Until DBOGA President Adrian “Stu” Spence’s ancient 1873-vintage Bristol Channel Pilot Cutter Madcap was sold away to France some years ago, John and Sandra Lefroy’s Phoenix was just one of three yachts of the circa 1870 era still in Ireland, the third one being the 1868 Dublin-built iron cutter The Nita, whose bare hull is currently in the Dublin yard of contractors John Sisk & Sons, awaiting a meaningful role as a monument of some kind.
But with Madcap’s departure, Phoenix is now unique, being still in full commission and prepared for her Sesquicentennial by David Lefroy and the family team. There are of course, some very ancient Galway Hookers in the west, bits of which are more than 150 years old. But as regular re-building is key to their survival, there’s no way that any of them can match the Phoenix for the amount of original material, which is still integral to an elegant vessel which has been such a well-loved feature of the Shannon scene for so very long. So long, in fact, that she now even has her own benign Ghost-in-Residence.
SANDRA LEFROY put together some thoughts for a talk to the Dromineer Literary Festival on what the Phoenix means for her family and the wider inland waterways community, and we thank her for permission to use this expanded version of an extraordinary story.
Now almost unique, the Phoenix is one of the most important historical boats in Ireland. She has been based in Killaloe for most of her life, mainly in the ownership of the Lefroy family. Built in 1872-73, she is fifty-eight-foot-six long, with a ten-foot-four beam and a draught of four-foot-four. She is built of 5/16” Lowmoor iron, in flush-riveted plates on 2” x 2” steel angle-iron, and she weighs about thirty tons. Her hull is typical of steamships of her time- very long and narrow, with a straight stem and a counter-stern. With her raked funnel and masts, she follows the lines of most steamships of the day - which had to be easily-driven, due to the low power-output of engines for their bulk and weight.
It might put things in perspective to note that the “Phoenix” was actually forty years old when the “Titanic” encountered her iceberg in 1912, and was celebrating her Golden Jubilee when the Shannon One Designs were getting going as a class a hundred years ago.
Phoenix in her element as Committee Boat for the Dromineer Classics Regatta, overseeing racing for the Dublin Bay Waterwags (1887 & 1900), the Howth 17s (Aura, Ian Malcolm in foreround) of 1898, and the Shannon One Designs (1922). It is estimated that the combined age of all the boats in this photo is well over two thousand years
Officially a gentleman’s steam yacht, the Phoenix was built in the Malcolmson Brothers’ Neptune Iron Works in Waterford for Colonel William Spaight of Killaloe. It has been said that she was built with the insurance money forthcoming when Colonel Spaight’s country house at Derry Castle just outside Ballina was burned to the ground, and that - like the proverbial Phoenix - she rose from the ashes.
It has also been suggested that this calamity was alleviated by the Phoenix Insurance Company, so that may have been the real reason – we just don’t know. A couple of years ago we discovered the Irish Times report of her launching on 15th May, 1873, as well as more detailed notes of that occasion in the Waterford papers. It seems to have been quite a highlight of the social calendar, but unfortunately Colonel Spaight missed the event, as he had to entertain the Lord Lieutenant at the opening of the new graving-dock in Limerick that week. It is possible that she was built to take part in the celebrations pertaining to this event, but that delivery was typically late.
The boat remained in the ownership of the Spaight family for some thirty years, during which time she returned to Waterford for repairs in 1884 – we don’t know for what or why, but it may have been cracking in the plating due to poor rolling of the iron. She was then leased to Arthur Waller, chief brewer in Guinness, who brought her home via Dublin and the Grand Canal – quite an adventure with her deep draught.
The lines of Phoenix are so elegantly refined that you need a measuring tape to believe she’s all of 58.5ft long, while her draught of 4ft 4ins can make transitting the Grand Canal something of a challenge
TO LOUGH ALLEN FOR BUNKERS WITH ARIGNA COAL
Great-Uncle Harry Lefroy owned the Phoenix for thirty-two years from 1903 until his death in 1935. He used the boat chiefly for pleasure, but also as a floating office. He owned and operated the Mill in Killaloe, where there was a covered dock - which is one reason for the Phoenix’s survival, when many other vessels of her type rotted away. His log from those years gives us a fascinating picture of life at that time, both from a business and a social point of view. He and his wife Min used to make regular annual trips up to Lough Allen to bunker a year’s supply of Arigna coal for the steam-engine.
