Port Elizabeth of Yore: Replenishment of a Ship’s Water

Whenever a ship can moor at a jetty or a quay using mooring lines, the process of replenishing a ship’s water is simplified. All that is required are for water pipes to be laid along the wharf.  Difficulties abound whenever there is a lack of such facilities, but these hassles are always mitigated or overcome whenever entrepreneurs abound.

This blog deals with these entrepreneurs and their solutions.   

Main picture: Port Elizabeth From South End, painted by Baines in 1853, [Transnet Heritage Library N58606]

The French sailing ship: Le Necessaire
Historically, French naval vessels, like other sailing ships, primarily carried water in wooden barrels (also called casks, butts, or hogsheads) stored in the ship’s hold. 

During extended voyage’s especially when sailing in enemy controlled waters, the collection of water from the shore was frowned upon as being too dangerous. Instead the sailors would rely upon rain squalls for water collection. In this case sailors would spread out sails to funnel rainwater into buckets and then decant it into casks. Even though the water could pick up a “unique” flavour from the oiled canvas, beggars could not be choosers.

Above: The hamlet of Port Elizabeth painted by Piers in 1850 [NM Metropolitan Art Museum]

The saga of the Le Necessaire highlights the consequences of obtaining water ashore especially when in enemy territory. During February 1752 the French sloop, the Le Necessaire together with two other vessels departed from the French Island of Mauritius with the objective of examining the southeast coast of southern Africa. They would have been aware of a Dutch settlement at Cape Town but were unsure of whether the Dutch were claiming or operating from any other portion of this vacant land.

It is presumed that the French squadron sailed steadily southward checking for human activities. With none visible, and being short of water, the French concluded that it was safe to land small boats to collect water. The location selected was the feeble stream called Shark River, now Happy Valley. In the process, the boat overturned in the surf, disgorging its nine occupants.  In the meanwhile, a storm had steadily arisen overturning the small boat in the surf and forcing the Le Necessaire to withdraw to deeper water in order to prevent it from being driven onto the rocks on the shore further south.

Fully expecting their mother ship to return once the storm had abated, these French seamen were probably initially unperturbed by the withdrawal of their “home”, the  Le Necessaire. The first hints of probable abandonment were possibly raised sotto voce the following day. With the full retreat of the stormy weather, which was  presumably replaced by a vivid blue sky, expectations of their imminent rescue ran high. No record of what actually happened has survived but one can presume that those less sanguine silently explored their surroundings for food. In all likelihood, fish trapped in the blind Shark River were all that could be found.

Initially the expectations of being rescued would have high but after several more days of clear weather, the mood of the men would have would switched from expectant becoming morose and demoralised as the full impact of their abandonment by the Le Necessaire became abundantly clear. Comprehending the gravity of their situation, they would have set off to the closest town, Cape Town, 800 kilometres away. In reality they only would have had to survive the 398kms to Mossel Bay as in 1792 this was the eastern border of the Cape colony. The only objects that they bore were a musket and two pistols and possibly some water caskets. Apart from their practical use to carry water, these casks could be used in a barter transaction with the indigenous Khoikhoi or Hottentots as  they were locally known.

No record survives of these nine men’s travails, but it is safe to assume that they would have begged, borrowed and stolen supplies off the local khoikhoi en route to survive. In reality they would only have to survive the 368kms to Mossel Bay as in 1792  this was the eastern border of the Cape Colony. Nonetheless it was still a formidable target.  

John Barrow’s observation
During 1797 John Barrow noted how ships in that era ships replenished their water supplies in the Bay. As there were no jetties at that stage, Barrow noted that “copious amounts of fresh water were to be obtained from a spring which lay close to the landing place just below a hill overlooking the mouth of a small river. Sailors floated the barrrels in and out of the surf.” This rivulet was presumably the Baakens River. Further Barrow noted that “This was a hazardous business even at the best of times.

The first piped water supply
On page 98 of his thesis on the development of the harbour in Port Elizabeth, Jon Inggs includes this comment regarding Fortuin: “The only other improvement to port facilities during this period [1820s] was the provision of water to ships by a Malay, Fortuin Weys. He erected a pump and laid pipes from it to the landing beach.

Algoa Bay during north wester in 1909

Harradine describes the first enterprise of this kind by Fortuin Weys 1829 as “a pump to pipe water to the sea’s edge from a well in Market Square.”

