The ocean

The women leading India's maritime future

James Gill — Wed, 06 May 2026 08:39:33 +0000

The women leading India's maritime future James Gill Wed, 05/06/2026 - 08:39

In 1999 Sonali Banerjee graduated as India’s first female marine engineer. She was the only woman in a college of 500 cadets.

More than 25 years on, her trailblazing career demonstrates how far India has come in supporting women in the shipping industry – and the challenges that still remain.

‘What really matters is what lies within you,’ Banerjee says. ‘It is very important that we believe in our own ability, believe in our own instincts and then move ahead with what we most believe in.’

Banerjee's story features in SHE_SEES India, a new project by Lloyd’s Register Foundation that documents the experiences of women working in India’s maritime sector. Through a series of interviews and portraits, the project celebrates women who have forged a path in what is still a male-dominated industry.

Banerjee later became the first woman to reach the rank of Chief Engineer and is now a leading surveyor in India’s Register of Shipping. She says her experience at sea had a profound influence on her life and career. ‘Life at sea is very different from working ashore, where you have back-up and many options if things go wrong,’ she says. ‘At sea, your resources are limited. You can’t call up somebody and ask for some more help; you have to manage with whatever’s available in terms of people, materials and equipment. That teaches you a lot about life.’

Curators at Royal Museums Greenwich are partnering with Lloyd’s Register Foundation to bring stories of women in the maritime world, both past and present, to light. Exploring how individual perspectives from India compare with historical accounts will help the Museum better understand how women's roles and experiences within the industry have changed.

Banerjee’s story has interesting parallels with that of Dr Nina Baker, who in 1972 became Britain’s first female deck cadet. In 2020 Baker participated in an oral history with the National Maritime Museum, where she reflected on her efforts to break into the maritime industry.

‘Anybody I met who had any connection with the Merchant Navy, I was up saying, “You know, I want to go to sea, and do you think this might be possible?”,’ she recalled, knowing that seafaring was not a typical career path for women at the time. ‘And some of them would say, “Well, the only women at sea are stewardesses on the cruise ships.”’

India is a valuable case study when studying diversity and inclusion within the maritime sector more broadly according to the project’s authors. ‘In terms of maritime diversity, India is further ahead than many countries,’ explains writer and editor Nicola Good. ‘According to the International Maritime Organization WISTA Survey 2024, it accounts for some 7% of women seafarers, which is substantially higher than the overall global average of 1%. So, we also sought to use this opportunity to gain an understanding of why Indian women are more readily getting on board.’

The team interviewed more than 30 women during India Maritime Week in October 2025 from across the industry. Each person was asked about their motivations for pursuing their career and what more could be done to encourage women to thrive in maritime.

Redneshwary Kandeepan, who works in crewing for tugs and barges, said, ‘Society must understand that this is a field where a woman can thrive and we need to make sure vessels have the facilities to accommodate women.’

The issue of suitable facilities was also highlighted by the Port of London's Senior Harbour Master Cathryn Spain, who told Royal Museums Greenwich in 2023. ‘I still hear stories of young women working in the ports and at sea who are experiencing harassment and discrimination. There are other elements that need to change too: for example, ensuring that there are appropriate changing facilities on the shoreside and appropriate provisions for ships in ports.’

As Senior Harbour Master, Cathryn Spain leads on port security, resilience and emergency management in the Port of London (image courtesy of Port of London Authority)

Emphasising the need for pastoral care and professional support was also a common thread both through the SHE_SEES India stories and interviews conducted by Royal Museums Greenwich.

‘For those women who are already at sea, we need to empower them with a sense of psychological safety so they can speak up when they are disadvantaged,’ said Divya Nair, a clinical psychologist at Fleet Management. ‘I've always noticed that as women, we are so driven to prove ourselves in male dominated fields that we don't readily open up. We feel we must bear the burden solo and work through the challenges ourselves.’

Explore the SHE_SEES India series on the Lloyd’s Register Foundation Heritage website, and find more stories of women throughout maritime history below.

Editor’s note: Lloyd's Register Foundation supports Royal Museums Greenwich through its Grants programme. Learn more about the partnership, 'Creating ocean citizens for a safer world'.

