Ferry Tale

Usually by poor planning I was often the last passenger to get aboard the old Humber Ferry as it prepared to cast off and head from New Holland on the south bank across to the Corporation Pier at the end of Queen Street in Hull.

My family had moved from Brigg, in Lincolnshire to Beverley some 8 miles north of Hull in the august of 1979. My mates and formative years, I felt, had been left behind and until I became settled in the new house, school and town I found myself drawn back to familiar Brigg for weekends.

My peer group had just got through our 'O' Levels and before the results were known we intended to party hard through the summer. It was the time of party cans of beer and my friends all had older brothers who could get it for us. I cadged space on the floors of friends but as we were too young to drive we had the embarassment of having to rely on respective parents for lifts.

The drive to catch the return ferry on a sunday afternoon was always rushed. The roads to the ferry were all very rural and usually clogged with farmers harvesting , day-trippers looking for a pub lunch or somewhere to park up and read the papers. We usually arrived a bit like the flying squad in a cloud of dust and spray of gravel after having to make up time in the last couple of miles after a very slow impeded journey. Those arriving by train at the pier were taken straight down to the slipway but foot passengers had to endure the seemingly endless and often weather beaten walk on the old sleeper boards with the mud or tideline visible through the gaps.

Although last on the walkway I could see other poor souls making the same last ditch effort to catch the ferry and the whole scene must have looked a bit like a maniacal version of the Olympic walking event where everyone was cheating. It certainly caused shin ache and a lot of subsequent attempts to conceal either a very poor level of overall fitness or a skinful of beer the night before. I could barely speak if I had participated in the jetty sprint.

Once on board I could settle myself and regain some composure before seeking out a cup of tea or staying up on deck to observe the crossing. The journey usually took between 20 minutes and half an hour dependant on the strength of the tide but each sailing was slightly different in its initial direction to get into the deep water channel. The New Holland pier was directly opposite the St Andrew's Dock but the actual plotted course was quite tortuous to reach the Hull Pier adjacent to the old horsewash further to the east.

My older sister, on a crossing from Hull , along with a full contingent of passengers had to be recovered from the ferry by another vessel after it had run aground or broken down or both. The ferry to Hull had figured a lot in my teenage years. I had travelled on it during an exchange weekend with a scout troop in the west of the city.

Coming from a small and sleepy market town of about 3500 population it was a big event to go to a huge city like Hull with its built up skyline including and high rise blocks . I was usually quite anxious. My fears were of course wholly unjustified and irrational but played upon by the great mistrust between the north and south humber residents that must have been brewing unhealthily since at least Roman times if not before in pre-history.

On family shopping trips we would insist that our first stop was at Sydney Scarborough's, a record shop under Hull City Hall and with two floors of vinyl and pop artefacts. A wondrous place after being restricted to a record counter in our small town's Woolworths which only stocked the some of the top 20 singles on a good day. The ferry boats carried passengers and cars and was always, in my memory, busy being an essential form of transport where the equivalent road trip was in excess of 60 miles the long way around via the Boothferry Bridge.

I think that my last use of the ferry was shortly before the service was scrapped as it made way for the Humber Bridge. The vast project to complete the suspension bridge was in clear view of the ferry route for many years and must have been morale sapping for the crew and operational staff. The ferry boats fared very differently after being withdrawn from service.

The paddle steamer Lincoln Castle was for a short time moored at the foot of the North tower of the Humber Bridge and run as a pub and later in the same role in Grimsby before rotting away and suffering an unceremonious scrapping. Her sister vessel, PS Tattershall Castle managed to escape to London in 1981 and remains moored as a landmark on The Embankment and I understand has recently been refitted at great cost. I am sure that I will have also been aboard The Wingfield Castle prior to its withdrawal from service in 1974. She lives on the historic Hartlepool waterfront as an attraction of the maritime heritage of that town.

I sometimes go down to the Pier for a quiet moment of reflection although the area is far from a derelict backwater. The Deep, just on the old Sammy's Point at the mouth of the River Hull is a major draw for visitors who invariably stray across to experience the sights and sounds of the Old Pier.

The grand ticket office is now converted into stylish apartments .Long gone are the days of a last gasp dash from the ticket office to the Pier other than to get the last latte of the day at the small Cafe that now occupies the surviving and thriving riverside buildings.