Behind the scenes, a lifeboat station mechanic must be both meticulous and creative to keep the service running – and his fellows safe

Mark Blatcher is poring over wiring diagrams. He’s trying to pinpoint a fault on the Tamar class lifeboat’s automatic firefighting system. Then, as a volunteer tries to make a coffee, the kettle cuts out. Could Mark help? This vignette reveals the full-time Mechanic’s role: Mark is responsible for maintaining everything at RNLI Shoreham Harbour.

This impressive yet functional building replaced a 78-year-old structure that finally succumbed to the elements in late 2010. Inside, the boathall dominates, rising three storeys from the pit beneath the slipway to the high-arching roof. Wrapped around this huge space are public viewing galleries and a shop, crew changing facilities, a kitchen, training room and office – and four rooms known by only a select few.

One houses an engine bigger than some bathrooms. It powers the winch that hauls the 32-tonne Enid Collett up the slipway after a shout. Another is home to the ground-source heat pump that keeps this station at a comfortable temperature all year round. The third is filled by a tank of marine diesel, ready to top up the Tamar for the next launch. The last is the Mechanic’s lair.

The workbench of this Land Rover enthusiast and former diver carries clues to a recent task. He’s been mending the underside of the Tamar’s daughter Y boat, worn from repeated entry and exit through the rear of the all-weather lifeboat. Just a pace away hangs Mark’s personal lifeboat kit, for he’s a trained and experienced crew member too.

Yet he understands like no other the vessel that the crew rely on in their most testing moments. ‘My engines always start first time,’ asserts Mark. ‘We look after them. They’re kept warm with block heaters when ashore, then during every shout I’ll be down checking that everything’s running ok. It’s the sound, the feel …

‘Being in the bowels of the boat while she’s at sea – that’s my favourite place. After every shout I’ll check straight away for leaks, anything loose. Even without a shout, I’ll spend about 4 days in every fortnight working round the Tamar, inside and out. I’ll catch anything well before it becomes a problem.’

Mark is at home in this environment. Moving quietly but swiftly around the warren-like building and boat, he knows exactly where to find anything. But then he spends all the working week here, plus training sessions on Wednesday evenings and Sundays – and that’s before any rescues. ‘There’s always something to do,’ he explains.

‘Everything’s still so new that jobs are only just coming to light, but there’ll always be faults to fix – it’s inevitable with such a complex lifeboat.’ What’s on the list at the moment? ‘Well there’s the belt tensioner in the alternator; the starter motor solenoid; white noise on Channel 31 (the private VHF channel between lifeboat and boathouse) and at one particular rev, there’s a vibration that makes the camera footage unusable … ’

But he reminds me that that’s just Enid Collett: ‘I give about a day a fortnight to the D class’s launching trolley, and her concrete ramp needs regular scrubbing to clear it of slime. Meanwhile there’s a problem with one of the station's fire exit doors and there are pigeons nesting in a gutter.’

Fortunately, Mark's not alone, as the publicity that accompanied the regeneration of the station attracted more volunteers. ‘All the crew share station cleaning duties on a rota. Then I’ll nominate individuals to take on certain maintenance tasks. I’ve also got a volunteer Second Mechanic to deputise for me, and engineers at the Divisional Base and Headquarters in support.’

Everyone helps with an essential ritual after each service: ‘The hose is on fine mist for the D class but full blast for the Tamar. There’s gallons of salt water pouring out of the back of her and soaking the tipping table mechanism once she’s back up the slipway, so we take a lot of care washing down and greasing everything. It’s the only way it’ll not rust to destruction.’

And what’s Mark’s role when the pagers go off? ‘As soon as I know we’re going to launch, I close the lifeboat hatches, open the slipway door and turn on the radio. I’ll talk to the Coastguard and find out what kind of incident we’re heading to so I can pack any specialist kit. I'll work with the Coxswain to pick a crew and plan who's to do what, then I’ll throw my kit onboard and away we go.’

This man’s eye for detail ensures that everything onboard is ready for action – from the oxygen cylinders in the casualty care kits, to the bank of flyby- wire computers, to the lifejackets. Mark explains quietly: ‘I unpack, check and repack every lifejacket every 3 months. Well, that’s your friends’ lives there.’