'I want to go to sea, do you think this might be possible?' – Nina Baker in her own words

Dr Nina Baker became the first female deck cadet in the British Merchant Navy. Listen to her account of a pioneering career

‘We need to normalise seeing women in this industry’

Ashley Mullenger lifts the lid on the life of a female fisherman

Oral histories: the women of the RNLI

Listen to the stories of women who volunteer with the Royal National Lifeboat Institution – part of a series of recordings by the National Maritime Museum

‘Our actions will define the future of our oceans’

How wildlife filmmaker Inka Cresswell is inspiring the next generation to save our seas

Tenacious women in the kingdom of letters

The correspondence between mothers and wives to John Markham, on the Admiralty Board, reveals the surprising role these women played in attempting to secure their family's survival

'The maritime industry has got better for women – but there’s more to be done'

Meet Senior Harbour Master Cathryn Spain, who oversees navigational safety on the River Thames

From mapmakers to mariners

Artist Remiiya Badru explores the stories of three pioneering women found in the collections of Royal Museums Greenwich

Making Waves

Stories of incredible women at sea

The women who went to sea – dressed as men

Barred from the seafaring life, women had to disguise themselves as men if they wanted to experience the high seas - and brave the consequences of being found out

Research guide: women and the sea

This guide outlines useful sources for research on women and the sea, chiefly at the National Maritime Museum but also The National Archives

An ocean of stories

Visit the National Maritime Museum to learn about the past, present and future of our watery world

Plan your visit

Main image © Emilie Sandy, via Lloyd's Register Foundation

The unexpected history of the shipping container

James Gill — Fri, 27 Mar 2026 11:13:15 +0000

The unexpected history of the shipping container James Gill Fri, 03/27/2026 - 11:13

In the 1870s the sailing ship Cutty Sark carried around 600 tonnes of tea per voyage from China to Britain.

Today, almost two million tonnes of tea are shipped around the world every year – just one tiny part of a vast system of global maritime trade.

Many developments contributed to this expansion, yet few have proven as transformative as one seemingly mundane invention: the shipping container.

On 26 April 1956 a converted oil tanker named the Ideal X left port in Newark, New Jersey carrying 58 metal containers. When it arrived in Texas five days later, the containers were unloaded directly onto to waiting trucks. It was a small experiment with enormous consequences.

Seventy years on this simple idea has fundamentally changed how goods move around the world. But aside from major news events such as the 2021 blocking of the Suez Canal, it's easy to forget just how much of everything we buy is brought by sea.

How did the container transform life at sea and in the docks? And is there a price to being able to ship goods from the other side of the world so cheaply?

On this page

Cargo before containerisation
Dangers at the docks
Origins of the shipping container
How ports changed after containerisation
Slow ships, fast fashion
Environmental impacts of container shipping

Cargo before containerisation

The 19th and early 20th centuries saw a revolution in the way ships were built, powered and sailed. However, the way goods were actually handled changed remarkably little.

Simple hoists, cranes and equipment like this docker’s hook, made around 1936, were still the main tools of a highly dangerous and labour-intensive trade. Barrels, sacks, bales and crates all had to be handled piece by piece as they were lifted onto the ship and stowed in the hold.

London dockers case hook (TOS0269)

At the other end of the voyage, every individual item had to be unloaded again and stored in warehouses until it could continue its journey. Delays were routine and theft common.

Unloading tea ships in the East India docks (58/2798)

Dangers at the docks

Dock work wasn't just dangerous; it was highly insecure too. Just like so-called 'gig economy' workers today, dockers were typically employed only for specific roles at times of high demand. Workers would have to wait at the gates of the docks in the hope of being selected.

Trade unionist Ben Tillett vividly described the conditions for London dockworkers in a speech later published in the English illustrated magazine in 1890:

‘To obtain employment we are driven into a shed, iron-barred from end to end, while outside a foreman or contractor walks up and down with the air of a dealer in a cattle market, picking and choosing from a crowd of men, who in their eagerness to obtain employment trample each other under foot, and like beasts fight for the chances of a day's work.’

These 'coins' from Blackwall Yard illustrate another form of exploitation: dockers were regularly paid in tokens rather than cash. Workers could redeem these tokens only at company shops, where goods might be of lesser quality or sold at a premium.

Tin and trade tokens (REL0709)

In 1888 a report in medical journal The Lancet highlighted the physical toll of dock labour. A surgeon working at Poplar Hospital estimated that 'during the course of five years' constant work, out of a hundred men the majority would suffer some accident; in fact, hardly any would escape.' The investigation found that 'insufficient food', 'reckless speed' and 'the desire for cheapness' all contributed to a high level of preventable accidents at the docks.

'Here lives are needlessly squandered; men are ruptured, their spines injured, their bones broken, and their skulls fractured, so as to get ships loaded and unloaded a little quicker and a little cheaper,' the report concluded.

