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Got a fishing story you'd like to share?
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 Women and Children First - Not AlwaysBy Paul B. Kidd I've been involved in a few life-threatening circumstances at sea over the years and no matter the danger to those on board, it was always a case of women and children to be rescued first, even if it was at the cost of the lives of any of the men on board. After all, that is the unwritten law of the sea. But is that always the case? Not so it seems. But more about that in a minute. Back in the early '70s I was a deckhand on an 11m game fishing boat out of Port Stephens on the northern NSW coast. We were heading back to port one afternoon when out of the blue a squall from the south hit us. It was as flat as a pizza base one minute and chaotic the next. The angry front was only a couple of miles wide but its cracking lightning, blinding rain and gusting winds of up to about 60 knots whipped the sea into a frenzy and created waves of up to 10m high. It was as black as hell and seemed like it was the end of the world. The Apocalypse. And then it was gone, leaving us to almost surf in on the giant waves it left in its wake. But others in smaller craft had been less fortunate. Between the headlands at the entrance to Port Stephens, the shallow water had created huge waves from the squall and lots of small fishing boats had been caught unawares. Those who were wise to the ways of the sea had seen the disaster coming and cut their anchor ropes and fled rather than risk pulling it up and being caught and possibly drowned. As we steamed into the maelstrom we almost ran over a 6m cabin cruiser that was sinking before our eyes. The two men and one woman on board had put on life jackets in readiness for their anticipated swim, but I doubt that they would have survived if we hadn't have come along when we did. They would have been swept onto the nearby rocks and most likely pounded to death. The waves breaking over them were huge and by the time we got to their boat it had sunk except for the bow which was sticking about a metre out of the water and they were clinging to it. All the men could think about was the safety of the woman. "Save Gladys, save Gladys," they called as our skipper maneuvered our boat to within distance to throw a line and drag them aboard without swamping them in the horrendous seas. The men risked their lives by letting go of their boat and tying the rope around the lady, who, incredibly, seemed to be the calmest of them all. Once secured to the life-line, we dragged her to us and over the tuck of the boat to safety. Around her neck she had her handbag which was the only thing she had time to grab before the boat sunk. That's woman's intuition for you. Then we got the two blokes the same way. I've never gotten over how concerned they were for Gladys who turned out to be one of the men's wives. There was no hesitation in getting her to safety first, even if it meant them drowning. On our way from Sydney down to the Sir John Young Banks off Nowra one summer day we came across a yacht that was sinking in dead calm seas after apparently striking a submerged object. Of the seven people on board, only the two children and the lady were wearing lifejackets when we found them clinging to their half inflated dinghy alongside the stricken yacht about a mile offshore. There was no question that the three lifejackets they managed to grab as the yacht capsized should go to the kids and the lady. That's the law of the sea. Special Constable John Whitehead, of the Sydney Water Police, tells me that they have never aided in a sea rescue where it has ever been anything but the case of women and children first. That's the way it is in Australia and for that matter, most parts of the world. But not all. The rule of the sea of 'women and children first' rather than 'every man for himself', seems to be as old as marining itself. And the other unwritten law of the sea was that the captain always went down with his ship, unless it was avoidable. After a long voyage from England in 1878, the ill-fated passenger ship Loch Ard struck a reef off the Australian coast and after seeing that all who could reach safety had, Captain George Gibb gallantly went down with his ship in true British Maritime tradition. In 1852, when the troopship HMS Birkenhead struck a reef off South Africa, over 400 sailors and officers stood on deck and went down with their ship after the women and children had filled the only available lifeboats. Whether or not a liner's orchestra can be considered crew is debatable. Yet the band struck up a ragtime tune (if you want to win a bet in the pub the tune was Alexander's Ragtime Band) as the Titanic sank and they sank with her. Hence the Harry Chapin song 'The Dance Band on The Titanic', which prompted such classic lines as 'The iceberg's on the starboard bow - won't you dance with me?' The Titanic's pursers shook hands with First Officer Lightoller (he survived) and said "Goodbye, old man," and went down with their ship. The Titanic's captain, Edward Smith, also sunk with his ship and the last time Captain Smith was seen alive, he was saving a child. Such acts of bravery are but a few in the long history of seafaring. But it doesn't always turn out that way. The sinking of the Achilles Lauro in 1994 brought with it tales of cowardice and looting by the Italian and South American crew members and eye witnesses reported them elbowing women and children out of the way to get to the lifeboats first. Once there, there was no budging them. One officer even ripped off his uniform so he would look like a passenger. Passengers complained that the Achilles Lauro's officers and crew showed little or no interest in the survival of passengers and when survivors were transferred to a rescue ship from the life boats, some of the crew were already on board, showered and in fresh clothes. So much for gallantry. The Greek liner Laconia sunk off Madeira in 1963, taking with it 125 British passengers due to what the official inquiry described as 'gross negligence on carrying out procedures for abandoning ship' by the surviving captain and his crew. But the classic of them all would have to be the captain of the Oceanis which sunk off South Africa in 1991 without loss of life. The captain was the first over the side with many of his crew in hot pursuit, much to the bewilderment of the 380 passengers. "I couldn't care less what people say about me," he later stated. "When I say 'abandon ship' that means everybody and it doesn't matter who gets off first and that includes me. 'Abandon' is for everyone." I wonder if he'd give his seat to a lady on a bus? Hardly. (21 May 2002) |
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