Mike Floyd, Editor of THE LIFEBOAT, joins a crew preparing to take delivery of their new Mersey The lifeboat crew were about to haul a survivor aboard when an unmistakable siren broke into their ordered efforts.

'Fire! Fire! That's the fire alarm!' Tumbling back into the wheelhouse one of the crew glanced instinctively up at the control panel, where a fierce red warning light blazed - the engine roonrfire alarm had triggered. Next to it another warning light sat cold and lifeless, then seconds later sprang into life. The automatic fire extinguisher had operated.

In the wheelhouse the coxswain took control of a wellrehearsed routine: 'OK. We're in a safe position, stopping the engines now,' The two turbocharged diesel engines fell silent as the coxswain's hand found the 'kill' buttons. 'Close the engine room fire flaps' Quickly the on-deck engine air inlet and exhaust vent flaps were pinned shut, so that the fire-extinguishing gas would not be lost to the atmosphere.

'Check the inspection panel.' The cover plate in the watertight door to the engine room was swung aside.

Thick smoke. Can't see any flames!' The massive flow of air for ventilation and engine combustion may have dispersed the inert gas before the fire was extinguished. With all vents closed, the ventilation fans switched off and the engines stopped the gas would now stay in the engineroom. It was time to play the next card.

'Fire the secondary extinguisher.' The manual control for the back-up fire extinguisher was pulled up to its full extent, and a third red light sprang into life as the pressure was released in the second bottle and more halon gas flooded into the engine room.

Two men could not be accounted for. Searchers had reported that the tiller flat and forecabin were empty, so the conclusions were inescapable - the men were in the smoke-filled engine room, and someone would have to go in and get them.

Satisfied that the fire was now out, but very aware of the smoke and halon gas which filled the engine room, a crew member was quickly but calmly kitted out in a smokehood and asbestos gloves, the end of his air hose led to the windward deck to ensure a supply of clean air. The lifeboat now lay silent and lifeless in the swell, and with two men lying in the thick smoke down below urgent action was necessary. But there was no panic, and every action had still to be considered carefully. The danger of a flash-back into the wheelhouse, the nerve centre of the lifeboat, meant that the door into the engine room could not be used, so the only other way in was through the forward cabin.

Shielding himself with the door as he slowly opened it, the hooded figure stepped into the impenetrable smoke, the air hose paying-out behind him. 'Two men in there... alive but unconscious!' reported a crewman on the windward deck, head bent to the hose and translating the muffled voice issuing from it. 'He's bringing them out.' Working carefully in the confined space of the forecabin, smoke still billowing from the engine room and swirling around them, the crew handed the two men carefully up into the fresh air. The lifeboat's first-aider made a preliminary examination, pronouncing them not in need of emergency attention and recovering already. The emergency was over, handled coolly and correctly by the coxswain and crew, and despite the unexpected emergency the survivor had been safely recovered.

But shouldn't there be cause for concern over the incident? This same lifeboat, brand-new and fresh from her builder's yard, had suffered numerous other emergencies during the past few days. A complete failure of the hydraulic steering had meant the rapid rigging of the emergency system, several men had gone overboard and the Decca navigation system had mysteriously failed.

Yet no one seemed at all concerned, and in fact the boat was deemed ready to go to her home station in just a few days time.

However the lack of concern did not stem from a complacent attitude, far from it. The fire, the steering failure and the men overboard were all exercises, skilfully staged by training staff at the RNLI's Poole headquarters, and intended to put into practice routines explained at classroom sessions spread through a week of intensive training. All of the incidents had been geared to readying the crew for their new lifeboat, putting them through situations which everyone fervently hoped would never occur in practise.

A week of classroom work and practice drills may seem excessive for men who have already spent the best part of their lives at sea, some already the recipient of awards for their bravery and boat handling, but the crew were unanimous in their appreciation of the value of the sessions. Today's lifeboatman still needs all the attributes of his forebears, but as well as being a consummate seaman he must now be something of an engineer, an electronics technician and a communications specialist in order to make the best use of the new generation of highly sophisticated and fullyequipped lifeboats.

Wheelhouses in modern lifeboats are now more like an aircraft flight deck than a fishing boat bridge, the two turbocharged V8 diesels turn out 285hp apiece rather than the 50hp or so of their predecessors, and when operating 50 miles out at sea at speeds of up to 17 knots precise and rapid navigation is essential.

It is to familiarise crews with these attrib- utes that any station which is to take delivery of a new lifeboat now sends some of its crew to Poole for a week's 'conversion course' - just one of the many courses now run by the RNLI to keep lifeboatmen at the leading edge of search and rescue techniques.