Prvate woodland berth at Killaloe. In the days of her steam engine, Phoenix would make an annual Springtime voyage the length of the Shannon to Lough Allen to fill her bunkers with Arigna Coal from the lakeside mine.
That unit was removed in 1927, and replaced with a two-cylinder, two-stroke diesel engine, made by Ellwe of Sweden. It was started by compressed air and developed - in modern terms - about 80bhp. This survived until 1966, and only failed when an external oil-pipe fractured and a big-end went. It was a pity, as it was beautifully engineered and was virtually un-worn – although remembered in the family as being a very temperamental animal indeed.
HOME-PORTED IN HOWTH
Uncle Harry died in 1935, and his widow sold the Phoenix to a Mr. Scott, who transferred her to his home port of Howth in Dublin. Upon Mr. Scott’s death three years later, the boat was left to his chauffeur, who brought her around the coast and back to Killaloe in 1939. The boat came into Dick Lee’s ownership in 1940. A cousin of the Hooker family at Hazel Point in Dromineer, Dick had served his time with Harland & Wolff, and knew a proper “little ship” when he saw one. He was a very faithful steward to the Phoenix with his meticulous care and maintenance, and he also did a great deal of cruising – including salt-water trips down the Shannon Estuary. Upon his retirement to England in 1950, Dick sold the Phoenix to Bunny Goodbody.
Following a period of some two years acting as the Goodbodys’ somewhat Spartan full-time residence, the Phoenix spent a further couple of years in Dromineer and then moved home to Killaloe, where she was taken over by the Newenham family of Lakeside Hotel fame. She rather “dossed around” in Killaloe for a number of years, acting as a floating home for various people involved in the Cruising Craft Company and in the Hotel, and for a brief undignified period was operated as a hire-boat, with a skipper – Mick Conroy - who had a berth in the engine-room.
RETURN TO THE LEFROYS OF KILLALOE
Being based back in Killaloe, it was only a matter of time before Hector Newenham suggested in 1963 (after John had borrowed her for a winter trip to Athlone): “Perhaps you could persuade your father to buy her back into the family” – and that, for us, was where it all started.
The Phoenix was our full-time home for eighteen months from May 1971 to December ’72, and then for nearly two-and-a-half years from September 1989 to December ’91. Our life on board for regattas, sailing courses and other events over the past fifty-one years would amount to some 300 weeks, so we have probably lived on board for a total of nine-and-a-half years, which is really quite a long time.
HOME SWEET HOME AFLOAT
We didn’t really mean to live on a boat – it just sort of happened. Following our marriage, we had spent a year in Carrick-on-Shannon setting-up the Emerald Star Line operation there and were now about to move south to Portumna to open a new base for the company at the northern end of Lough Derg.
1987 was one of the years when Phoenix went with white topsides, and here she is lining up to go through Portumna bridge, where John and Sandra Lefroy played the key role in establishing the new Emerald Star Line Portumna Base
The planning for this was all still in an embryo stage and, apart from having neither office nor workshop there, we also had nowhere to live. After weighing-up the merits (or de-merits) of mobile-homes and apartments “up-town” while our house was being built, we had the bright idea of acquiring the Phoenix from John’s father for use as a temporary home.
He had been threatening to get rid of the boat, as none of the younger generation was at home to use and maintain her, and he was delighted to make a sale within the family. She had become somewhat dilapidated and needed a new gearbox. We towed her up from Killaloe to Carrick, courtesy of John Weaving, to do some preparatory work. As is the nature of boats, this work proved to be rather more extensive (and expensive) than originally anticipated, and in fact a new pre-fabricated teak wheelhouse was only bolted into position on the day before we moved in. It was all a bit rushed, and much of the work hadn’t really had a chance to settle-down properly.
BIRTHDAY TRAUMAS
We left Carrick on my birthday and proceeded on our way downstream – and I don’t know why, but throughout my married life my birthdays have frequently resulted in trauma. As departing to a tight deadline had proved stressful, it was decided to de-fuse things by setting-out a nice lunch in the saloon. Everything prepared, I was just about to call the crew when one of the windows in the coachroof above simply fell out of its framing, and landed with a crash on the table - with predictable results. When the tears had been suitably dealt with and the broken glass had been picked out of the salad, we continued on through Jamestown Lock and downstream towards Lough Derg and a new chapter of our lives.
