For the shipwrecked, worse things happen on shore

Bella Bathurst

HarperCollins, 16.99

HOW safe is the sailor who reaches shore after shipwreck? Is dry land really the haven it appears to be? Not according to Bella Bathurst’s engrossing and thoroughly researched history of shipwreck in Britain: sailors lucky enough to reach land were as likely to fall victim to the depredations of "wreckers", those who steal plunder from shipwrecks, as they were to lose their lives in the sea.

And just in case we think that this practice died out with the advent of the coastguard more than 150 years ago, Bathurst provides documentary evidence for people plundering shipwrecks as recently as 1997 in the Scilly isles. Recognising that those who steal from shipwrecks are unlikely to document their own crimes, she relies heavily on interviews with old sea-dogs from around Britain to show that the tradition of wrecking goes back as far as seafaring itself, supporting evidence from her interviews with documents such as the first statutes against wrecking recorded in the 12th century.

Where documentary evidence and interviews cannot provide the colour, Bathurst quite fairly resorts to her own imagination to colour in the detail. In these passages, her skills as a novelist, rather than those of a popular historian, come to the fore, with rich descriptions of the dangers of the sea: "Passengers... could still find themselves backing inexorably onto a lee shore or yanked by the currents on to a sandbank or staring upwards into a lump of blue-black sea with their name written on it."

Bathurst has succeeded wonderfully in bringing to light the little known and vibrant tradition of petty and not-so-petty theft that has flourished around Britain’s coast for 800 years. From the Orcadians who stole pianos, whisky and tinned peaches to the Cornishmen who would steal the brass fittings from a sinking ship, then bury their loot until the official salvors had lost interest, the whole of Britain has never shrunk from getting something for free off a sinking ship.

One of the reasons why this book works comes from its structure: organising chapters around the geography of Britain allows Bathurst to concentrate on the myths, legends and statutes particular to that place. This also allows her to examine those peculiarities of current and shoreline that make stretches of water like the Pentland Firth such rich pickings for local wreckers. More disturbing, and rarely discussed either by interviewees or in written documents, are suggestions that wreckers encouraged ships in distress on to the rocks, then beat or otherwise killed exhausted passengers and crew to gain quick access to their loot.

Written with wit and style - "The west coast speaks of dreams. The east coast just whispers, ‘piss off’" - The Wreckers illuminates the dark side of Britain’s seafaring tradition, as well as proving that your average Briton has always been ready to do anything for a bargain.

In her epilogue, Bathurst notes that we are far from safe from the dangers of shipwreck, modern technology and safety mechanisms notwithstanding, since, "the sea and technology still make wrecking possible... wrecking always did satisfy some very fundamental side of human nature."

There is something in the British character that makes us a nation of shipwreck-scavengers, Bathurst argues, and she captures that spirit in this book.