And it was to learn how lifeboatmen are coached when making the technological leap from conventional 8-knot lifeboats to stateof- the-art fast lifeboats that I had joined the St Ives' crew aboard The Princess Royal, the latest Mersey class lifeboat to arrive from her builders, and as a result found myself in-volved in fires at sea, men overboard and steering failures, In that same week my chartwork had been honed and the intricacies of modern radar explained. One minute I had been sitting comfortably at a desk prodding the keys of a Decca navigation receiver, and the next I was being dangled over the side of a lifeboat help-ing to recover a 12-stone dummy which steadfastly refused to help itself.

I had been plucked from the lifeboat's foredeck by a helicopter and been schooled in the operation of the VHP and MF radio, and in the use of direction finders on both frequencies. There was little about the operation of a lifeboat or its equipment which had not been crammed into that hectic week of shuttling between classroom, quayside and Poole Bay.

With volunteer crews giving up their own time to attend the programme is intense, and there is much ground to be covered. The week-long training courses are hard work, of that there is no doubt, but work, of that there is no doubt, but they are effective, rewarding and, thanks to the camaraderie in a lifeboat crew, they are also enjoyable.

The St Ives' contingent of Coxswain Eric Ward, Station Mechanic Tommy Cocking and crew members Tommy Bassett, Charlie Hodson and Alan Woods had arrived in Poole on the Sunday afternoon after their long trek up from Cornwall, and by 0900 on the Monday morning were gathered in the modem training centre on the depot quay, as we all waited with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

Below the window their new Mersey class lifeboat lay alongside the quay - at the end of the week they would be taking her home, and by the middle of the following week she would be their station lifeboat, ready to launch at a moment's notice into whatever conditions the north Cornish coast could throw at them. There was a lot to find out about! Deputy Training Officer John Cald well soon brings us down to earth with a resume of the course. Day one is to be a 'dry' day, taken up with an introduction to the lifeboat and her systems. The Mersey is such a far cry from the traditional Oakley that it would be understandable if crews were wary of such a newfang/ ed device, but if there is such a feeling it quickly falls by the wayside as Research and Development Officer Stuart Welford runs through the design of the Mersey and the way she had been developed. With videos of test tank trials, explanations of her specialised shape and construction and illustrations of the immense safety factors built into such things as the wheelhouse windows the years of development are condensed into an hour, an hour which leaves noone in any doubt as to the ability of a Mersey class lifeboat.

A hurried cup of coffee and we are off again in more detail with Machinery Training Instructor Gareth Thomas at the top table. The engines, the fuel systems, the complex bilge pumping and fire fighting arrangement and the steering systems all coming in for attention. The mechanic may be primarily responsible for the machinery, but every crew man must have a working knowledge for emergencies. Already we are up to our ears in facts, figures and procedures, skilfully presented and backedup by a comprehensive manual. Some inter-esting facts stick in the mind - two 10 litre V8s with turbochargers, 285hp at each flywheel, turbo impellers could spin for up to 5 minutes after the engine is stopped...

Another quick gulp of coffee and we are off to the quayside - the first chance for many of us to see the boat in the flesh.

Assistant Training Officer Edward Mallinson takes us round for a quick took at the equipment we will be using later. Stowages, air intakes, anchor arrangements, breathing apparatus, hatches for clearing fouled propellers, lowering and raising the mast, all new to us now, but to become very familiar over the next few days. Lunch, a buffet with staff members and heads of department from headquarters, passes quickly and soon we are back aboard. Gareth brings the morning's machinery talk to life as we each reach under pipes to operate the various valves, feel in obscure corners for the bleed nipples on the fuel system and learn to differentiate between the various warning sirens. It may be 1630, but there's still some more theory to be absorbed as RNLI Naval Architect Keith Thatcher takes centre stage back in the classroom. With drawings of the Mersey spread across the desks we delve into the finer points of welded aluminium construction, and then peer at the overhead projector to absorb the importance to stability of CG, CB and metacentres. The stability calculations are reassuring, but by now the brain cells are crying 'enough!' 'So when we send the survivors down below, do we tell them that it's to keep M over G?" someone mutters as we disperse into the twilight.

You still have to be tough to be a lifeboatman, a fact borne out the next morning when the crew assemble again. They' ve managed to eat, read their manuals, go out for ajar or two, and still arrive looking alert. I've driven home, fallen into bed with Gs and Ms whirling in my head and arrived looking slightly secondhand.

Day two sees us in the classroom and aboard the lifeboat with electronics instructor Ian Benham explaining the intricacies of communications.

There's MF and VHP radios to operate, with their frequencies, keypads, modes and channels; each has a means of direction finding, with flashing LEDs and selected channels. Then there's the echosounder with its multiple ranges and paper speeds to consider, and these are all explained clearly and concisely. There's the intercom with its multitude of switches, jack-plugs and modes of operation - one of which will transmit your muttered aside over the VHP to a startled world, if you don't know your switches from your jack-plugs...

