THE LIFE-BOAT FLEET Motor Life-boats, 138 :: Pulling & Sailing Life-boats, 29 LIVES RESCUED from the foundation of the Institution in 1824 to September 30th, 1937 - 65,320 An Artist's Memories of the Life-boat Service From the Bay of Naples to Solway Firth.

By Mr. William Robson, a Member of the Kirkcudbright Life-boat Crew.

[Mr. Robson has been a member of the Kirkcudbright crew for over twenty years. He retired this year on reaching the age limit and was awarded a certificate of service. At the presentation of the certificate the coxswain said: " We are all deeply sorry to part with Mr. Robson, better known to us as ' Old Bill.'' Not only did we look on him as our mascot, but as one of the mainstays of the boat.

No matter how the wind blew, or whether it rained or snowed, ' Old Bill' was always there to do his duty, and he did it well. During these twenty years we have had many happy times together, ashore and afloat."] The life-boat—our Lady of the Sea— calm and dignified in her station, looking lovely in her colours : Blue, the depths of the ocean, the reflection of the sky on the waters ; White, the spray ; Red, that gives the touch of life, that inspires in the hearts of the stout fellows who sail her a sense of love.

Her shelter—our shrine.

Vital and terrible as she forces her bow through the gale-swept ocean, quick and responsive to the touch of the drogue, in a following sea, through shallow waters, her crew clinging to her with trust and happiness, as she bears us safely in the turmoil of winds and waves—it is then yo.u see her in all her glory and wonder.

I found my early sailing in the Bay of Naples. I had a studio on the island of Capri, in a garden where the clustering vines grew on the white- washed pergolas. The sweet-scented flowers, lovely girls amongst the peach bloom, and a background of blue amethyst sea, made that southern isle an artist's Paradise.

Sardines and Sharks.

I made many friends amongst the fishermen, joined with them in their labours—pulling in the nets during the day with catches of sardines, and at night, south of the island, in a bit of water called La Cattena, fished with lines in the glare of a grid full of lighted pinewood, for a squid-like fish called Tortori, considered a great delicacy.

Upon several occasions the work was brought to an abrupt finish—visits of sharks being the cause. Their un- wonted presence was detected by the odour long before they made them- selves visible by their fins. The nets, as a rule, were torn, the light in the grid was dipped, and extinguished (the boatswere small, used to take tourists into the Blue Grotto) and now, with 1 cwt.

of Tortori, two men and tackle on board, and five miles to row—and against La Tramantana—it was nice, once in the lee of the island, to rest on your oars, light a cigar—one of those black Neapolitan! cigars that men who think good tobacco only grows in Cuba call Stinkadore.

At times the fishermen and a bunch of pretty Capri girls would visit the studio. A cosmopolitan crowd of artists had gathered there, all good fellows. By the light of the moon and the stars, on the terrace, dancing under the vines the Tarantella until the dawn.

De Capua and De Curtis, both artists and song-writers, were there from Naples, and their songs—II Sole Mio and Dormi Carme—echoed amongst the olive trees—lovely Capri night.

Old Vesuvius, too, joined in our midnight gambols by giving us a grand firework display.

I enjoyed sails in Dr. Munthe's yacht —the author of San Michele. C. C.

Colman, the American artist, was an intimate friend of the doctor's. I recollect a refreshment we enjoyed so much after pulling, in the dinghy, the yacht into her moorings. It was called Canadian Club. I have never tasted it since. We have something very like it here in Galloway—called Scotch. It, too, is good.

The Loveliness of Santa Lucia.

My boating at Capri was, in a sense, pleasure. I could hardly term it Work— floating around sketching, 'mid beauty and bewilderment, from dawn to dusk.

I had always a friend along with me.

Henry Neville Maugham, brother of Somerset Maugham the distinguished writer, often joined me—he wrote plays.

No matter what part of the Bay— Cunalfi, Sorrento, Capri, Ischia—we always made for Naples for the night, lowered our mast, and pulled into Santa Lucia.

There in the soft velvety darkness of night the boats slip out and row quietly around. Lovely girls—man- tillas, fans—a rose in their blue-black tresses—music—singing—the playing of passionate love songs in perfect har- mony with the scene and surroundings of the one and only Santa Lucia.

Storms in the Solway Firth.

On the Solway it is different. No girl with a rose in her hair—no man- dolin or guitar. Great music, dramatic, Wagnerian, full orchestra, trumpets, bassoons, cymbals and big drums—a man endowed with the life-boat spirit loves it—it appeals to him—it is the expression of great doings in the sky and sea, and the voice of the tempest.

And you are right in it, one of the actors ; up on the crest of a wave; banged down—with a thud that racks your body—down into a thirty-foot valley; smashed against the mast or tackle, rattling your bones; stung by the needle-like spray that blinds; drenched to the skin; numbed to the bone—doing your job, merry and bright. Only a privileged few are actors in this drama—only the few who dare. We endure this and smile. The Flying Dutchman, an impression of the sea by a Master—coloured lime-lights shine upon the stage as radiant sun- shine. If blasts of wind and showers of water were shed, as a touch of realism, I fear there would be many vacant seats in the stalls.

I expect all life-boats have difficult bits of water to negotiate, somewhere in their locality, frequently at the entrance to the harbour. Our gamble is the shallow water on the bar in a southerly gale. Friends and well- wishers in the daylight rush to the Torrs Cliff to see us crossing the bar, and they get thrills when we disappear, blotted out from the seascape, en- veloped in a thirty-foot wave. One of our crew, James Shack!eton, remarked, in a Southerly gale: " I have never seen anything a patch on that "—and he had just returned from a voyage round the world in a small three-man yacht. Over the bar, clear of the boiling cauldron, into the deep blue water, we are with the good fairies, having escaped the demon king in his watery lair—for the moment.

All Round the Horn.

I enjoyed the service in the pulling boats. We had two stations—Balcarry, and the Lake. Nearly all the men of the crew had rounded the Horn in sailing ships—great lads. Jim Jardine— who was three days and three nights in an open boat, torpedoed during thewar—could build a full-rigged ship and put it into a bottle. That was unique.

Any other member of the crew would have found it quite easy to put a bottle or two bottles in a full-rigged ship.

The sailing and pulling boats have nearly all disappeared, and many of the men who formed their crews, with their chanties and yarns. In that class of boat you slipped over the crest of a wave, high and dry, and in comfort.

In the motor boat of to-day you go bang into the wave awash—and enjoy all the consequences.

The twenty years—all too short—I have enjoyed in the service will remain a fond and cherished memory—the kindness from our local honorary secretaries, Mr. Campbell, who has left our district, and now Mr. Allan, whom we all revere; our coxswain, Mr. George Parkhill, whom we proudly accom- panied to Edinburgh to act as Guard of Honour to H.R.H. the Prince of Wales ; and all the fine fellows I have sailed with, in sunshine and big seas.

And lastly I would speak of the highest esteem we certainly all accord to the inspectors who visit the station, bring- ing along with them that sincerity and true regard for the boats and the men who sail them, and that care for every minute detail, making it so easy, 'mid the tempest and its horrors, to carry back the most precious cargo to the warmth and sunshine of life.

As time moves along and the years pass wonderful changes take place in the service, always for the best. But it possesses something that it will never seek to change—the undaunted spirit of the life-boatman..