by Viv Head

Playmate’s skipper knew these waters well; passage planning meant getting the tides fixed in his mind and a glance at the chart to remind himself of how to get where he wanted to go. It came of something of a surprise then, when, in gathering gloom, he suddenly asked for a course to steer. I disappeared below and after some moments called out a course from the companionway

"What! You want me to steer 060? That would mean a 40 degree turn to starboard. Are you sure?"

Crikey! I went back down for a re-check.

"Yes Skipper, that’s the right course."

"Well if you say so!"

I felt the weight of responsibility on my shoulders!

We both spent anxious minutes straining our eyes in the murkning. Suddenly there it was, the flashing red, on the nose, exactly where it should be. Anxiety turned to a warm glow of smugness but the skipper merely grunted.

Playmate graced the Bristol Channel for more than twenty years, often to be seen nosing out of Bristol or more latterly Portishead, early in the season. A gaff cutter of a little over thirty feet, perhaps ‘graced’ may be the wrong word, but her unmistakable lines gave her a special charm all of her own. Built in Poole Harbour around 1898, she was originally an open fishing boat, then commissioned as a yacht in 1908 when she acquired the name Playmate. In 1924 she was decked and a cabin added and later still, in 1965, a doghouse was fitted. 

Her skipper, John Maxwell, owned her for a quarter of her life, initially sailing out of Gravesend. In 1989 Playmate arrived in Bristol from where she twice cruised to Brittany, later moving berth to Portishead when the new marina opened. Playmate was built every inch a working boat and she retained that character for the rest of her days; there was never anything bright and shiny about her decks or down below! The old brass faucet needed some concentrated pumping to draw enough fresh water to fill the kettle. Things that needed fixing were greased in tallow and the best sort came from left-over bacon fat kept in an evil-smelling tin. But then it was all part of the skipper’s philosophy- it might need a little coaxing, but it still works doesn’t it? John’s oilies were the same, an old wax jacket had been re-proofed with garden fence paint and was held together with a piece of string. In many ways the boat and her skipper were made for each other - both have long, traditional sailing backgrounds and a workmanlike approach with little worry about appearances. At sea at least, for John was a crown court judge in his day job.

Over the years, Playmate’s cabin has played host to many a sing-along accompanied by the strains of John’s mandolin and as often as not it will have finished with a rendition of God Save The King! You see, the music was pretty old too but John saw no reason to update it. In the spirit of that great doyen of Bristol Channel pilot cutter sailors - Bill Tilman, Playmate’s skipper has been heard to grumble - ‘Nobody ever sails with Maxwell twice!’ But that isn’t true because I did several times and enjoyed them all. Well, apart from the time I slipped between the boat and the pontoon and got a soaking in mid-December. But see, even then I was grateful for the old car tyre that was impersonating one of Playmate’s fenders - I could get a knee into it and it made it so much easier to get back on board!

It was May Day weekend and an early season cruise was planned; I joined her at Portishead as mate. There were meant to be several boats, but two proved enough for a fine cruise in company in the end. After a glorious run of sunshine since Easter, the weather had suddenly taken a down-turn, which perhaps was only to be expected on a Bank Holiday weekend. Ambitious plans for a cruise to Swansea Bay and Ilfracombe had to be trimmed.

The fifty-three foot gaff ketch Working Yacht 1 and the smaller gaff cutter Playmate left Portishead with the tide on Friday morning, each with a skipper and mate on board. Leaving at the same time was the newly re-launched Bristol Channel pilot cutter Cornubia and once outside the lock gates we were met by the sight of a second Bristol Channel pilot cutter, Peggy, and yet another large gaff ketch. With the majestic Severn Bridge as a backdrop, it was a fine sight indeed. 

