What a storm

Yorkshire Evening Post, 3 September 1931

Well, that was quite a storm in more ways than one. We’d had such a hot summer, and the old men in the Bay Hotel were telling anyone who would listen (and a few that wouldn’t) that there was a storm on the way.

The next morning the rain on the roof woke me up. I tried to hide under the bedclothes and go back to sleep but it was no good. I gave up and went down to the kitchen. Mum had given up too and we had a cup of tea together, watching the rain and the wind battering the last few roses that grew in the pots next to the window.
Mid-morning, I wrapped myself up in my mac and headscarf, with my good shoes in my bag, and fought my way against the cold Easterly wind down the hill from The Square to the dock, to help set up lunch for the residents at The Bay. Clearly no-one actually had listened last night in the bar because there was a line of cobles still anchored out about a quarter of a mile offshore, and the sea was running very high.

I waved to Henry and Elliott Duke who were walking towards the slipway. They were heading over towards Robert, Reuben and Tom Storm, who were looking out at the cobles. I slipped into the hotel; I couldn’t be late as I knew Mr Edwin Collinson would have something to say.

I’d just finished laying the tables when I saw a group of people from the hotel looking out of the window. I squeezed through and saw the Dukes and the Storms all crammed into a Norwegian skiff, trying to get to the cobles. The waves were breaking over the little boat. It filled with water and went over, with four of them in the water and one – I think it was Elliott by the colour of his gansey – clinging to the bottom of the upside-down boat. There was a shout from the crowd on the shore, and then we saw Oliver Storm – everyone round here knows Oliver – dragging another little boat through the crowd. Reuben and George Bulmer, who are father and son, and George Duke rushed to join him, and they rowed hard through the waves.

They managed to pull the four men out of the sea. Even from the hotel window we could see that it was a real struggle, and a little cheer went up, and an even bigger one when then pulled poor old Reuben Storm onto the boat using a rope.

Elliot Duke was still clinging to the upturned skiff, and it was drifting towards the rocks. The girl next to me, Ann, was crying quietly, and I remembered that someone had said that she was stepping out with Elliott. I put my arm round her and told her that Oliver Storm was the lifeboat coxswain and he would save him. They threw a rope to the poor lad and he grabbed for it as if his life depended on it – which it actually did. Ann gave a little scream and hid her face in my shoulder, and I shook her gently and told her to look, because they were pulling Elliott on board. I hoped she didn’t see the empty boat getting dashed to pieces on the rocks.

The rescue boat was so crowded that we thought it might capsize. Everyone held their breath as it struggled through the heavy seas to the cobles anchored out in the bay. The rescued men climbed into the cobles and after what seemed like an age everyone got back to shore, with the crowd shouting and cheering.
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There was a cough behind us, and it was Mr Collinson, with one eyebrow raised, wondering when we were all going to get back to work. We scurried away, but I did notice that he gave Ann a clean handkerchief and a pat on the shoulder as she bustled back to the kitchen.