'Disaster' in Bristol that attracted looters from all over
In the early hours of Saturday September 6 1924, the SS Ettrick left Hotwells, bound for Belfast and then Glasgow.
A twin-screw steamer of 965 tons, the Ettrick was 230ft long and 22ft in the beam had been built in 1894 for the Glasgow shipping firm of Sloan & Sons in 1894.
She was carrying a mixed cargo of Bristol manufactures, including chocolate, cigarettes, bottled cider, boots and shoes, cloth and other items as diverse as flour and table cutlery. There were also eight passengers, two of them children.
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While historians and public memory alike tend to fixate on the port of Bristol’s trade with foreign lands, the voyage of the Ettrick to elsewhere in the UK was typical of much of the port’s business in the days before road transport.
Captain White and his crew were experienced mariners, and knew perfectly well the hazards of sailing down the winding, tidal River Avon, but they were in thick fog.
They had only missed one of the Port Authority’s dredgers when they ran aground just above Horseshoe Bend at about 1.15am.
Things might have ended differently. One of the CJ King tugboats was close by, and rushed to help.
But it was no use, and now the tide was falling. As it did so, the ship started to list. Captain White decided that it was time to abandon ship.
The passengers went first. One of the women would later recall clambering down the side of the ship, wading through mud to get to the shore. They made their way to Shirehampton where they knocked up the landlord of a pub in the middle of the night and were looked after there before getting taxis back to Bristol in the morning. They had left their luggage on the Ettrick and this particular lady said she never saw hers again.
White’s crew were next, scrambling off just before the ship toppled onto her side.
Although reports from the time say the ship’s cat was lost, there were no deaths or injuries.
But for the port of Bristol it was a disaster. Sunrise revealed that the ship was blocking the river to everything but the smallest vessels.
The first real losers were those among the local Welsh community who had been looking forward to an outing on the paddle steamer Britannia to Cardiff where they were to watch Cardiff City at home to Leeds United. This was the first ever season in which a Welsh side had been in the FA Cup competition and the fans now stuck in Bristol would have been doubly disappointed when they learned their heroes had thrashed the Northerners 3-0.
As news spread through Bristol of the Ettrick’s plight, sightseers started coming out in their hundreds; a few came in cars or on foot, many more took the train to Sea Mills.
But those living nearby, at Shirehampton and Sea Mills got there first, while many came over in boats from Pill.
Attempts to re-float the ship on the midday tide failed, though not before it was decided to try and lighten her by jettisoning some of the cargo. It was probably also true that some of the hatches had opened anyway when she keeled over, and cases had just floated off.
Much of it ended up on the mudbanks, or on the shore, and every Bristolian worthy of the name back then would have had a rudimentary knowledge of the law of salvage. Hundreds of people saw the cargo of the Ettrick as fair game.
Russell Collins, who died in 2008 at the age of 90, wrote a piece for the Post many years ago, describing his upbringing in Pill.
Young Russell was just one of the locals who took full advantage of the Ettrick’s misfortune. He recalled gorging himself on Fry’s Five Boys chocolate for weeks afterwards.
He wrote of how when he arrived a police constable was guarding a pile of salvage, but someone by the name of Captain Preston (sea captain? Former military rank?) came over and said: “I’ll take the policeman round to see some more salvage round the corner and, when I am gone, help yourselves.”
We loaded all we could carry and then ran to the back alleyways to hide our bounty. My parents did very well out of the salvage. My uncle, who lived with us, was a hobbler and able to take salvage from the wreck using his own boat.
Charging one shilling (5p) a trip, he used to take men up the river to look at the boat on its side, and I used to go with him. Hundreds of others viewed the ship from the shore which stayed there a long time before being eventually towed away.
The Ettrick’s owners weren’t putting up with this. On Monday September 8, some 20 men of varying ages were up before the magistrates at Bristol Police Court.
Their addresses were equally varied, ranging from Cotham and Redland to two men living in huts at the former First World War Remount Depot at Shirehampton.
Mr E. Gerrish, prosecuting for Messrs. Sloan & Son, Glasgow, stated that the hatch boards on the ship fell out and that amongst the goods going into the water were cases of chocolate, tobacco and hosiery, and that as soon as the cases came ashore they were broached in “a disgraceful orgy of robbery”.
Mr Gerrish did concede that those who took the goods might have believed they were entitled to do so. A police sergeant, called as a witness, stated that he had seen several men and boys openly carrying the purloined items, mostly cigarettes.
He noted that a guilty man might run away at the sight of a police officer, and that all of them had the opportunity to do so, but none did. When he asked various individuals what they were carrying, they freely shared the information.
One of the accused men, who did not take anything himself, but who had bought cigarettes and boots, said he was under the impression that the owners were selling them off cheaply.
Magistrates Stanley Badock and Frederick Leonard, understanding that the law of salvage in this case might be a legal grey area, were lenient. Indeed, Badock, as Chairman, made some positively magnanimous noises.
The defendants, he said, should realise that what they did was breaking the law, but it didn’t amount to a felony because he didn’t believe they realised they were stealing or receiving.
This, in itself, was a blatant contradiction of one of the most important principles of English Law – that ignorance of the law is no defence.
You have to wonder whether, if these men had had decent legal representation, they would not only have got off, but have kept their salvaged goods, too.
Badock went on to say that since they had been detained at the police station for some time, and had been put to inconvenience and worry, they would be bound over for 12 months on a surety of £5 each. That is, they would not have criminal records, but would would lose £5 if they failed to behave for a year.
Another defendant, Richard Bridgwater, 68, of Hotwells was charged with stealing a dozen pairs of boots, a chair, seven sacks of flour and a quantity of chocolate and cigarettes. He pleaded not guilty, saying he had found the items and was planning to hand them in.
A police inspector testified that Bridgwater regularly went around the docks in his rowing boat, retrieving items from the water and handing them in in the hope of a reward. The case against him was dismissed.
But as Badock observed, people should henceforth be in no doubt that taking items of the cargo was theft. No more cases of salvage were reported.
Ettrick lay on the river bed for almost seven weeks, to the severe detriment of the City Docks’ commerce. Efforts to move her failed, so much of her superstructure was removed, the remaining cargo taken from the holds and the hull was made as air-tight as possible.
Most of what had remained in the holds was sold at auction.
Some ships were now allowed to pass her, but a couple of larger vessels were detained for three weeks before being permitted to sail.
Finally, she was partially re-floated on October 25 and she was towed to Stothert’s Wharf in the City Docks, with Captain White sitting on what was left of his bridge.
Attempts to repair the ship proved too costly and it was taken to Portishead to be broken up in 1925.
And in places like Pill, Shirehampton, Sea Mills and Avonmouth there were quite a few families who didn’t need new boots or shoes for some years. Long after all the cigarettes and chocolates had gone.
Russell Collins said: “My father took the latches off a cupboard at the top of the stairs to put in his loot - mostly Puritan soap and Wills’ Woodbines cigarettes - and then wallpapered it over so the customs men wouldn’t find it.”
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