'Come mister tally man, tally me banana'

Harry Belafonte's 'Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)' featured on the first album to sell more than a million copies. You may well have heard it – but do you know the song's shipping origins?

The traditional Jamaican work song revolves around workers loading bananas on to a ship, waiting for the 'tally man' to count their stacks and give them their pay. 'Work all night on a drink of rum,' the song goes. 'Daylight come and me wan' go home'.

'Unloading Bananas from Steamer, New Orleans, La', 1907 (From the New York Public Library)

'People sing and delight and dance and love it,' Belafonte told NPR in 2011. 'They don't really understand unless they study the song that they're singing a work song that's a song of rebellion.'

The origins of the shipping container

Dock safety began to improve in the UK during the 20th century. Research by Dr Guy Collender published by the Lloyd’s Register Foundation found that fatalities fell from 115 in 1899 to 69 in 1939.

However, even by the 1950s dock work was still incredibly dangerous, with an injury rate three times that of construction workers and eight times that of manufacturing. Regular strikes for improved pay and working conditions increased the already-long turnaround times in ports. Unions and ship owners were seemingly often pitted against each other.

Several attempts had been made to use containers for transporting goods before the Second World War. However, these had been limited in scale and confined to specific back-and-forth routes.

In the 1950s, American trucking entrepreneur Malcolm McLean began to explore how containers might ship goods more efficiently.

Malcolm McLean (Maersk Line, CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons)

An outsider to the shipping industry, McLean identified that it would be quicker and easier to unload goods from ships on to trucks or trains directly. Initially McLean explored loading a lorry complete with its container on to the ship. However, the space limitations and the conditions the vehicles would face on the open ocean made this impractical. Instead, he developed the idea of loading just one part: the box itself.

Diagram from a patent filed by Malcolm McLean titled 'Apparatus for shipping freight' (via Google Patents, CC BY 4.0)

McLean purchased a former military ship, renamed it the Ideal X and configured it to carry his metal containers. On 26 April 1956 the first test voyage carrying 58 containers left New Jersey for Texas. The modern shipping container was born.

Starting small

This rather quaint looking model depicts one of the world's first container ships, Container Venturer (1958). The ship is fully laden with 16 containers that look like railway carriages without their bogies, because that is exactly what they are. This model represents the very beginning of containerized transport.

Giants of the sea

This ship model represents HMM Algeciras, which at the time of its launch in 2020 was the world's largest container ship. The ship is capable of carrying 23,964 TEU. TEU stands for Twenty-foot Equivalent Unit, a standard way of measuring cargo capacity based on the size of a 20-foot-long (6.1 metres) shipping container.

How ports changed after containerisation

Despite the potential safety benefits, dockers' unions were quick to realise that containerisation would mean far fewer workers – a key motivator for inventor McLean himself.

In a patent filed in 1954, McLean wrote, 'A major impediment to transoceanic trade resides in the relatively high cost involved in moving a small shipment of merchandise from a consignor to a consignee. Such merchandise may be handled as many as ten or more times due to the number of loading, unloading and storing operations involved, and the cost of labor as well as the time involved are major factors in determining the cost of moving the shipment.'

As the number of people needed to work the docks fell, there was no longer any need to locate ports close to residential areas. In addition, as the vessels became larger to hold more containers, many city ports lacked sufficient deep water facilities. Cheaper locations with deeper waters and faster road and rail connections could be developed to handle the increasingly large ships.

Scenes such as this photograph from 1932 showing the cargo ship Penang towering over houses and gardens in Millwall, south east London became a thing of the past. The ships and seafarers that carried goods around the world became increasingly invisible to the consumers themselves.

Northfleet Hope container terminal

SLR2160 • Ship Models

A model of the Northfleet Hope container terminal made of wood with metal and plastic fittings and painted in realistic colours. The Northfleet Hope Berth was built in 1978 and was the first purpose-built container terminal to be established in the UK. The terminal was initially designed to handle the large volume of refrigerated containers common to the Australian and New Zealand trade, and was equipped to handle 1,000-plus containers at sub-zero temperatures.

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Slow ships, fast fashion

Containerisation may have decreased the visibility of the maritime world, but it has dramatically increased the amount of global trade.

In the year 2000, the biggest ships could carry just over 4,000 containers. Today, they carry 23,000. These ever-larger ships feed modern consumer appetites.

One of the starkest examples of how container shipping has changed society is in the retail industry and the growth of 'fast fashion'. A single container can hold 10,000 pairs of jeans, making the shipping cost per item almost negligible. Low transport costs mean cheaper clothes and longer supply chains, and create the risk of poorer working conditions, environmental controls and traceability standards.