Relief comes at 1100, when we put to sea, out under the lifting bridge and into the busy expanse of Poole Harbour. It's a temporary respite for soon we are putting the theory into practice, prodding keyboards, peering into the eery glow of the radar's video screen and wandering around in head-set equipped crashhats, plugging into various sockets. Disjointed voices fill my ears.

'Tommy? Is that you? Well what happens if Iswi..' Click.'...not on the VHP am I? Don't yell! So how do I speak to the engine room you silly...' Click.

Fish and chips from a quayside chippie interrupt the proceedings for a while, and then we're off to sea again with Edward Mallinson on hand to run through the anchor tackle as we drop the hook off Swanage. We lift the access hatches to the propellers, and find it a little trickier in a seaway than alongside the quay, then test the bilge pump by pumping Swanage Bay up through the trunking and back over the side. The tide is falling and when the pump springs into life someone remarks that it must be working well. 'Look what it's doing to the level on the rocks over there...'It must be time to go home.

And so it is, but as we relax a little on the return passage, huddled around an intriguing aspect of the radar, the man overboard alarm brings us up all-standing.

We burst out of the wheelhouse to find an empty deck and a figure in the water astern.

We might have suspected an exercise, but the adrenalin flows and it seems very real. To be honest we haven't seen Edward Mallinson since he went on deck and can't be certain that it isn't him in the water astern.

Eric puts the helm over at 17 knots and the boat begins to spin round - until the wheel goes lifeless in his hands. 'Steering failure! Rig the manual system' There is some relief when we find Edward hiding in the tiller flat, where he has deliberately thrown a valve to cause our predicament. Blocks and tackles are soon rigged and the dummy retrieved. There is just enough time for some manoeuvring practice around a tyrefestooned dolphin near the ferry terminal before we are back through the lifting bridge and alongside by 1800.

You have to be tough to be a lifeboatman.

The next morning the crew are fresh as a daisy again, despite going to a nearby water park, joining the five-year-olds on the water slides and tubes and then going off for a jar or two.

I'm still a bit secondhand.

Day three begins in the classroom again, brushing up on chartwork. No matter how many electronic aids there are aboard a boat a chart, a pencil and the skill to put the point in the right place are still essential. We shuffle our parallel rulers around the Bristol Channel and the Western Approaches, working out tides, true courses, magnetic courses, compass courses and courses to steer until we move on to the magic black box which converts the ethereal Decca transmissions into tangible numbers. Waypoints, sailplans, position finding, shift modes and Decca chains slip easily by until lunch looms on the horizon, and we turn our attention to the radar with its 'north up" or 'head up' displays, 'clutter' and ranges.

By afternoon we are putting to sea again to try our new-found skills. The lifting bridge is an old friend by now, and we are used to holding position in the tidal stream until it eases open and we trundle through to practise the finer arts of Decca navigating. Today we also look at ways of recovering people from the water, one of which involves standing on a spray rail below the waterline, attached by a safety harness but with the lifeboat still under way. A dry-suit keeps out the wet, and some of the cold, but the 12-stone dummy is heavy and obstinate and I'm glad to clamber back aboard.

We each take a turn at bringing the lifeboat up to the 'casualty', and it's at the final attempt that Edward decides we ought to have that fire in the engine room... It's 1900 by the time we're ashore in the half-dark.

You have to be tough to be a lifeboatman.

This time they've been to a nightclub, and some don't look quite as fresh as they might.

They tell me I'm missing out on the best parts of the course, and not to mention it. I agree not to say a word.

Thursday morning sees us in the classroom again examining the theory of radar, its effects and errors, plotting interceptions and using the device as an aid to navigation. A useful video refreshes our memories of the cardinal buoyage system and then we move on to search patterns and the way the Coastguard computes the probable drift of a casualty. I sense that practical seamen don't really trust computers...

After lunch it's back into the yellow oilskins and lifejackets, back under the bridge and out to sea again. The marine inhabitants of Poole are no doubt used to seeing a lifeboat with all of its windows blanked out with orange sheeting, but we're not. Inside it is disconcerting at first as we feel our way along in 'zero visibility' using every navigational aid at our disposal. Still, at least we're warm and dry, which is more than can be said of Gareth stuck on watch at the outer steering position in case we should take it into our heads to tear off in the wrong direction or savage a passing yacht A day wouldn't be complete without losing a man overboard, so once again the longsuffering dummy is hurled overboard and fished out again. This time he has to be stretchered back into the special stowage in the wheelhouse. We realise that the sidedeck is quite narrow - and that 'Fred' is as heavy as we thought he was. By 1900 we're back alongside again and disperse into the gathering gloom.

