After 186 years of innovation, the RNLI is recognised internationally as a leader in lifeboat design and development. So why does the title ‘lifeboat inventor’ and the achievements of three 18th-century gentlemen still cause controversy and debate?

The sight of a modern all-weather lifeboat charging through the waves would seem like something from a fantasy novel to an early lifeboat designer but it’s really a story of evolution. RNLI engineers constantly test and refine to provide a fleet fit for the everchanging demands of the lifeboat service and the safety of its volunteer crews. And, technological progress aside, it’s heartwarming that many of the principles employed by the first designers are still followed today. So how did it all begin – and can any one individual really take all the credit?

Rewind to 1789. Washington is inaugurated as the first President of a fledgling USA, Fletcher Christian holds his mutiny aboard HMS Bounty and the French Revolution is about to explode. Some say that the lifeboat story began here too – on 15 March in South Shields – when the Adventure of Newcastle was wrecked at the mouth of the Tyne. Thousands of people watched helplessly as her entire crew perished. Unfortunately, this was an all too common sight but it was this disaster in particular that moved members of a private club, known as the Gentlemen of Lawe House, to offer a 2-guinea prize for the ‘best-designed life-preserving craft’.

A number of entries were received and, as a result, local boatbuilder Henry Greathead was commissioned to build the Original – ‘the first lifeboat’.

This was his big break. Greathead had worked hard to build up his business and develop a boat that was able to ride safely in rough seas. He petitioned parliament as the inventor and was duly voted £1,200 (around £67,000 today). The Corporation of Trinity House (lighthouses) and Lloyd's of London insurance also awarded him 100 guineas; he received 100 more and a Gold Medal from the Society of Arts – and the Emperor of Russia even gave him a diamond ring.

However, Greathead’s new-found celebrity status ruffled feathers and, although he never patented the craft and was willing to share his plans for the public good, his self-proclaimed title of ‘lifeboat inventor’ was hotly contested. It seemed that two other men may have got there first. Public accusations of plagiarism quickly ensued and arguments raged. We have to go back another 5 years and move 250 miles south to find out why.

The unimmergible boat

Lionel Lukin, a coachbuilder with a thriving business at Long Acre in Westminster, had always been intrigued by the idea of an unsinkable boat. He had a fertile imagination and had already invented many safety devices.

Monsieur de Bernieres of France had experimented with a ‘canot insubmersible’ some years earlier and fishermen from Formby, Merseyside, were saving others using an adapted rowing gig but it was the philanthropic Lukin who put the two ideas together – employing ‘unsinkable’ principles to help in saving lives at sea. In 1784 he converted a Norway yawl (double-ended open boat) by adding a cork belt and fitting watertight containers and cork blocks inside to increase buoyancy. He also added an iron keel to keep the boat upright. Trials of Experiment were successful so, with encouragement from the Prince of Wales, he patented his design for the ‘unimmergible boat’.

Despite the achievement, Lukin’s appeals to the First Lord of the Admiralty and the Deputy Master of Trinity House for the adoption of this craft fell on deaf ears. He took a further knock when Experiment was lost on loan to a Ramsgate pilot for rough-weather testing. She had crossed the Channel several times but was seized in a foreign port on smuggling charges!

Undeterred, he constructed the Witch. Many were impressed by her ‘supernatural abilities’ but it wasn’t until 1788 that Archdeacon John Sharp approached Lukin to convert a coble for sea rescue according to the unimmergible patent.

The self-righting boat

Meanwhile, back in South Shields, an eccentric parish church clerk by the name of William Wouldhave was experimenting with self-righting boat designs. He was inspired by a curved wooden dipper used to draw water from a well. No matter how it was placed in the water, the dipper always righted itself on surfacing.

Moved by the terrible scenes of shipwreck at the mouth of the Tyne, Wouldhave did not hesitate in entering his self-righting design in the 1789 Lawe House competition. His model, still preserved in the National Maritime Museum, was double-ended and made of tin. Wouldhave proposed it would also include air cells to give it added buoyancy. But it was to cause bitter disappointment. He won, but the judges decided to award him only half the prize money – possibly down to his attitude when under cross-examination. Legend has it that he threw down the guinea in disgust and stormed out.

