Robbie, son of Robin Mills(copyright Phil Kneen)

Harvest

Dudley Butt MLC (copyright Phil Kneen)

On the 10th January 2000, the scallop dredger Solway Harvester left her home on the Isle of Whithorn and sailed south, towards the fishing grounds that lie off the coast of the Isle of Man. Aboard the vessel were seven men, including two 17 year old friends. It was to be the last time their families would ever see them alive.

Over the next 24 hours the weather in the Irish Sea began to deteriorate, to the point that the water around the boat turned from a dark foreboding mass to a screaming cauldron that threatened to engulf them. The Skipper, Craig Mills, decided that the time had come to head for shelter, so on the afternoon of the 11th January the crew hauled in their gear and the Solway Harvester headed for a safe haven in Ramsey, on the north coast of the Isle of Man. It was their final journey. At 17.47 a satellite picked up the signal from the boat’s emergency positioning radio beacon, indicating that the vessel had finally lost its battle with the engulfing waves that were battering it.

A search and rescue mission was immediately launched, with elements of the RNLI, Royal Navy and RAF launching into the increasingly fierce storm to try to locate the boat and her crew. The ferocity of the storm forced the likes of the Workington lifeboat to turn back and even defeated the best efforts of the RAF helicopters, and at dusk the following day the search was finally called off, when the boat’s two life-rafts were found, unopened. It took three more days to locate the vessel, lying in some 35 metres of water just 11 miles off the coast of the Isle of Man. All seven crew were still on board.

From the time of the last known communique from the boat, to the time that the EPIRB was activated was just 18 minutes. The crew hadn’t even had time to get on deck.

‘Harvest’ is a joint project between myself and Trevor Gibbs to document what happened over the coming days, to tell the story from the perspective of those most deeply affected by the tragedy - rescue crews, families and friends. This will be their story, told in their own words and accompanied by portraits taken by Phil. The final exhibition is due to be unveiled sometime later this year.

Kirkcudbright Harbour, last berth of the Solway Harvester (copyright Phil Kneen)

The search for the Solway Harvester pitted man and machine against the unrelenting fury of the Irish Sea. Over the next few hours Mother Nature’s unbridled power held sway, and in spite of the best efforts of the coastguard, the RNLI, the RAF and the Royal Navy, the boat and its seven man crew failed to materialise from the enveloping darkness. The search was finally abandoned at dusk on the evening of the 12th January, when two unopened life-rafts shattered any last vestiges of hope that the crew would be found alive.

Over the coming days the Irish Sea remained loathe to give up her prey, and it was another three days before the wreck of the Solway Harvester was finally located, lying 11 miles off the Isle of Man in some 35 metres of water. She lay like some slumbering leviathan, silent and brooding, her seven man crew still aboard, together in death as they had been in life.

Aboard the Royal Navy minesweeper HMS Sandown the mood changed dramatically as one of her submersibles approached. As her captain, Ben Key, said: ‘I remember vividly the silence that descended in the Operations Room as the trawler became visible, the name Solway Harvester emerging from the gloom. We were all struck by how a vessel that had been so alive just a few days before could now be so silent and still’.

Having given their word to the families of the crew that they would bring their boys home, the Isle of Man government now committed nearly a million pounds to the recovery operation, incurring the wrath of the British government in the process. And in spite of the best efforts of the Irish Sea to thwart the operation, the boat and its crew were finally raised and returned to Douglas to the haunting lament of a solitary piper.

The journey home had been a long and painful one, but despite the tragedy of the loss, it is a journey filled with hope. It saw men and women risk their lives in atrocious conditions that fateful January night. It saw politicians stand up for what was right, rather than what was expedient. And it saw two communities come together in grief and remain together in friendship. It’s time to lay the Solway Harvester to rest now, its rusting hulk has served its time: but isn’t it inspiring, in these days of greedy bankers and expense scandals, ruthless bombers and pointless wars, that a story can still be told of the inherent goodness of mankind.

In memory of the crew of the Solway Harvester:

Craig Mills

Robin Mills

David Mills

Martin Milligan

John Murphy

David Lyons

Wesley Jolly

"We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came."

- John F. Kennedy

An entry by Trevor Gibbs

Trevor Gibbs(writer) and Phil Kneen(photographer),Isle of Whithorn Harbour

‘And now the Storm-Blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.’

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It was an almost surreal feeling, sitting in the bar of the Steampacket Inn on the Isle of Whithorn, contemplating death whilst gazing out across a tranquil harbour bathed in late December sunshine. The scene before us had probably changed little over the past ten years. That same somnolent setting was probably the last view of home that the crew of the Solway Harvester had seen as they sailed out on the 10th January 2000, to meet their fate at the hands of an unforgiving sea.
An idea that had originally begun as a conversation in another pub, on another isle, some four months previously (was it really only four months?), the Solway project has grown into an unstoppable juggernaut over the past few weeks; only slowing down to pick up members of the RNLI, the Manx Government, the Royal Navy and an assortment of police officials, coastguard personnel and church ministers along the way. What had started as a flickering light somewhere in the dark recesses of Phil’s mind had now entered the consciousness of folk both here in Whithorn and back at home on the Isle of Man. We had people eager to get involved now, including such luminaries as Donald Gelling and Dudley Butt, who had already furnished us with a wealth of anecdotes and stories relating to the recovery of the vessel, as well as the likes of Ben Key and Robert Corran, respective skippers of the HMS Sandown and the Douglas lifeboat: men who had faced the full might of the raging storm that night in an effort to locate the missing scallop dredger and its 7 man crew.
We were in Whithorn to meet up with some of the families and I think the reality of what we were doing was finally kicking in. How do you ask someone about their dead son? How do you introduce yourself to a woman who was heavily pregnant when her husband drowned, and then look into the face of the 9 year old boy who had never even met his father? Myself and Phil had retired to the bar under the vague, and it has to be said lame, understanding of undertaking a planning meeting. We were fooling no-one. Not even ourselves if truth be known. We were actually hoping that an infusion of strong liquor would steady the nerves prior to our first meeting with the parents of Davy Lyons, a 17 year old lad, who at the time of his death hadn’t even been big enough to join the army!
Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children, its against nature, but over the course of the following weekend we met with three families who had done just that. Two of the boys had been 17, inseparable friends who had a lifetime of experiences ahead of them. The other had been just 22. A combined age of 56, all gone in the space of probably less than 20 minutes. Then there was Karen Jolly, whose husband Robin had been the brother of the Solway’s skipper. We sat and listened to her tell us about the last Christmas they had spent together. Not once did we feel uncomfortable or intrusive. These people were more than happy to share their memories and it wasn’t a feeling of senseless waste that we came away from Whithorn with, but rather an indomitable mood of quiet dignity and, it has to be said, hope. Whilst the memories were still raw and the anger still palpable, the spirit that remained was undefeated.
You have to wonder how they spent this past Christmas and New Year, the 10th anniversary of the sinking doubtless tinging the festivities with some sadness. From our perspective it has probably focused our resolve to do the project justice, to give them something to remember. The one overriding response we got whilst we were in Scotland was how grateful they were to the Isle of Man for what they did to bring the boys home. The island went against every previous precedent, every piece of bureaucratic advice and even the British government itself to raise the boat and recover the crew. The Manx people should be proud of what they achieved and if any of you fancy a quiet drink in the Steampacket Inn in Whithorn, just tell them you are from the Isle of Man...
....to be continued