By 1834 Weys was described by Thomas Pringle as “one of the wealthiest and most respectable inhabitants of the place’.  He had originally been granted land at Algoa Bay in March 1820. By the time the settlers landed, his house, still under construction, was the second substantial one to be built at what was soon to become Port Elizabeth. He was listed as a blacksmith by Griffin Hawkins in 1822. In time he acquired a number of properties in the town and further afield”.

Later piped water scheme
In his thesis Jon Inggs notes that the next development in the water supply business, was the “formation of the Algoa Bay Mooring and Watering Company in September 1850.” According to Harradine it was only during April of the following year that the Company commenced operations. The reason for this delay was because it experienced “an impure water problem.” To rectify it, rights were secured to a supply of water from south of the Baakens River. A large tank was built over the springs on the south side of the Baakens River and piping carried the water beyond the surf to a water boat from which ships could be supplied.

Twelve tons of water could be loaded into their waterboat in 30 minutes. This in turn could be pumped into a ship in 40 minutes. The service “did away with necessity of loading casks.”. In October 1851, the Company was able to provide H..M.S. Rhadamanthus with 27 tons of water. Based upon this performance, local commentators reckoned that the provision of water would become the port’s first permanent facility.

The hulk of an old wrecked ship stripped of its fittings and permanently moored, was utilised as storage space for items to be used by ships in trouble. In this case, the hulk housed a supply of cables and anchors. In the case of the gale over the 15th and 16th October 1850, the hulk had the necessary equipment but no requests were made for its use resulting in the loss of three shipsviz the Doris, the John Witt and the Mary Ann.

Vandalisation
The successful inception of operations created a positive vibe throughout the town. Speculation abounded regarding what other services would shortly be offered. Instead of elation there was dejection. Malicious irresponsible actions by vandals had popped the bubble. During the night they had turned on the watercock and drained the whole tank . On the subsequent night they had Besmeared the whole boat”

The company soon abandoned its mooring business. During November 1851 the hulk and its fittings was offered for sale. For these and other reasons, the company experienced a faltering start, finally being wound up in 1857

. In December 1857 a stone tank was built over the spring and the old wooden tank was removed.

By November the Company’s waterworks had been inspected and certified by the Government Engineer, George Pilkington, who was favourably impressed. An iron pipeline ran out beyond the surfline from the reservoir south of the Baakens.

Era of the jetties
The construction of the North Jetty did not relieve the situation as moorings were restricted to small vessels. Larger ships had to be serviced while at the roadstead with lighters ferrying goods between  South Jetty and the vessel at anchor.  

Water storage and quality
Onboard Storage: Large quantities of fresh water were loaded into wooden barrels before a voyage. These were often stored in the lower parts of the ship to serve as necessary ballast.

Water Quality: The water often became stagnant, foul-smelling, and a breeding ground for algae and microorganisms after a few weeks at sea, especially in warmer climates. To make it more palatable and to inhibit bacterial growth, it was often mixed with alcohol (wine in the French navy, or later rum, which created grog).

Replenishment: Ships relied heavily on stopping at ports or suitable landfalls such as islands with streams or springs in which to empty, clean and refill their barrels.

Early distillation
By the mid-18th century, some ships, including the HMS Victory had small sills attached to a galley stove that could distill small quantities of freshwater from sea water. However, this method only produced limited quantities e.g. 9 litres per day on a large vessel and was reserved for the sick bay. It was never a primary source of water for the entire crew due to the large quantities of wood fuel required

Later innovations
The widespread use of efficient distillation apparatus such as the French designed jet condensor only became practical with the advent of steamships in the 19th century, which had ample waste heat available from their boilers.

In essence, carrying sufficient fresh water was a constant struggle and a major limiting factor for long voyages during the age of sail.

Sources
Liverpool of the Cape: Port Elizabeth Harbour Development by E. Jon Inggs
Algoa Bay in the Age of Sail -1488-1917 – A Maritime Story by Colin Urquhart Bluecliff Publishing, Port Elizabeth

Port Elizabeth of Yore: Biographies of William Fleming Senior and Junior

These biographies have been created by ChatGPT. I included photographs from my collection to provide some colour and interest. The reason why I selected this father and son combination as my first blog created by AI was to assist me in disentangling the lives of two men with the same name. Fortunately for biographers, even though William Junior’s son was also christened William, he was not prominent in Port Elizabeth affairs and exited the scene by relocating to Cape Town. Secondly, William Junior married my second great aunt, Adelaide, who was Rev Francis McCleland’s daughter.

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Port Elizabeth of Yore: The Saga of the Le Necessaire

By the mid-eighteenth century, South Africa still only possessed one port – Cape Town. This did not imply that sailing vessels did not occasionally anchor offshore and send a small boat ashore either to collect water and other victuals or more ominously to mount surveillance operations. So it was in the case of a French sloop, Le Necessaire, in 1752 off Humewood.

