THE SAILORS’ FRIEND. THE POLITICIAN SAMUEL PLIMSOLL LEFT HIS MARK ON THE SHIPS OF THE WORLD’S OCEANS AFTER A LONG STRUGGLE THROUGH ALL INSTANCES, THUS SAVING THOUSANDS OF SEAFARERS FROM A WATERY GRAVE. TEXT: STEFAN DETJEN England around 1860. The coal merchant Samuel Plimsoll has nothing to do with seafaring. His world consists of apprenticeships in a law firm and his job as an accountant in a brewery. He is profiting from industrialisation’s hunger for energy and makes a fortune trading coal. At the same time, he is busy with inventions. As a practical man, he often finds simple solutions to technical problems, such as a process to produce fuel again from furnace slag. His special chute for dust-free filling of coal sacks even receives a patent. Then the day comes when Plimsoll embarks on his mission to save ships and lives. In 1864 he makes his first sea voyage. On the voyage his ship is caught in a storm. Plimsoll is impressed by the natural spectacle and the work of the sailors, but later horrified when he learns that four ships have sunk on the same route. He does his homework and learns the hard truth. Unscrupulous shipowners let highly insured but poorly maintained ships sail overloaded. Knowing that the insurance company will pay out well if the old tub sinks. The legislation plays into the hands of the profiteers. If the crew refuses to go on board, they can be forced to do so by police force – or spend three months behind bars. The crew is also being cut back, with young newcomers replacing experienced salt humpbacks who value their lives. a petition together with 15 ports. It can’t go on like this. The signatories are calling for regular inspections and a freeboard marker that will show to all where a ship can be loaded. Plimsoll talks to William Christopher Leng, editor of the Sheffield Daily Telegraph, who also argues for the mark. For Plimsoll, a pragmatist, it is clear that if a simple sign can save lives and ships, why hasn’t it already become law? In 1870, he presents three amendments to the Merchant Shipping Act in Parliament. Inspections, a freeboard mark and a limit on insurance sums, so that the unscrupulous rip-offs by shipowners would no longer be worthwhile. But instead of applause, Plimsoll reaps rejection. The lobby of the shipping industry has the motion postponed, adjourned, stalled. After all, there are issues of greater dimensions than laws on painted signs on ships’ hulls. A SIGN OF THE TIMES When Plimsoll enters politics in 1867 and becomes a Liberal MP in the House of Commons, another tragedy occurs. The freighter Utopia leaks after grounding in Liverpool harbour. The harbour inspector looks at the damage and draws a line on the hull. This means that the ship can only be loaded up to here until it is repaired. But business is business and the owners know no quarter. After the cargo is stowed, the Utopia lies below the mark. The responsible captain protests and is promptly fired. A second captain is simply blackmailed: either sail or never be given a command again. The Utopia sets sail – and sinks three days later. Stupid coincidence? Divine fate? The rescuers from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution know the real cause and rail against the deplorable state of affairs. Even on the shipowner side, a few want to distance themselves from the black sheep. Owner James Hall is submitting 88
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