Life on board this first time was relatively simple as there were only John and myself – and, of course, Delilah. Delilah was a hush puppy – a basset hound of enormous character and little conscience, and we loved her dearly. She was not well-designed for boating, having quite a large frame on rather short legs. She wasn’t able to jump very well and was a bit too heavy to lift – which was, in any case, a procedure she resented deeply. Her chief problem was that she tended to trip over her long ears on deck, and we had to be careful that she didn’t fall overboard.
BASIC BATHROOM
At this stage, utilities on the Phoenix were less sophisticated than they are now. Cooking was OK, although bathroom and laundry facilities were pretty rudimentary. But we were young and optimistic – and so busy with our work that we hadn’t much time to brood about our surroundings anyway. There was a freedom in just being able to untie the warps and go up the river or down the lake without any thought of packing or preparation – we just took it all with us, like a tortoise.
After a busy Saturday turning-round the hire-boat fleet, we would often head off to Kilgarvan, where we had friends who would greet our arrival with: “Can I get you a drink – or would you like to have a bath first?” Rather than implying any criticism about our hygiene, this was sweet music to our undoubtedly grubby ears.
“THE DECKS DEFINITELY LEAKED”
The decks definitely leaked when it rained, and it was sometimes difficult to find dry clothes to put on in the morning. In fact, as we had only expected to be on board for six months and had put nearly everything we possessed into storage, it was sometimes difficult to find any clothes to put on in the morning. Life on board worked quite well in the summer, but during the winter we began to feel the strain a bit.
Of course, we were less busy then with the hire-boat season over, so we noticed things more. It was reasonably easy to heat the boat, but between rain and condensation it was another matter altogether to keep it dry. Things kept happening to delay the house-building process and we viewed the prospect of a second winter on-board with some foreboding.
UNOFFICIAL RESCUE BOAT
During our twenty years in Portumna, living on and off the Phoenix, she was much in demand as an unofficial rescue-boat on Lough Derg. It was before the days of a formal lifeboat operation in the area, so in effect, Kevin O’Farrell of Killaloe looked after the bottom half of the lake, and we looked after the top. There were times when we could have done without this – we often had to turn-out after dark at the end of a busy working-day to rescue some intellectually-challenged mariner from an inappropriate location which – as Percy French would have put it - “wasn’t set down on the chart”.
There were nastier ventures too, when the purpose was more that of retrieval than rescue, but fortunately, these were few. In general, though, it was a very worthwhile operation, and we were glad to be able to help – the lake can be a scary place and one has to learn to treat it with respect.
Phoenix at rest, a haven of peace between boat-hire client demands and occasionally grisly rescue operations
TWO SONS, TWO DOGS AND A HORSE
By the time of the Phoenix’s second stint as our permanent home, things were a little more complicated. We now had two sons, two dogs and a horse. The horse was reasonably easy, as she had no aspirations to live on board, and suitable grazing and shelter could be arranged ashore. Rustler was a Labrador with an affectionate temperament and a terrific nose for scent – he once had to be retrieved from the farmyard of an attractive collie three miles up a mountain on the other side of the river. He had previously been expelled from dog-school as being un-trainable, so there wasn’t much point in calling him back.
Schweppes was a Jack Russell terrier, who has been described as having “a libido in inverse proportion to his small stature”, had no morals at all. Strong characters both, they were very much part of our family – and their presence on the Phoenix helped to make it feel like home immediately. They were better designed for boating than Delilah had been – Rustler was tall enough to be able to jump on board by himself, and Schweppes was small enough to be portable, such that somebody once referred to him disrespectfully as the “handbag-dog”.
Our elder son David, by then aged 14, was at boarding-school in Dublin, coming down to join us on the boat in the school holidays and at half-term. We wondered very much what his peers were going to say when they heard about his new residence – we had visions of incredulous horror: “You can’t live on a boat!” and derogatory remarks about having no fixed abode – but in fact quite the reverse was the case.
“SORDID GLAMOUR”
It transpired that there was a degree of sordid glamour associated with living afloat and, rather than detracting from his reputation, it added a definite aura of mystery. Fortunately, my parents were still living in Dublin and we were able to do all the washing, ironing and mending required to school gear at their house at the end of term. The trunk could then be re-packed ready for next term, and left there until needed. I don’t know what we’d have done otherwise – nine white shirts and a term’s-worth of rugby kit would have been difficult to deal with in the Phoenix’s galley-sink.