A lively south-westerly Force 4 had us tacking down channel and for a while the boats kept station, matching tack for tack. But slowly the much larger Working Yacht 1 drew ahead in our quest for Barry harbour before the tide turned. She passed between Flat Holm and the fearful Wolves rocks on the Welsh side and was lost from view. Playmate opted for a fast passage between the two Viking Islands before turning onto a starboard reach for Barry. The wind freshened- Force 5, then Force 6, perhaps touching Force 7.  Playmate’s lee rail was well and truly buried in dirty white foam; her skipper struggling to shorten sail on the foredeck. There was one heart-stopping moment when the skipper fell from my view and I feared the worst. But then an arm appeared around the forestay as the old skipper struggled to regain his feet to tame the flailing canvas. An ugly sea churned into a chocolate brown malevolent meringue, every peak topped with grubby spume. As Mark Twain once said of the Mississippi - 'Too thick to drink, too thin to plough'. With tides up to fourteen metres and tracts of drying banks to catch the unwary on the ebb, the Bristol Channel invariably provides a special challenge. In time, the tide turned and the sea settled a little; we hugged the coast and crept into Barry to lie alongside Working Yacht 1 already moored on the pilot buoy. It was good to get in- the bilge pump took a couple of hours to shed the water leached by Playmate’s hundred-and-ten-year-old timbers.

Gusts of wind whipping round the breakwater of the outer harbour led to an uncomfortable night for the boats rafted together.  But the morning was better and we cast off at 0700 for the two-hour passage spanning the tide, to cross to Watchet on the Somerset coast. It rained for much of Saturday as we meandered through the town, catching up with the local brew and taking in the delightful Watchet Boat Museum featuring the last of the Somerset Flatner boats. 

Back at the marina, the falling tide had left most of the vessels lying comfortably to their pontoons in a mud berth, even behind the protective cill at the entrance. A rare experience of a drying marina!  Much time was spent studying the forecast for the next twenty-four hours; a NE Force 6, perhaps F7 was due early the following morning. Not good. A gaffers conference found us leaving on the evening tide in order to get across channel to Penarth before the dirty weather arrived.

The gate of the marina opened and we slithered out through the mud, heading for Lavernock Spit. With a golden sunset to port and the onset of a moody indigo night to starboard, we slipped along the crease of a sky of two halves. The colour of the sea too was divided; a deep tannin brown on one side and the steely grey of languid-flowing lava on the other. Darkness had fallen as we approached North One Fathom, initially well to starboard but the crabbing tide meant we eventually squeezed past just twenty metres from a very solid looking cardinal buoy. Passing Lavernock we turned for the Raine port hand mark, not easy to pick out amongst a myriad of lights on-shore and the many navigation lights at sea. The Raine (pronounced Ranny) is a cornerstone and it is a known fact that if you can’t get round the Raine before the tide turns, you might as turn back. Inevitably, we began to punch the tide but with some help from the iron sail, we were just able to get around. An easier short passage then to make safe harbour through Cardiff Barrage and into Penarth Marina. And there we stayed while Sunday’s predicted Force 7 came and went.

Locking-out at 0800 on Monday morning, a spirited sail with the tide took us back up-channel to Portishead. But a last prolonged gust kicked up the sea into another wicked dirty-brown chop as we crossed the English and Welsh Grounds.  It was as if to say - 'you’re not quite home yet'.

It wasn’t the cruise we had been expecting, but then passages in small boats rarely are. Nevertheless, there was some good, if occasionally challenging, sailing in excellent company. Perhaps though, with the benefit of hindsight, we may have been lucky to get away with it at all!

It turned out to be a seminal year for Playmate.  The following month she made passage to Cardiff Bay for an OGA gathering. On the way, with an inexperienced helmsman, she came rather too close to a starboard mark and gave the stern a bit of a clout. A worry, but temporary repairs saw her safely back to her home port. Then in late summer came the Holms Race, starting at Portishead, sailing down channel to pass between Flat Holm and Steep Holm and back with the tide. On the outward leg, Playmate’s lee decks were under and she started taking on water faster than it could be pumped out. The water in the cabin became so deep that it got into the electrics and the crew were unable to start the engine. A call for assistance went out and Playmate was towed back into Portishead by the lifeboat where she was immediately craned onto the hard. It was her last outing. Removal of soft planks revealed rotten frames and ribs. Some of the remaining planks started to drop because the screws simply pulled out of the frames. The deck beams were no longer securely attached to the hull- a major factor in why she took on so much water and explained why she was permanently damp down below. The surveyor declared her unseaworthy and advised a minimum of £20,000 of repair work to make her safe- more than twice her value even as a seaworthy vessel. 

Few wooden boats of her size last over a hundred years without a lot of money being spent. For many years repairs had been carried out by her skipper at little cost- sadly her time had come, despite all the joy she had brought, there was little option but for her to be broken up.  A sad end of an era, Playmate was one the oldest boats still sailing the Bristol Channel.

Viv Head
2011

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