You have to be tough to be a lifeboatman.

For their final fling they've been back to the water park to terrorise the five-yearolds.

As if they hadn't spent enough time in and around the water. Still they're remarkably fresh for Friday, the final day at Poole.

We're out bright and early for helicopter exercise. Green and red signal flags at the ready we rendezvous with the chopper, flown in a style straight out of a Francis Ford Coppolla movie.

We're plucked one at a time from the deck, flown round in a swooping circle and then put back where we belong, dropped limply like a sack of potatoes into waiting arms on the foredeck of the fast-moving lifeboat.

The chopper roars low overhead in a farewell salute that has us wondering if the radar scanner is still up there, and we turn for home, ready to watch a video on pyrotechnics and hold a useful de-briefing session with all of the training staff.

The verdict is that the course has been valuable, and a useful dialogue develops.

With experienced seamen it's a two-way exchange and the instructors glean some more information which will help them hone the sessions to an even finer edge.

But that's not the end of the course by any means. The lifeboat is officially handed over by the training centre, but she is now the responsibility of the Divisional Inspector for the South West.

The DI, John Unwin, is to take charge for the four-day passage back to St Ives, which is very much a part of the training schedule. We have still more to learn about The Princess Royal as we make our way out of Poole, bound to the west, late on a glorious October Friday. But that, as they say, is another story.

• To be concluded in the Spring issue The training of lifeboatmen has come a long way in the fifteen or so years since the Institution started its courses.

It was in the mid-1970s that the need for formal training was first recognised. Lifeboats, and the way they were operating, were changing rapidly and as a result the first tentative steps were taken along a path which has led to today's purpose-built centres at Poole and Cowes.

Humble The All-weather lifeboat training started from humble beginnings, when a mobile training unit was brought into use, visiting various lifeboat stations. This was an ordinary caravan, converted and fitted out by an honorary worker at home for 'Voice Procedure' training.

At about the same time training courses for the high-speed Atlantic 21 rigid inflatables began, first at Yarmouth (loW) and then at the RNLI's Cowes base, beginning at a fairly basic level as an introduction to these specialised boats and to demonstrate righting procedures after a capsize.

As the new types of fast lifeboat began to come into service in greater numbers it became obvious that some sort of conversion course was necessary, and in the late 1970s pre-commissioning courses began - lasting some three days and held almost entirely aboard the lifeboat.

The benefits of these training courses soon became apparent and at the beginning of 1982 the training section began to take its current form. One of the Institution's Divisional Inspectors moved to headquarters as Staff Officer Operations (Training) and was soon joined by a staff coxswain who became Staff Coxswain (Training), and who is now Assistant Training Officer.

Nucleus With a nucleus of staff the training programme began in earnest - although still operating from part of an office and using the RNLI's library when it was available.

Radar training began, in nautical colleges at first until another mobile unit joined the strength.

Rediffusion had offered to donate a radar simulation system, which had been in use in a German nautical college, and staff at the company offered to install it if the RNLI could provide a suitable caravan. This time a commercial caravan was obtained and converted for its new role by the RNLI depot.

Training manuals for the various boats and equipment, now an important aid, came on to the scene when an honorary helper applied himself to the task. With no training as a seaman he was able to penetrate the jargon and write clear and concise manuals - which are to this day being used, up-dated and extended, This task, despite being honorary, now keeps him busy almost full-time.

Professional Training videos are also an important training tool, and these are produced in-house by the training centre. Starting with domestic equipment and a tiny 'editing suite' in the corner of an office, the Institution's videos have become more wide ranging and are now of 'broadcast quality', appearing on both ITV and BBC.

The professional equipment needed to produce these videos came with a major step forward in August 1986, when the purposebuilt training centre came into use at Poole .

The cost of the entire fitting out, equipment and the first year's courses at the centre were all met by a generous donation from BP, improving facilities beyond all recognition and setting the Institution's whole training schedule on course for the future.

From humble beginnings the training centre has developed into a facility which can offer a wide variety of training courses. It now provides pre-commissioning training for the crews of every new All-weather lifeboat, courses for Honorary Secretaries of lifeboat stations, courses for Station Mechanics and advanced courses for Coxswains and Second Coxswains.

Some 575 lifeboatmen have attended the 'conversion courses' alone.

The centre also runs no less than five mobile units. These cover Voice Procedure (and chartwork and basic navigation), Radar (with courses at three levels) and First Aid.

The mobile training units (MTUs) have evolved from domestic caravans to tough articulated units which are expected to have a much longer life.

Courses at Cowes cover the Atlantic 21 lifeboats, now making use of a purpose-built centre which opened in 1988 and was funded by Mrs 'Mickie' Allen. Some 700 Atlantic 21 crew have passed through these courses..