The Boat People head for worship – John and Sandra Lefroy with their sons David and Pete about to depart from their home aboard Phoenix for the Sunday morning service in Killaloe Cathedral
Peter, aged 10, was still attending primary school and now travelled into Limerick by school bus. I think he felt a bit different from the others to begin with, but they also seemed to think he was rather exotic. He did find life afloat rather distracting when it came to homework – it’s not very easy to concentrate on a page of sums when there are all sorts of exciting boaty things happening within earshot.
SPRINGTIME DAY ON LOUGH DERG
The “Phoenix”’s Log of 21st March, 1990 reads: “Departed 9.40 for Mountshannon to retrieve cruiser which had gone on fire. Bright, breezy, force 4-6, with squally showers. Beam sea in Scarriff, arrived Mountshannon 10.55. Departed 11.25 – wind and waves increased in Scarrif Bay. Seven-minute stop under Aughinish Island to change fuel-filters. Passed Judy Snuff marker at 1.10. Turned and dropped-off cruiser at marina, and back at berth at 2pm. Pete working on Aboriginal Essay.”
I don’t actually remember the Aboriginal Essay, but the Night of the Ninety-Three Sums was another matter altogether.
When we moved on board in September 1989, we again put most of our worldly goods into storage – as we were “only going to be on board for six months”. I should really have known better by this stage, but we were confident that we would find a house to move-into in Killaloe quite easily, even though we might have to do some work on it. Well, the more we looked, the more we couldn’t find it – we didn’t even find one we wanted that we couldn’t afford. But we did eventually find a site – a site that went down to the water, a site where the Phoenix could live at the bottom of the garden (with, or without, the fairies), a site that could also – as something of an afterthought – have a house built on it. We were getting the hang of our priorities at this stage.
Captain’s Log for 20th February 1990 reads: “Sent deposit on site at Clarisford. Must now get down to design of quay for Phoenix – and I suppose a house.” And Ship’s Log for 15th September 1990: “Rescue of cruiser from Scilly Island at night. Very exciting – sinking boat, temperamental pump and dark night. Home 11.30pm and got cruiser on to slip. Planning permission through for house.” (This, you will note, is almost a postscript.)
AVOIDING A FRIDAY 13TH MOVE
We actually moved into the house on the 12th December, 1991. The builders weren’t due to leave until the next day, but I came over all neurotic and said I couldn’t move-in anywhere on a Friday 13th. So, we were in the house in time for Christmas that year – and suffered dreadfully from agoraphobia for several weeks. We were used to the “Phoenix”’s galley, where we could cook and wash-up without moving around. We were used to our neat little bunks and our tiny “heads-type” bathroom, and everything seemed to be much too big and much too far away. Rather like Alice in Wonderland.
Getting away from it all. Phoenix fits in perfectly in the anchorage at Rynskaheen Point on Lough Derg on a quiet day, yet the same area has seen some of her roughest passages
We have now lived in that house for over 30 years – and have no intention of ever moving out again if we can help it. But the house is called “Phoenix Park” (well, why shouldn’t we live in one too?), there are several anchors moored around the building - we feel safer that way – and of course the “Phoenix” lives at the bottom of the garden.
SPECTRAL VISITS: “QUITE A GOOD ACT”
Great Uncle Harry Lefroy visits us on the boat sometimes. It’s quite a good act, considering that he died in 1935. He’s a benign presence and doesn’t bother us at all, but it’s rather a funny feeling all the same. As the Phoenix was his boat, I suppose it’s not too surprising that he should want to visit and see how his family is looking after her. He made a brief appearance in 1972, when I truly believe I saw him on board – but as I didn’t know then what he had looked like, I didn’t know who it was.
It was when we returned to Killaloe in the autumn of 1989 that he really made his presence felt – and being on board full-time, we were more than usually in a position to notice strange happenings. He seemed more active during the months we spent moored over on the Tipperary shore, but settled down to a calmer presence upon our arrival at the Pier Head – close to the “Phoenix”’s old green boat-house and under the lee of his former home, red-bricked Cambrai. We felt that he was, in his own inimitable way, welcoming his boat and family home.
