Legend has it that carrying acorns will bring you good luck and longevity. At Aldeburgh Lifeboat Station, it’s a belief that has been rooted for 117 years. Why? Because for one lifeboatman, the legend came true.

Augustus Mann and his brother, Dan, were among the 18 crew members onboard Aldeburgh’s Norfolk and Suffolk class lifeboat, Aldeburgh, when she launched into a raging gale and extremely heavy seas on 7 December 1899. With its shoals and sandbanks, Aldeburgh’s coastline was treacherous for shipping and, on this day, a ship had run aground on Shipwash Sands.

‘ We know that they were lucky for Augustus Mann. And that’s why we carry them on the boat today.’ James ‘Chunky’ Cable, today’s Aldeburgh Mechanic (pictured above)

Leading the crew that day was former Coxswain Charles Edward Ward. Coxswain James Cable, one of Aldeburgh’s most celebrated lifeboatmen, and Second Coxswain William Mann both had flu and had been forbidden to join the crew by the doctor. The lifeboat crew were doing a sterling job battling against the ferocious onshore wind, which was churning up the sea into a seething mass. But the Aldeburgh’s broadside was taking a pounding by the waves. As she was crossing the inner shoal, two huge waves struck her in quick succession, causing her to capsize. The crew were hurled into the tumultuous waters.

‘A very heavy sea caught her from stem to stern. We were right under it. The boat was filled, and was forced over on the starboard side. Then another very heavy sea struck us, and the boat went over steadily,’ Coxswain Charles Ward reported later.
 The boat could not right herself. I got clear of her, and when I could see round there seemed so many of us
afloat that I thought all the men had got clear. We were about 150 yards from shore and could all swim. I said to one man, “Don’t muddle yourself; we shall get ashore all right,” but as we got on the beach the waves rolled us up like so many sacks.’
A stark realisation The backwash made it extremely difficult for the crew to reach the shore and, selflessly, Charles repeatedly went back into the heavy surf to drag his comrades to safety. By this time, a crowd had gathered on the beach and were helping with the rescue effort. The Aldeburgh did not sink. Instead she was driven bottom upwards onto the shore. Only then came the stark realisation that six of the crew were missing, trapped underneath the boat. The bystanders frantically tried to free the crew. But with the Aldeburgh weighing over 13 tonnes and measuring 14m in length, it wasn’t a simple case of flipping her over. The team of volunteers tried to cut a hole in the lifeboat’s upturned hull, but their efforts proved fruitless.

Chopping into her stout timber was arduous, hampered by the sea constantly breaking over the boat as the tide rose. At times, people were dangerously up to their necks in water. It was only when the tide began to go down at 3pm, 3½ hours after the lifeboat had capsized, that the volunteers were able to partially raise the lifeboat using heavy spars – the long poles used for launching the lifeboat – as levers and screw jacks. At the same time, they dug out the shingle on one side of the lifeboat and finally reached
the crew members. But it was too late. Fitting tributes The tragedy stunned the entire Aldeburgh community and remains one of the worst in RNLI history. Locals rallied round to raise a relief fund to help the families of the crew left bereft. In tribute to their loved ones, a marble monument was placed in the churchyard of Aldeburgh Parish Church where the seven lifeboatmen were laid to rest (one man survived the capsize but later died from his injuries). A magnificent copper memorial tablet was placed inside the church, serving as a permanent reminder of the Aldeburgh men who so selflessly gave their lives trying to save others. For his bravery and dogged determination in rescuing two of his comrades, Charles Ward was awarded a Silver Medal by the RNLI in 1900 – his
second Silver Medal for Gallantry. A lucky escape The 11 survivors were lucky to escape with their lives that day, none more so than Augustus Mann, who believed his escape was down to the three acorns he carried in his pocket for good  luck. Remembering the moment the Aldeburgh capsized, Augustus said: ‘I had hold of the mizzen-sheet when the big wave struck the boat, and was compelled to leave go. ‘As I went down, there was one rope round my neck and another round my waist and, when I got clear of them, I got foul of the outrigger. I had a desperate struggle to get ashore.’ Yet despite everything he went through, Augustus said he hadn’t lost confidence in the lifeboat one bit and, if she was repaired, would go in her again tomorrow. He said he’d been out in the lifeboat many times in heavier weather, sentiments echoed by many of the surviving crew. It’s testament to the faith our volunteers have in their boats – and how unpredictable the sea can be.

Augustus’s legacy
Through the acorns he carried, Augustus Mann left a legacy that has kept the history of Aldeburgh lifeboat and the memory of his fellow lifeboatmen alive, and that will do so for years to come. The same acorns have been carried onboard Aldeburgh’s lifeboats ever since the disaster, as a sign of good luck. Preserved with varnish, the acorns were placed in a glass-fronted box made from early 17th century oak timber from Aldeburgh’s Moot Hall. Today the acorns are mounted inside the wheelhouse of the station’s all-weather Mersey class lifeboat Freddie Cooper. True to the superstition, whenever the station gets a relief boat, the acorns are removed from Freddie Cooper and placed in the relief boat. Their next pride of place will be onboard Aldeburgh’s brand new Shannon class lifeboat, which the station is due to get in 2021 when Freddie Cooper reaches the end of
her operational life. An act of kindness One hundred years after the 1899 Aldeburgh lifeboat disaster, something happened that touched the hearts of all the Aldeburgh lifeboat volunteers – something they will never forget. In an incredibly generous gesture, a local supporter invited everyone at Aldeburgh RNLI, including lifeboat crew, shore crew and members of the Aldeburgh Lifeboat Guild, to a centenary dinner at Aldeburgh’s Lighthouse restaurant following the memorial services. Every table was decorated with three symbolic acorns, specially made for the occasion. And every single volunteer – all 50 of them – received a stunning silver acorn charm in an emerald green presentation box. The lucky charms were cast from a bespoke mould that was never used again, making them all the more special. This act of kindness and generosity is remembered fondly by the volunteers at Aldeburgh and will always be a very precious moment for them. So much so, they are torn between telling this part of the story and preserving the intimacy of it. ‘I still get choked up when I tell the story,’ says Aldeburgh Coxswain Steve ‘Tag’ Saint. ‘It’s very personal to us. It’s important that we tell the story to keep our history alive, but at the same time we don’t want the acorns to become commercialised.’ That’s why, to this day, only the volunteers who were part of the station in 1999 have a lucky silver acorn charm. Some wear them on a necklace. Some treasure them in a safe place. Lifeboat Operations Manager Charlie ‘TC2’ Walker bestowed his on his wife who wears it on her charm bracelet.  No matter how they keep them, one thing’s for sure: the lucky charms will always be an integral part of the legacy of the Aldeburgh acorns. ‘I have never taken my necklace off since the day I got it. Not for anything,’ says Steve. ‘It’s very special to me.’

REMEMBERING THE CREW
Seven crew members lost their lives: John Butcher, Charles Crisp, Thomas Morris, Walter George Ward, Herbert William Downing, James Miller Ward and Allan Arthur Easter, who never recovered from his injuries and died 3 months later.

Words: Vicki Lovegrove-Fray
Photos: RNLI/Nathan Williams