IT WAS THE YEAR I joined the lifeboat crew, and the second world war was nearly upon us. It was a bright early summer morning with a brisk breeze and I was sailing my dinghy through wavelets sparkling with the sun's jewels on their crests.

Such was the day I made my first rescue.

Half a mile to leeward, clear against the cloudless blue sky, a dozen herring gulls were wheeling, diving and effortlessly soaring to plunge again with triumphant cries. Summoned by their clamour and intrigued by their urgent endeavour, I put up my helm and bore down for the excitement. With my approach the gulls circled higher, their cries dying as they reluctantly abandoned their determined efforts, but they stayed to watch for a short time untilthe more urgent business of the day was remembered.

A brownish shapeless bundle was there. I rounded into the wind, the way came off my boat, and I was alongside.

From the pathetic, bedraggled bundle glared a pair of fierce eyes, with a ferocious determination to ward off the new threat and daunting my first impulse to lift it on board.

Grabbing a spare jersey, I dropped it over the drowning bird, scooped her up and laid her on the floor boards, where she remained recovering while I trimmed the sails and set course back to the beach.

Having dried out a little she made a landlubberly scramble into the bow and dozed off. I recognised her as the hen of a pair of peregrine falcons which nested high on the sheer cliffs west of Anvil Point Lighthouse, and I was relieved to see that she was not badly injured and would survive her ordeal.

She was carried home and housed in a large meat safe, with a meal of raw meat and fresh water. The next day her dignity had returned, despite her dishevelled and bedraggled appearance.

The day after, preened and with her pride restored, she haughtily demanded release.

The door opened—she was gone.

I saw the pair together before I joined the Royal Navy, to be away from the Isle of Purbeck for the war years. On my return I missed my peregrine falcons, and was saddened to learn that the Royal Air Force had found it necessary to shoot our native falcons to safeguard the messenger pigeons returning home with their vital messages.

I have not seen a pair of peregrine falcons since, and regret that fate was not kinder to my first rescued survivor from the sea.A.G.L. {Lew) Hardy is a member of the Dorset Hardy family which moved into the Purbecks in the 1750'.? and which has been concerned with the Swanage lifeboat station ever since its formation a hundred years ago, in 1875. His great, great, uncle, William Masters, was the first coxswain of Charlotte Mary, the first Swanage lifeboat. His great grandfather, William Masters Hardy, built the original lifeboat house and slipway and his grandfather, George Hardy, made the alterations to boathouse and slipway necessary for the first motor lifeboat in 1928. Lew Hardy himself joined the Swanage crew in 1939. He was second coxswain from 1946 to 1952 and has been the deputy launching authority for about 20 years. His brother R. J. (Ron) Hardy took over from him as second coxswain and is now the present coxswain.

Two uncles and a cousin were also members of the crew for many years. In the old pulling boat days (15 in the crew) his grandfather was heard to exclaim, 'Ah, begger it The lifeboat guns There goes allmyfirmV.