This sharp forefooot has been cleaving the waters of Lough Derg and other places for 150 years
Uncle Harry operates in a number of ways, but one of his most successful activities is with lights. Electrics are frequently an imperfect science in boating, and nobody is surprised when lights occasionally go out without warning. One does tend to take notice, however, when they start to go on unexpectedly – particularly after re-wiring and replacement of relevant fittings has failed to “cure” the phenomenon. Not always the same light, either – it varies (according, presumably, to his mood on the day).
He has other little tricks too, mostly relating to the running of the engine (not his original steam-plant, but a slightly more modern diesel affair – so perhaps he resents it anyway). Even the most sceptical might have found their faith shaken when the engine started spontaneously while we were at anchor one day - and nobody was within six feet of the controls. Uncle Harry has obviously kept up-to-date with developments in the mechanical world, as many of the variations he comes up with would have been beyond the experience of someone from his generation.
When Phoenix is hauled and being worked at, you don’t need the tape measure to sense that she is upwards of 58ft long. But when she’s at Killaloe, the benign ghost of Uncle Harry is often very much present to encourage and improve the work
It’s easy to recognise when he has a storm in his tail. Little things begin to happen (not go wrong exactly – just happen), eventually leading up to such a crescendo of chaos that we become the cause of great interest and entertainment to the rest of the boating fraternity on the Shannon. At this stage, so many curious things have occurred to defy all our applied logic that we have given up trying to explain - and simply accept the fact that “Uncle Harry is at it again.”
When we moved on board as a family, the first thing the boys wanted to know was: “Where is the Christmas tree going to go?” We spent two Christmases with a fir-tree in the traditional ship’s position – up the mainmast. This was all very well, apart from when there was a lot of wind. Our centre of gravity seemed to be in the wrong place, and the “Phoenix” leaned away from the wind much more than she would normally have done. There were several nights of books flying off shelves and dogs getting upset, which was not really very conducive to the spirit of Christmas.
Phoenix dreaming of a white-hulled Christmas……the Yuletide fir aloft in the new marina at Ballina across from Killaloe
But we managed to cook our turkey and Santa Claus found us at our new address – and we evolved a cunning plan for suspending Christmas cards on bits of string, rather like a cat’s cradle. There was a bad patch just after Christmas one year when it rained non-stop for about 10 days, and nobody would go out (not even the dogs) – and every time we turned round we fell over somebody else. There were also problems with variable water-levels in Killaloe, and we sometimes returned to the boat to find her aground.
Ship’s Log January 8th 1990: “Will have to sleep tonight with a list to starboard of five-degrees and down by the bow by five-degrees, as aground aft due to falling levels. A hot-water pipe blew off in the engine room, just to round-off the evening.” And a few days later: “Returned to Phoenix to find ESB disconnected, as water-level now over sockets. Reverted to gas-lights. Water-level higher than in 1954 and more wind and rain forecast – we’ll soon be up in the car-park.”
RESPECTING OTHER PEOPLE’S SPACE
One of the most important lessons to learn in living on a boat is to respect other people’s space. This includes being very tidy in one’s habits – there just isn’t room to leave things lying around. And as time went on, there were more things to leave lying around. When we moved on board and put our belongings into storage, we drew up a list of books to bring with us that we couldn’t do without – things like Shakespeare, Chambers’ Dictionary for the crossword, a favourite (and notorious) Book of Limericks and the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations.
But the on-board library grew with the passage of time, until we got to the stage that if any one of us went near a shop we would come back with a new book. Clothes were difficult too, because we occasionally had to dress up quite smartly and pretend we were just like other people. In those days us-girls were not expected to wear trousers to the Cathedral – which necessitated not only a skirt, but tights and high heels as well. High heels are in any case banned on board as being very damaging, and I was already in the habit of leaving them in the wheelhouse. The tights presented a particular problem, as the dogs were always very pleased to welcome me back on board - and an affectionate paw would inevitably come into contact with a nylon ankle and cause a ladder.
AVOIDING “HOSIERY BANKRUPTCY”
So, rather than becoming bankrupt through buying hosiery, I got into the habit of whipping my tights off as soon as I got inside the boat. Which was all very well when there was only family around, but I had to make a very conscious effort not to go down that road if there were any visitors on board - they might just possibly have misunderstood my intentions.
