The Waverley steamer: Paddle into the past

Published on Friday 7 August 2009 14:14

It's 9:45 in the morning and the Waverley has yet to weigh anchor at Glasgow's Plantation Quay. Some passengers are clutching plastic pints of lager and measures of gin and tonic. The intention is not to get plastered. Rather, the drinking is ceremonial; a toast to the voyage ahead and a relinquishing of responsibility while someone else takes the helm.

A group of 15 friends, all men in their forties, have taken over three tables in the below-deck bar, perched on replica 1940s wicker stools. Their ringleader, Paul Connelly, tells me this is the group's fourth trip on the Waverley. "It's the credit crunch tour," he shouts in my ear. "The euro's mince so we're supporting the Scottish economy." Despite spending almost all of their time below deck, Connelly says the annual Waverley trip is about much more than drinking. "The Waverley's special," he says. "There's nothing like her anywhere else in the world." He raises his glass. "I'm pacing myself today. Last time I was pissed before we reached the Erskine Bridge."

The world's last sea-going paddle steamer has been cruising the rivers and lochs of the west of Scotland for 60 years. Her red and black funnels are instantly recognisable and look at home even among the shining titanium of the IMAX cinema and the new Science Centre at Pacific Quay. Built on the Clyde in 1947 and with all her original features restored in 2003, the Waverley is a design classic. On board she is elegant and immaculately maintained, with smooth timber decks and glossy handrails. Each member of crew is responsible for a small area of deck, and a team of seamen continuously polish the brass work with chamois cloths.

With its art deco tearooms and 1940s furniture, the ship's interior is a nostalgia trip in itself. But on deck, watching the Clyde slip by, is where the real history lesson takes place. The Waverley herself is part of the Clyde's story and a link to all that's been lost and the changes that are taking place.

At 10am we set sail with three blasts from the engine. Steam gusts from the funnels and we ease down the Clyde towards the coast. From the vantage point of the water, the city's riverside secrets are revealed: the tracts of wasteland around the Govan docks, less than half a mile from the glossy, multi-million pound media quarter at Pacific Quay. On the north bank, new housing developments quickly peter out to nothing, modern flats stand empty next to those sold at the peak of the housing market. At the Fairfield yard in Govan, once the biggest shipbuilders in the world, the massive HMS Defender is being assembled, while on the opposite bank, HMS Dragon and HMS Diamond sit in dry docks.

The Waverley's on-board commentary lists the names of the many disused docks and decommissioned shipyards, along with the precise dates of their closures and the number of men once employed by them. Fairfield once had a labour force of 5,000. A&J Inglis, at Pointhouse, where the Waverley was fitted out, closed in 1963. There is a note of bitterness in the voice over the tannoy, anger at the hand the Clyde has been dealt.

Further west we pass Clydebank and the site of the former John Brown shipyard, which launched the QE2 and Queen Mary. From the top of the Titan Crane, day-trippers wave at the ship as we cruise by. We wave back, but from the river we can see that at the foot of the crane lies yards of rubble and waste.

By the time we reach Greenock, our commentator is not mincing his words. "The Waverley has a strong connection with Greenock," he says. "Her engine was constructed here and she still sails from the pier and receives her annual check-up in the dry dock. But Greenock has suffered. Many, many yards closed here. They've now been replaced with housing developments, supermarkets and motorways. As you can see."

As we pass, two cranes stand at awkward angles over the empty dock, bent like broken limbs against the grey sky.

Below-deck, a queue has formed for the bacon and egg rolls being served in the dining saloon. The bar is also filling up. Paul Connelly's friend, Martin Knight, explains the peculiar affection he feels for the Waverley. "It's a bit of a sentimental journey," he says. "The last bit of doon the watter. Most of our fathers worked in the shipyards so sailing past the old yards or the sites of the old yards is part of our generation's heritage. The Waverley connects us to the Clyde's past. I love her, she's a wee baby and she's dead old but she's still going. I was nearly suicidal when I heard she'd crashed."

Six weeks ago, the Waverley hit the pier while docking at Dunoon. No-one was seriously injured, although one passenger was taken from the ship in a wheelchair, thought to be concussed.

We make a brief stop at Kilcreggan, near Helensburgh, where a dozen new passengers join us. Up ahead are the shores of Loch Long, Loch Goil and the Gareloch. Beyond them, the peaks of the central Highlands. The sky is turning to a metallic grey, the same colour as the warships sitting in the Scotstoun yard. Half an hour later we reach Dunoon and come within jumping distance of the pier. The scheduled stop is cancelled, however, leaving dozens of disappointed travellers waiting for a refund by the harbour. The purser blames the weather for the change of plan.

Although there is a strong breeze, the weather doesn't seem particularly harsh for the west of Scotland and I can't understand how a typically blustery summer's day could make it impossible or dangerous to berth.

"It's blowing a good five," says Captain Ian Clark. "We won't put her at risk." Clark is taking no chances with his passengers' safety or with the precious ship in his charge.

"Paddle steamers were always bumping into things," says chief engineer, Bob Cornford. "They go aground all the time and it's nothing to do with poor navigation. They are difficult ships to steer because of their design and back in their heyday bumps and knocks were expected." Cornford explains that because of the Waverley's side-mounted paddles, the ship's rudder is located in the middle of the vessel, rather than at the back where it's found on most other ships of its size, making it especially cumbersome to manoeuvre.

