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Oysterskiffs and fishing boats near Village Lane
My family on my father’s side has lived in Mumbles for generations. My great-grandparents lived in Village Lane, when it was the only road in Mumbles and it was there that my grandfather was born.
When he grew to young manhood, the main employment in Mumbles was to work in one of the two limestone quarries—one near the Castle Field and the other in what is now the car park behind the Conservative Club—or go to sea. He went to sea for many years and then he met my grandmother but she did not like the idea of him being away for months or even years at a time.
However, oysters were plentiful in the Bristol Channel, and skiffs from Mumbles were successful in the dredging of them. There were people who were willing to buy and equip the boats if they could get experienced crews to work them.
I have seen a list of the oyster skiffs that had been registered at Swansea Docks from 1869, and in three different places are the names of William Burt as Owner and John Davies as Master—he was my grandfather. The first skiff was number 121, ‘Emmeline’. The second was number 150, ‘H.J.’ Grandpa also sailed number 152, ‘Wild Wave’ for Thomas Davies, and number 160, ‘W.M.D.’ for William Davies, but most of the time he worked with William Burt.
The oyster beds were scattered over the bottom of the channel from the Metz Haul off Ogmore to the Abyssinian Haul off St. Govan’s. Later, some were found off Caldy Island and Stackpole in Pembrokeshire.
I have two brass rings of different sizes which have the words ‘Swansea Oyster ad Mussel Fishery Ring’ embossed around the edge. I do not know of any mussel industry, but if an oyster could be passed through the larger ring, then it was too small to be sold and was put in what was known as ‘the plantations’ to grow.
The perches were areas measuring one rod, pole or perch. They were marked out by large stones on the pebbles by the Knab Rock and stretched towards the sea. The oysters were put at the end of the perches, further out and so were under water longer.
The news of the oyster industry spread and many boats from other ports along the channel joined in. After some years, the beds became over-fished and the industry declined. Within ten years, there were only about forty skiffs in Mumbles. Those who were left had to search diligently for sparse catches.
One day, Grandpa had searched further that he usually did and he found a very good bed of oysters. He came in with a good haul, while those of the others were poor. They all wanted to know the location of the bed, but he knew that if he told them then the bed would be dredged bare in a very short time. He told no one. He was unpopular, although they admitted that they would do the same in his place. They started to follow him every time he went down channel. By then his boat was old and slow and he found it very difficult to avoid them. So Mr. Burt bought a new boat and named it ‘Secret’, 173. Being a modern boat, it was faster and did well for years. When that bed was dredged bare, they decided to retire from oyster dredging. ‘Secret’ was cleaned and taken across the bay to the South Dock and was advertised ‘For Sale’ in 1890.
Oysterskiffs at Mumbles
In common with many oystermen and fishermen, Grandpa was a member of the lifeboat crew. In those days, it was an open boat rowed by ten oarsmen and there was no difficulty in finding a crew. The tragedy, which affected Grandpa the most, was the wreck of the ‘Cornish Diamond’ on the Mixon Sands (20 April 1871). The boats from Cornwall were regular callers coming over with ballast and emptying it on the shore of a cove (Ed. Note: Horsepool). The boats would then be filled with limestone from the quarries, among other uses, the limestone would be mixed with the Cornish china clay to whiten it. The crews often stayed overnight and became friendly with the local people. One day, ‘ Cornish Diamond’ was caught in a storm and was helpless; she was driven onto the Mixon Sands. The waves were so high that the lifeboat could not get near her, and the crew was all washed away. The Skipper’s body was the only one to be recovered; the others were never found. He was buried in All Saints’ Churchyard, in the second row of graves from the wall which borders Church Park Lane and is now a car park.
On 27 January 1883, the lifeboat was launched to go to the aid of a German ship, the ‘Admiral Adalbert’. The trip ended in disaster. Grandpa would have been on board, but he had gone to Cardiff to take his daughter, Rose, to a post that had been offered her. When he returned home, he went to see if he could help in any way. Two sons of the coxswain were in Bob’s Cave under the lighthouse and one of them had a broken leg. Grandpa and a few other men took his boat across and brought them ashore. The Coxswain, Jenkin Jenkins, lost two other sons, John and William and a son-in-law, William Macnamara, in that disaster.
My Grandpa Darling died in November 1914 when I was six years old. He and I were the best of friends. I never remember him using my name; he always said ‘My lil maid’ in old Mumbles dialect and to me he was always Grandpa Darling. He taught me to knit and how to do Scotch knitting. I have used that stitch many times since to make warm scarves.
When Grandpa died, I was dressed in deepest black, but was considered too small to walk in the funeral. I went to the cemetery with a friend of Mother’s and we united between the gates and the fountain. The first I saw of the funeral were eight or ten men dressed in black oilskins and sou’westers and I realised that I was seeing the Lifeboatmen— as a crew—for the first time.
They divided into two lines, one each side of the door towards the gate; the column of men passed between them and walked to the Chapel, then divided into lines either side of the door towards the gates. As the men carrying the coffin came towards the gates, the Lifeboatmen took it onto their shoulders and carried it between the two rows of men, then into the Chapel. Dad and his eldest sister led the mourners and as Mother came past, she held out her hand to me; I took it and we went into the Chapel.
There were two long rows of pews along either wall; the rear one was one step higher than the front one. A raised dais with a banister railing round it, formed the pulpit at the end of the Chapel. The coffin, on a bier was in the middle of the room. The Curate conducted the service and then the Lifeboatmen came forward and took the coffin again.
Grandpa was buried in a plot that is in a straight line with the end of the Chapel and all the men had lined up on both sides of the path as far as the grave. It was so very dignified and respectful.
Just eleven months later, in October 1915, my dear brother Freddie died one week after his eleventh birthday. His funeral was attended by most of the men of the Mumbles Railway (My father was Stationmaster at Rutland Street Station) who were bearers all the way to the cemetery.
I rode in one of Pressdee’s carriages with Mum and Dad and once again we went to the Chapel, which will always be sacred to me, although I was so young.
Maisie Harris, with her knitting
Extracts from ‘Everyday Life in Old Mumbles,’ published in 1988
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