We didn’t really miss half of the stuff we had regarded as necessary for day-to-day living when we were in a house. We found that everyone needed a knife, a fork, a spoon, a glass, a cup and a plate – but really that was about it. We began to wonder why on earth we had kept cupboards full of crockery and glass in our house, which we had wasted hours taking-out, washing and polishing, and putting-back again after use. Part of the charm of living on a boat is in its simplicity. Why make life complicated by transferring milk from a perfectly adequate container to a jug, or butter to a dish which takes up additional space on the table and then has to be washed-up, using precious decanted water in the process. Undoubtedly there are those who think we became rather peculiar and bohemian during our time on board, but I think we sorted out a lot of our personal priorities in the process.
The launderette in Nenagh became one of my very favourite places (we didn’t have one in Killaloe or Ballina then). It seemed absolutely miraculous to be able to gather up a boat-load of dirty, dieselly garments into a rubbish bag in the morning, and come back in time for lunch with a supply of clean, sweet-smelling laundry. Ironing on board was possible, but undesirable, and we became very good at only wearing the sort of clothes that didn’t need to be ironed. We had wonderful friends too, who understood that the way to our hearts was through bathrooms and washing-machines, and who would always offer bathing-facilities in advance of dinner. Come to think of it, that might have been as much for their benefit as ours.
Phoenix in her own private patch of sunlight in Dromineer under an enormous Lough Derg sky. Off-season visits to Dromineer weren’t just to check out the banter in the Whiskey Still. They were also there to use the very well-equippped laundrettte in Nenagh, as Killaloe/Ballina was a laundrette-free zone.
We had a huge number of visitors to the boat during those years. Our friend George Henry was Master of the Rotunda Maternity Hospital in Dublin, and somehow we ended up hosting a cruise for the Gynaecological Club of Great Britain and Ireland (all 16 of them). George had promised them a trip on the lake, but had failed to start the engine on his own boat. An abiding memory for me is the whisper: “Do you see that bloke having a pee over the stern? – that’s the Queen’s gynaecologist.” Anyway they were all very charming, and Pete (as ship’s boy) made an absolute fortune in tips when they disembarked.
There were also bishops – one each from Limerick, Quebec and New Hampshire – and quite a riotous party that was too. The then Dean of Killaloe was a regular visitor to the Phoenix – he said it made him feel like a chaplain visiting the fleet – and his episcopal visitors jumped at the idea of a bit of boating. It was perhaps fortunate that one of them was accompanied by a tee-total wife, or they might never have got back to their respective Sees afterwards.
PRESIDENT CHILDERS TO CLONMACNOISE
Then there were presidents. We took President and Mrs. Erskine Childers to the open-air Service at Clomacnoise on the Phoenix in 1974, where he was to read a Lesson. The Presidential couple came complete with an aide-de-camp and a couple of Special Branch heavies (who had to start by searching the boat to see that we hadn’t any bombs on board) – and we had to provide lunch on the way up-river. It was only some four months later that President Childers died suddenly – but at least it was long enough afterwards that it probably wasn’t caused by my cooking.
Then we were supposed to take President Hillery to Mountshannon by water to attend a Tidy Towns celebration, but it blew something of a hurricane on the day and the powers-that-be decided that the conditions were unsuitable – even for such an experienced sailor as Paddy Hillery, who sailed his Club Shamrock Corcomroe out of Dun Laoghaire.
Phoenix finds a new role as Ireland’s Presidential Yacht in 1974, when President Erskine Childers voyaged up Shannon from Portumna to Clonmacnoise to speak in a ceremony at the historic riverside monastery. Photo shows (from left) Sandra Lefroy, Mrs Rita Childers, President Childers, John Lefroy, Olympian and Shannon sailor Dr Alf Delany, and Col Joe Leech of Lough Ree YC
VISITORS BY RIVER AND LAND
One of our regular visitors used to come prepared, complete with a camper-van to sleep in. Many, of course, arrived on their own boats and moored alongside, which was very convivial. Other guests just came to visit if they were passing through Killaloe, and the Ship’s Log records a number of people calling-in for a beer or taking tea on board, or even – a very privileged few – coming for dinner.
With the family living in such close quarters on board, we all got to know each other very well. That may sound a bit odd, but I believe we now have a much closer relationship with our grown-up sons than we would have without the experience. And, of course, there can be no secrets on a boat, as everybody can hear everything – which actually saves an awful lot of time and trouble and trying to remember who knows what.