When reminded by friends that he had left his model behind in the fracas, Wouldhave, renowned for his colourful language, is documented as saying: ‘Never mind … they have sense enough to adopt the good points of my model and, though I am poor … I shall have the satisfaction of being instrumental in saving the lives of some of my fellow creatures.’ It’s likely that his exact words were edited before entering the history books.

Greathead’s lifeboat

So now we can return to Greathead and his entry to the same competition. No exact descriptions can be found now of his model but the judges agreed that the boatbuilder should construct a vessel combining his and Wouldhave’s design, along with some refinements of the Lawe House committee. A variation on this story was that members Messrs Fairles and Rockwood had a chance meeting in town and discussed the designs, whereupon they went off and created their own model that was adopted by the committee. Mr Fairles said that Greathead’s only input in this final design was that the keel be curved instead of straight and they were all agreed on something similar to a Norway yawl (sound familiar?). Nevertheless, Greathead did a great job of constructing this refined ‘life-preserving craft’, securing his place in lifeboat history.

Costing £76 9s 8d to build, the Original was 10m long, 3m wide and rose sharply at bow and stern where she held cases filled with cork. Powered by oars and a crew of 12, she entered service in 1790 and saved hundreds of lives. Greathead went on to build 31 boats of this design, mainly commissioned by Lloyd's and the second Duke of Northumberland, and these saved thousands more.

By now, Lukin’s patent had expired and he was mortified by the attention Greathead was receiving. The name ‘life-boat’ was becoming as popular as the craft itself – its purpose was clear and the word engendered passion and pride. It was now a brand.

But Lukin wasn’t going to take the results lying down. In 1806 he wrote to the Prince of Wales and a year later published a pamphlet arguing that Greathead’s boat was ‘… precisely according to my patent.’ The correspondence column of The Gentlemen’s Magazine also carried heated exchanges between Lukin and WA Hails of Newcastle, a champion of Wouldhave, over rival claims to ‘lifeboat inventor’ and the merits of each design. It particularly rankled that Greathead had huge financial reward and widespread recognition when Lukin and Wouldhave received nothing.

But it wasn’t quite over for Lukin. During a visit to Lowestoft he found that the local lifesavers were unhappy with their Greathead lifeboat. They said it was too heavy and cumbersome for the shallows and sandbanks. It was Lukin’s belief that ‘all lifeboats should be built of the form most approved by … seamen on the coast where they are to be used,’ meaning they should have the confidence of their crews and be fit for purpose at their specific location – a principle upheld by the RNLI today. The Suffolk Humane Society asked Lukin to supervise the construction of a new craft, better suited to the area. Launched in 1807, the Frances Ann performed well and saved 300 lives during her 42 years of service.

Lukin played little further part but offered help when he heard about the proposed formation of a ‘Shipwreck Institution’ (subsequently the RNLI) in 1824. By then he was 82. He died on 16 February 1834, remembered by many as a successful coachbuilder. Wouldhave, the father of the selfrighting lifeboat, died penniless and an unknown in 1821. Another 2 decades would pass before a truly self-righting lifeboat was constructed.

The next chapter

All three men played a part in the lifeboat story, each providing a vital link in the chain extending to today’s lifeboats. And, of course, none of it would have been possible without the generous benefactors who funded the construction of these early designs.

This financial support remains vital today. It means that RNLI engineers can continue to push the boundaries to produce rugged and highly capable boats and equipment. Nowadays, Lean practices add a new dimension to the process, ensuring maximum efficiency – from the drawing-board, right the way through to final construction – producing equipment that will be more reliable and cost-effective to build and maintain than ever before.

It’s an exciting time for lifeboat development: this year will see crew members from around the UK and RoI taking part in sea trials of the prototype FCB2 (fast carriage boat 2, intended to eventually replace the Mersey class) and a MkII E class lifeboat for Thames stations will be in the water in the coming months (see page 42). These craft carry the DNA of their predecessors and Lukin, Wouldhave and Greathead would surely have been proud.