Ian Tew - Salvage--A Personal Odyssey

Two chapters in this book are revised versions of articles originally published in the Nautical Magazine, and I am most grateful to the publishers, Brown, Son and Ferguson Ltd, and to the editor, Leslie Ingram-Brown, for permission to republish A day off the coast of India (from vol. 218, no. 2, August 1977) and Majmaa II and Pacificoeverett (from vol. 266 no. 1, July 2001, originally entitled Kadmat Island).

The painting of the Dara on fire (page 10) is the work of the marine artist Robert Lloyd, and I thank him for kindly allowing it to be reproduced here.

I am immensely grateful to Patricia Eve of Seafarer Books, who persuaded me to write this book: her skill at winkling out half-forgotten details of my life is amazing, and her enthusiasm is infectious. John Julian was the goad that started me off, and he kindly typed most of the manuscript in New Zealand (the internet is a wonderful thing). I would also like to thank Ray Clarke, who checked it for legal pitfalls, and the Seafarer team who put it all together: Hugh Brazier, who made sense of the incomprehensible, and Louis Mackay, for his patience and skill in designing the book, doing the maps and diagrams and organising the photographs.

Finally, to all those who salved ships with me, thank you for many unforgettable years.

Ian Tew

A fter the Dara I remained at sea with BI until I completed my indentures. When I obtained my second mates certificate I joined Ellerman Lines as a junior officer, running between the UK and India. A couple of years later I flew to Hong Kong and joined the Indo-China Steam Navigation Company, running round the Far East, India, Bangladesh, Burma, Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, Japan, China, Taiwan and Australia. I obtained my foreign-going masters certificate in 1968. In 1973 I joined a firm of admiralty solicitors in London with a view to becoming a lawyer. They acted for Selco Salvage in Singapore, and a year later an opportunity occurred to join them. The lure of the sea was too much. I was interviewed in a pub near Dungeness and flew out.

I arrived in Singapore, which was hot and humid, and put up at the Orchid Inn on the Bukit Timah Road. I turned up at the office, out at Jurong, about 45 minutes drive from the hotel, wearing a tie and jacket. I soon realised my mistake. No one seemed very interested in me so I wandered round the shipyard, for apart from tugs and barges Selco owned a yard and slip. Tony Church, an ex-seafarer, took pity on me and lent me a car for a couple of weeks to drive around and learn Singapore. Being a marketing man, he always wore a tie but no jacket.

Captain Peter Lankester arrived with a new tug for Selco. She was an old Japanese tug driven by two engines coupled to a single shaft. Manoeuvring was done on one engine and, to stop the propeller, the engine had to be stopped, big-ship style. The Daisy, as she was called, but to be renamed Salvaliant, was to be completely refitted at the Selco shipyard. Peter, being a most experienced tug master, knew exactly what he wanted done, regardless of expense. The refit was to take months, and I lived in the hotel, going to the tug each day with Peter.

Peter Lankester was a big, heavy, burly, tough Dutchman, with a heart of gold. It was hot in Singapore, being almost on the equator, so lunch was normally at the swimming club, accompanied by a few beers to replace all the sweat lost during the morning. It was the same in the evening on the way back to the hotel. Peter lived in a flat on the other side of the city with his wife Unke and their two children, Peter and Caroline. At weekends, I was sometimes invited for barbecues.

Nobby Halls, a retired naval petty officer, was the engineer superintendent, and in fact he doubled as the marine superintendent as well. He was a down-to-earth, capable man who got things done and was enormously helpful and supportive to me. He and his wife Anne lived in a flat at Sembawang, the naval base, and when I got to know Nobby better I used to go and stay for a night, away from the tug.

Ernie Kahlenberg, an older man, was a live wire, the dynamo of Selco, but I did not get to know him until later. He used to arrive at the office in a big chauffeur-driven car, a diminutive little man sitting in the back, his white, rather sparse hair just visible through the back window. He was the chairman and managing director, and owned the company.

One evening I received a call from Selcos operations room. We were all on pagers when away from the office or the tugs. A van would pick me up and take me to the office. In the operations room, I was instructed to go with the Salvana and her Filipino master, Captain Hannibul, and tow in a ship from the Malacca Straits. The Salvana was the original big Selco tug, with some 2,500 hp, and Peter had been in command. This was my first salvage job, and I was very excited. The Salvana was in the shipyard and I had to clamber over a couple of ships to reach her. It was near low tide and so she required a small tug to tow her out. We did not want anything to damage the propeller. Once clear of the yard Captain Hannibul, having obtained permission from Port Control, steamed west at full speed, through the Western Anchorage and into the Malacca Straits. In Singapore, no one moved in the port without permission, unless they wanted a one-way trip to Changi jail. Any other salvage tug in Singapore would be monitoring the VHF and would know that a Selco tug had sailed. What they would not know was whether it was a salvage sailing or not. Competition between the salvage companies in Singapore was very fierce.

It was a fine night and the sea was calm in the Malacca Straits, the Indonesian island of Karimun Kesil nine miles to port, Malaysia close to starboard, the jungle dark against the night sky, the lights on the fish traps twinkling. There was the usual traffic in the Straits, the main gateway to Japan laden tankers from the Persian Gulf, container ships from Europe and small fishing boats from both sides. The tug seemed very small compared to the ships I had been on, and her 12 knots seemed much faster, being so close to the water.

I did not like to admit to Captain Hannibul, a very experienced salvage tug master, that Id never been in a tug before, let alone done any towing. I suspect he knew in any event, because there was a pretty good bush telegraph in Selco, especially amongst the Filipinos. I went onto the tow deck to watch the crew preparing the towing gear. The casualty, as a ship in distress is known in the salvage world, was anchored about 40 miles north of Singapore. It was about 0200 in the morning when we reached her. Operations had given me the position.

Captain Hannibul stood by the anchored ship while I went across in the rubber boat. A wooden pilot ladder was lowered and I climbed aboard with a Lloyds Open Form in my pocket. I was taken to the bridge and met the master, a Korean. I offered him the form. He knew we were coming and agreed to sign. I filled it in and we both signed. I was immensely pleased. It was my first Lloyds form, a no cure, no pay contract that salvors work on. I called up the Salvana on the portable VHF, using Selcos private frequency.

LOF signed. You can come alongside and connect up, Captain, I spoke into the radio. Inform Ops.

Roger Cap, came the reply. Captain Hannibul did not waste words.

The casualty was stemming the tide that is, bow to the tide. In order to make the connection easily and quickly, it was necessary for Captain Hannibul to bring the