DEVELOPMENT OF CLOSE FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS
I think also that it was a liberating experience for the boys in terms of their acceptance of unusual surroundings. Either of them can now turn up anywhere in the world - and just get on with it, without being distracted by a strange environment. My mother, who rather disapproved of the way we were raising our family, used to say: “Well, at least your children are going to be hard to surprise when they grow up.”
We tried as far as possible to maintain a fairly stable environment for the boys – who, after all, had not chosen to move from their childhood home. It was fortunate that we were moving to an area which was familiar to them, as they had often visited with their grandparents in Killaloe in the past – and also that many of their friends sailed in Dromineer, which remained a favourite stamping-ground for all the family. Pete used to go to choir practice in the Cathedral with other children from school, whose parents kindly gave him a lift home.
We were moored on the marina in Ballina at that stage, and his friends were able to mark his progress back to the boat by the luminous strips on his trainers. There were piano lessons and riding lessons, and of course the horse and dogs to look after - and we used to visit David at school in Dublin as often as possible to shorten the time to the end of term. We tried to think of special things to do when Dave got home too.
A distinctive craft is always busy – over the years, the unmistakable Phoenix has served as Committee Boat so many times that it makes it easier for competitors if she is in this role, and she’s seen here in duty as usual for Lough Derg YC in 2010
The Ships Log for 8th April 1990 reads: “Beautiful day. Collected David from Birdhill station, returning after school trip to Holland. Loaded family, dogs and picnic into fishing-boat and spent afternoon fishing off Ryanthroo Point. Small pike on line caused chaos on being landed – dogs very excited and fishing-boat not terribly large.”
RESCUE AT RYNSKAHEEN
The boys, of course, became highly competent boat-men at an early age. An entry in the Ship’s log from that time reads: “Thirty-foot cruiser aground on Rynskaheen Point. As wind forecast to moderate for the night, Phoenix cast off at 5pm, fuelled and up lake at 6.45. Anchored off casualty and had supper – wind still force 4 and a lee shore. 9pm got to work and got her off at 10.15. Back in Killaloe 1.30am. Cruiser craned-out and ashore. David and Peter very good.” And coming from their skipper, that was glory indeed.
Using the Phoenix for that sort of adventure was one thing when we had a house to go home to – it was another matter when we were pulling boats off rocks and towing them back to port on board our permanent home. Things did tend to get thrown about and tempers sometimes became short. Ship’s Log 18th March 1990: “Breezy, southerly, force 4-5. Bright spells. Garrykennedy to Scarriff. Bouncy between Parker’s Point & Scilly Island – the crew not amused.”
HALLOWE’EN STORM ON LOUGH DERG
One of the worst trips we have ever made on the Phoenix was during that time, when we were returning from the final regatta of the season at the Halloween week-end. The Ship’s Log for 30th October reports: “Took off from Terryglass in a rising SSW wind, force 4. By Hare Island wind was SW force 6. By Parker’s Point SW7, gusting 8. Large box-waves popped up all round as we passed north of Scilly Island – 4.6” – 5’ high at times. Made to shelter of Aughinish to bail the lake boat for the third time (the sailing-boat had self-bailers down). Down the Killaloe arm the wind and wave got even worse - 8 gusting 9. On six or more occasions we dipped our bow under. Very worried about the two open boats towing astern from Hare Island onwards, and had to keep revs to 1100. Five hours from Terryglass to Killaloe. Crew glad to be on dry land!”
And in the end, I suppose we were glad to be on dry land. It’s easier to live in a house than on a boat – which is probably why most people do it. But living on board was certainly character-forming, and undoubtedly knocked-off a few of our unnecessary corners. I believe the family looks back on our years on the Phoenix with a degree of nostalgia and remembers most of them as being among our good times.
But I don’t believe any of us will ever again feel completely comfortable in the frivolous and unnecessary use of milk-jugs and butter-dishes.
Give her the welly…at the 1975 Helmsmans Chamionship with Lough Derg YC at Dromineer, Senior Race Officers Jock Smith and Sam Dix of Malahide were so taken with the Phoenix that they extracted a promise from John Lefroy that when the racing was over, they’d be allowed a spin on the lough with the throttle full open. It was a bit much for the injectors, as she started to belch exhaust smoke like a destroyer at the Battle of Jutand, but so fine is the old ship’s forward entry that it’s only the tumbling quarter wave which gives any indication that she’s going very fast indeed. Photo: W M Nixon