In doing so, a calamity would befall a tiny French boat leading to the exposure of ulterior French intentions.

Main picture: A French Sloop

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Port Elizabeth of Yore: A Visitor’s View of the Town

My brother found a series of six historic postcards all written on by the same person. This fact is deduced from the fact that all the cards bear the same handwriting. This conclusion is substantiated by the fact that all of the cards form part of the same ‘framed’ series of postcards. As none of them were posted he reckons that it was a visitor who bought them instead of taking photos as few people owned cameras in those days. Instead, they added notes to serve as an aide memoir.  It is interesting to see how that person viewed PE at the time.

Main picture: View across Market Square towards Whites Road

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Port Elizabeth of Yore: Duo of Serpentine Specialist and Snake Showman

Frederick Fitzsimons might have been at the apex of his profession as a herpetologist with worldwide recognition but Johannes Molikoe, a mere snake handler, had even greater recognition. Whereas a trickle of visitors would visit FitzSimons, a flood of people demanded to attend a show with Johannes Molikoe as the star of the show

Main picture: Amongst those enthralled by Johannes’ show in 1947 was the Royal Family. Frederick William FitzSimons is on the right

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No 7 Through my Eyes – The last years of No 7 as a home

HB Smith was the instigator and progenitor of the plan to rescue No. 7 from a dystopian future unless the house which he recognised as one of the oldest houses in Port Elizabeth was restored. He selflessly undertook this task in the twilight of his life. After writing an article on the role that HB had played in setting this house on its path to restoration, I was contacted by a member of the family, HB’s granddaughter, Angela Hidden (nee Smith). When she told me of her experiences of No. 7 during its final days as a home, I made a humble request that she write a blog of her experiences as a youngster to which she willingly agreed.

Angela Smith was born is 1955 and this blog relates to the period 1959 to 1962 when HB passed away. This is her story in her own words.

Main picture: No 7 Castle Hill in 1962

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Port Elizabeth of Yore: The Age of the Backyard Mechanic

I can vividly recall my father fixing, servicing and repairing his own vehicle, a Vauxhall Victor during the 1960s. He was probably the final tranche of backyard mechanics who would never admit to using a qualified mechanic to service or repair his vehicle. What enabled home repairs was the fact that the vehicles possessed no electronics as everything was mechanical. I recall in the ’60s bleeding my Beetle’s brakes and setting the engine’s timing. Today I battle to find the lever to open the bonnet!

In this blog Norman Smith recounts the idiosyncratic methods used by him to keep his Morris Ten on the road.

Main picture: Morris 10 of Norman Smith

We could at last afford a cheap second car. I sniffed around and eventually located a 1948 Morris Ten, re-sprayed in a fair imitation of “British Racing Green” and with passable seat covers. At £275 and with 33000 miles on the “clock” it seemed reasonable, so I took it for a test run. It battled manfully in 2nd gear up Albany Road (gradient about l in 10) while the salesman assured me that “She just needs to warm up”. On the level along Cape Road, with the accelerator flat on the floor she managed to get up to just over 30 miles per hour – the warming-up period seemed excessive. I said that although my wife was not a hell-driver she would need something a little more vigorous. He suggested that we stop and check to see if there was anything wrong.

The Morris 10 with Norman’s mother, Mae Marguerite Smith and friends

With the bonnet open, we regarded the engine. I observed one sparking-plug lead hanging dismally down alongside the engine- and waited for him to re-unite it with its colleague. A nasty little imp on my shoulder prevented me from reaching out to do the job myself. He muttered something about not understanding, and then I suggested that we return to the showroom and forget about the sad machine.

Back in the showroom he excused himself for a moment. He returned with a hopeful look on his face and asked whether £250 would interest me. We agreed on the new price and in due course I took delivery and headed for home with my lame duck. Once clear of the premises, I stopped and opened the bonnet. Seconds later, with the offending lead back on the plug top we set off up Albany Road as if Beelzebub were determined to demand his ransom from me.

He got his own back a couple of years later when Sheila rang me at work to ask for help. Her car started OK but wouldn’t move an inch. Inspection revealed that one of the half-shafts in the back axle had sheared as a result of historical over-exertion. It also became apparent from the excessive “play” in the crown-wheel and pinion that the mileage reflected on the speedometer could have been accurate if one accepted that it was “second time round”.

