So, how and why did this mysteriously stranded shipping vessel get where it was?
Confusion reigns. What was it called?
Why was it there so long? What happened to it?
So many questions – shiver me timbers, this is a job for the History Hunters.
Even the ship’s name may not mean anything to the majority of people, but those interested in nostalgia would have seen the large vessel popping in to view just north of the pier, as if a permanent structure on the beach.
Surely it couldn’t be the same ship, or just coincidence that it was plying its trade as a photographer took a scenic snap of the seafront?
Well, there are two sides to this story.
One is that the wooden vessel became stranded after failing to navigate the channels, and was left high and dry on the shoreline until it was purchased as an attraction; the other suggests it was a publicity stunt, brought here and beached on purpose to be a tourist attraction, a “show boat” – so not a shipwreck at all.
The truth has been drowned by the mists of time, or at least for the time being, but here is what we do know.
We know for a fact that the stranded ship in question is often confused with another that was stuck on the shore for a while – the Lily Baynes – which also became a great attraction and a source of amusement and curiosity.
The problem being that only experts like Southport’s superb maritime historian, Martyn Griffiths, can properly distinguish them, despite the fact that one is a barque and the latter is a schooner.
Both, in the past, have been described simply as “the wreck”.
Other vessels it is sometimes mistakenly linked to are the barquentine Lattonia and the iron barque The Albert William.
With good advice from Martyn, Sue and I have pieced together all the facts that are now known.
To begin with, the name of the nautical poser – an old, large, merchant vessel – was the William Fisher, and this near 320-ton three-masted barque was built in 1844, in Liverpool; consisting of a wooden construction it was 104ft long, 26ft wide and 18ft deep.
However, as ship No 25631 she was registered in Maryport (which remained the ship’s home port) possibly in 1862 as there is an official reference to then; another date documented, from Maryport, is 1871.
It appears the ship operated from the Cumbrian ports of Whitehaven and Maryport in its last days, following some 18 years on deep sea service.
Martyn tells us that a document stating “Signal letter PGSQ” are the International Code letters for the vessel, used for quick identification at sea between vessels and the shore; this of course would have been done by flag signals hoisted up the mast, which was the only way to communicate before the wireless (radio) was invented.
The wooden barque was, apparently, named after an active Navy officer – Captain, Lieutenant and then ultimately Commander, William Fisher.
The William Fisher had a distinctive masthead – a fullsize male figure, and this is believed to have been a likeness of the commander himself, pointing the way forward.
William Fisher, also a novelist, was the second son of John Fisher, of Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, and born on November 18, 1780.
He entered the Navy in 1795 serving in the North Sea and Mediterranean before becoming Acting Lieutenant of HMS Foudroyant off Egypt in September 1801, three months after the 80-gun battleship had served as Lord Nelson’s flagship; the famous Capt Hardy had also been her captain – quite possibly when Fisher was aboard.
Unfortunately, the Founroyant eventually came to grief off Blackpool in 1897 during a violent storm and crashed into the North Pier, but all 27 of her crew were saved by the lifeboat.
After vain attempts to refloat her, her guns were removed and she finally broke up in the