More so than ferries, steam ships are at the mercy of the elements and the tides. As a visitor to smaller ports around the west of Scotland, the poor state of many old piers is another obstacle for the paddle steamer. Delays in repair work at Largs pier, for instance, has meant that the ship has been unable to dock at this popular stopping point for much of the summer.

As a unique link to the Clyde, and to Glasgow's past, the Waverley also connects many of its passengers to their memories of childhood holidays in the Clyde resorts of Millport, Rothesay and Dunoon.

We approach Rothesay harbour on the Isle of Bute and for the first time all day I see Paul Connelly venture above board. "My mum packed me off to Rothesay for six weeks when I was a kid," he says. "My dad had had a heart-attack and my mum needed rid of me and my nine brothers and sisters while she looked after him in Glasgow. I stayed in a kids' residential home. I'll never forget it." He points up the hill beyond the old swimming baths. "Up there somewhere," he says, suddenly sounding completely sober.

Elizabeth Wilson is standing on deck gazing at the same view. Later, as we leave the harbour, she has tears in her eyes. "My daddy went to Rothesay every year and took me down to see the Waverley's engines. Now I take a cruise two or three times a year if I can and it all comes back to me."

We make our scheduled stop, arriving to the sound of a piper on the pier. Everyone disembarks for a quick mooch around the Victorian bandstand and winter gardens. A car ferry berths alongside us and I'm struck by how noisy it is, with vehicles rolling on and off, how unwieldy it seems next to the paddle steamer. Its machinery clunks and groans, and a rank cloud of diesel fills the air.

As we pull out of Rothesay harbour the weather breaks. Within minutes the timber decks are drenched and all of the morning's brass-work polishing is wasted. We leave the shelter of the bay and head back into the estuary where the swell lashes the sides of ship and we ditch and rock in the grey water. Everyone heads below deck. The bar is packed. Colin MacDonald and Andy Menzies, both in their late 60s, pick up their guitar and drumsticks and take their place in the corner of the bar. The duo has been entertaining passengers on the Waverley for 21 years. Andy tries a bit of David Bowie but soon intuits the crowd's preference for 'It's a long way to Tipperary'.

"I nearly lost ma teeth there," he says between songs. "Do you want a lend of mine?" someone shouts back.

Eighty-year-old Duncan Bulloch gets up for a staggery dance. A few others join him while a young mum with a toddler in her arms wanders past. The swell of the tide is forgiving of drunk and wobbly legs. It's hard to tell if people are staggering because of the drink or the tip and sway of the steamer. We're heading back to Glasgow now. The sights have been seen and the poor weather means it's impossible to stay on deck. There's little for it but to sit it out in the bar and drink. Do things ever get out of hand?

Not really, says Jimmy Tickets, aka Jim McFadzean, the Waverley's purser. He's worked on the ship for 22 years, "too bloody long", he says with a laugh. "In all those years and all those millions of people I've carried on this ship, I could count the number of times we've had to get the police involved on one hand. That says a lot about the people that come on her, I think. Have you noticed there's always laughter from the crew?" he asks. "We're a happy crew on a happy ship and I think that rubs off on the passengers. I stand at the gangway at the end of every trip and shake people's hands as they leave. I've never had an adverse comment. Every single person tells me what a great day they've had. Even in the pouring rain people love being on the Waverley and they love keeping her here on the Clyde."

I finally meet the voice behind the tannoy announcements: Ian Quinn, the ship's quartermaster. "The Waverley is the people's ship," he tells me. "Everyone on board right now is contributing to her future and to keeping her afloat."

After a couple of tough years, with steep fuel costs and poor summer weather leading to low bookings, the Waverley's finances were suffering. An appeal and fundraising drive by legions of supporters raised 250,000 but a good season this summer is still critical to keeping her going. She is an expensive ship to run. Quinn is passionate about the Waverley's viability as well as that of the ports she calls at. "A lot of local economies depend on the Waverley to quite an extent," he says. "A lot of the resorts on the Clyde would be finished if it wasn't for the Waverley's visits. What would take you up the Kyles of Bute without the Waverley? Nothing. You'd never see these places again."

I join Quinn and Captain Clark in the bridge, the calmest part of the ship. We glide up the river and approach the city in near silence.

Clark gives orders to his second in command and quartermaster. "Concentrate now," he says as we ease past the old Govan docks. "Steady as she goes."

"Everywhere she goes people think of the Waverley as their own," says Quinn.

Captain Clark tells me that on a day off he once watched her cruise up the Bristol Channel (the Waverley sails on various routes around Britain]. An onlooker joined him on the shore and said: "Look at her, isn't she something." "I didn't tell him I captained her, I just said, 'Yes, she's something.' The man turned to me and said in a Bristol accent, 'She's ours you know'." In Southampton, people think the Waverley belongs to them. Londoners line the Thames to watch her pass Tower Bridge.

Quinn points to the site of the future Riverside Museum. Designed by Zaha Hadid and scheduled to open in 2011, it will tell the story of the Clyde and house replicas of the hundreds of ships built on the river. For Quinn it is especially poignant as the musuem's location rests on the site of the old A&J Inglis yard, the one in which the Waverley was constructed.

"Models of ships built here," he says, the familiar edge of pride and anguish in his voice. "But this one is still alive."

The Waverley's Clyde cruises continue until 31 August, after which she visits the Thames and the south of England. The paddle steamer returns to the Clyde October 16-19, when she will escort the Queen Mary 2 down the river, www.waverleyexcursions.co.uk