After many thousands of miles (in those days kilometres were just funny things beloved by queer types like Continentals!) she began to burn unacceptable quantities of oil. At a little over 40 years old, I had no qualms about replacing the piston rings. I’ll draw a veil over the details of the stripping-down process. Experience in Electrical Engineering proved a poor substitute for a motor mechanic. However, the new rings having been purchased, they proved to be a few microns too large for the bores. Many laborious hours with a carborundum file later reduced their diameter just enough to admit them to the bores.

As I re-assembled the parts it became apparent that I might have a fairly tight engine on my hands, but with hope and liberal quantities of colloidal graphited oil I pressed on and completed the assembly. When I tried to turn the engine with the starting handle it wouldn’t budge. I tried again with Sheila operating the starter. Solid as a rock! We pushed her out into the road and coupled up a tow-rope from the Vauxhall, which Sheila drove slowly down Water Road. When I tried to engage the clutch in top gear there was a fearsome juddering but no sign of the engine turning. I had disconnected the ignition because the last thing we needed at this juncture was heat on those pistons, and now I played my last card. I operated the starter while engaging the clutch. It worked! I let the Vauxhall drag the re-vitalised Lena for a couple of hundred yards down the road, stopped and re-connected the ignition and switched on. Praise be – she started! She never again burnt a drop of oil up to the day we parted.

Leapin’ Lena had many endearing characteristics and the kids loved her. ( In fact, when we replaced her some years later in 1960 with a spanking new Vauxhall Victor station wagon there were many dewy eyes and not a little grizzling to bid her farewell.) One of her idiosyncrasies was her movement along roads with a little waviness. She adopted an up-and­ down motion combined with a charming roll. This was due to only one shock-absorber functioning.. The other three had long since given up the unequal struggle against anno domini and we couldn’t afford to replace them.

On another occasion I had to drive out to Lovemore Park to retrieve Sheila. She drove the Vauxhall back to Walmer while I struggled after her with Lena. The problem was a broken throttle linkage. I replaced it with a temporary jury-rig consisting of strings to control throttle opening and closing, not unlike a puppeteer’s controller, with the strings passing out through a gap in the bonnet and in through the driver’s window. This arrangement called for some very precise anticipation of traffic situations! Needless to say, proper repairs were conducted without delay.

One could continue ad infinitum, as on the occasion when ” the chimney went on fire” – this was after the great piston-ring replacement, when the running-in process was complete. Driving briskly down the Schoenies road in the dusk I became aware of a strange shower of sparks appearing in the rear-view mirror. It transpired that in her oil-guzzling days much of the oil that remained unburnt simply passed out of the engine and was deposited in the exhaust system. On this interesting evening, with my enthusiasm pushing the revs up a bit, the resulting heat set fire to the oily deposits!

As already mentioned, the children briefly mourned her passing but I think Sheila was not quite so unhappy. Our finances had improved somewhat by 1960 and I was able to negotiate a satisfactory deal with the salesman at Williams Hunt regarding the Victor. When he offered me £50, I said sorrowfully “£50? My dear chap, you’re looking at a dying breed. They don’t make them like this any more!”. With a sardonic smile, he said “L75?”. I said “Done!”.

So ended my relationship with one of the most interesting cars I have ever owned. But now, in 1999, much of what she taught me is useless. Everything under the bonnet is either sealed or incomprehensible. Verily, they don’t “make them like that any more”. Perhaps it’s just as well!

Note:
The Morris was called Lea for short. Harold named all of his cars with girls’ names). This one was Leaping Lena because of her rather less than smooth drive! I think Dad chose Lena for alliteration with the L in leaping. He enjoyed playing with language! Also the name would have to have 2 syllables to balance with ‘Leaping. X

Source:
Article entitled Leapin’ Lena by Norman Smith

Port Elizabeth of Yore: No. 7 Castle Hill through the Ages

Of all the houses in early Port Elizabeth, only No. 7 Castle Hill has been sketched or painted over the ages. The reason is obvious. Initially it was the fact that it was owned by the Rev. Francis McCleland, the first clergyman at St Mary’s church but for later painters it was that fact that the dwelling occupied a prominent position on the hill.

Early pictures of Port Elizabeth in which No. 7 Castle Hill can be identified are helpful, but as Mrs Trehaeven, the curator notes in an article in Looking Back, that these sketches seem to present conflicting evidence. One must bear in mind that the aim of the artist was generally to present a panoramic view. He would not be much concerned with details of specific buildings. What the artist failed to appreciate was that future generations would only have these sketches and drawings as their reference work.

Main picture: No. 7 Castle Hill [supplied by Angela Hidden nee Smith]

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