As a society we have become used to access to affordable, almost ‘throw-away’ fashion. The average person in the UK buys around 61 items of clothing per year, more than any other country in Europe. More clothes means more waste, with more than 711,000 tonnes of textiles sent to landfill or incinerated in the UK each year.

Even when clothes are donated instead of dumped, 70 per cent of the used clothes are exported. The same system of containerisation that transported items in the first place are now used to export the problem of what to do with clothes when they are no longer wanted.

Ghana is the world's largest importer of used clothing, with the BBC World Service reporting that an estimated 15 million items of clothing arrive in the country every week. A Greenpeace investigation in 2025 found that 40 per cent of the clothing was unusable, resulting in waste textiles being dumped and harming protected wetland habitats.

Going green? The environmental impact of container shipping

Containerisation has ushered in cargoes that would have been unthinkable to the crews and dockers who worked with Cutty Sark in the 19th century. The difference of course is that, compared to the fossil fuel-powered ships of today, Cutty Sark relied on sail power alone.

A very large container ship emits three grams of carbon dioxide for every tonne of cargo transported over one kilometre. Air freight emits almost 150 times that amount (graphic courtesy of International Chamber of Shipping)

While the sheer size of the vessels makes ships more carbon-efficient compared with planes and trucks, shipping as a whole is still responsible for roughly three per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions. Efforts to clean up the maritime industry have faced major hurdles: a vote to agree a 'Net Zero Framework' at the International Maritime Organisation, the UN agency responsible for world shipping, was delayed in October 2025.

In the meantime, the environmental costs of moving goods around the world continue to rise. Greenhouse gas emissions from shipping were the highest on record in 2024 according to data analysed by the European Federation for Transport and Environment, with container ship emissions in particular rising by 46 per cent.

Image courtesy of Cameron Venti / Ocean Image Bank

That year, ships travelling between Asia and Europe were forced to avoid the Suez Canal due to security concerns in the Red Sea. Instead, companies opted for the much longer route around Africa, travelling faster and burning more fuel to meet delivery deadlines.

Malcolm McLean’s container helped make the modern world possible. Seventy years on, its legacy invites a harder question: not just how efficiently goods move, but at what cost.

Life on board a container ship – in pictures

Artist Zoe Childerley is embarking on a project with the National Maritime Museum to bring experiences of modern seafarers to light. How did she find her first voyage on board a container ship?

Thames barges and London docks – an oral history

Gordon 'Willie' Williamson worked aboard Thames barges throughout the 1960s, and witnessed the final years of central London as a busy cargo hub

How does the UK respond to a maritime emergency?

If a ship runs into trouble in UK territorial waters, an individual known as ‘SOSREP’ is often one of the first to be notified. Who are they, and how do they help prevent disaster at sea?

Remembering the Sea Empress oil spill

Cliff Benson reflects on how efforts to save oiled sea birds inspired a lifetime's dedication to wildlife protection

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Pollution in the River Thames: a history

Lifeline, water source, sewer – follow the murky history of London's relationship with the River Thames

Turning our view of the world inside out: introducing the new Ocean Map

The National Maritime Museum's Ocean Map reminds us just how much of the Earth is covered by water – and how important the ocean is to our planet

Making Waves: Jane Maddocks

Elizabeth Oliver — Mon, 19 Jan 2026 15:47:20 +0000

Making Waves: Jane Maddocks Elizabeth Oliver Mon, 01/19/2026 - 15:47

Jane Maddocks has been a maritime archaeologist for more than 50 years, yet she still gets excited whenever she goes on a dive. “You never know what you’re going to see,” she says. Jane’s love for archaeology began in childhood, with fond memories of exploring Hadrian’s Wall with her father.

A career as an archaeology teacher naturally followed, with weekdays spent educating students in Gosport, Hampshire. But her weekends were devoted to her other passion: wreck diving.

Since her first dive in 1971, Jane has explored some of Britain’s most iconic shipwrecks, including the Mary Rose and HMS Invincible. Through her research, she’s helped resurface tales of the people, place and objects connected to the nation’s sunken vessels.

She’s worked tirelessly to safeguard our underwater cultural heritage too, both in her former role as Wrecks and Underwater Cultural Heritage Advisor at the British Sub-Aqua Club – the national governing body for scuba diving and snorkelling – and now as the organisation’s Vice President.

Here, Jane provides a deep dive into the world of maritime archaeology, from unexpected discoveries to the stories buried beneath the sea.

Over the course of your career, you’ve dived on numerous wrecks. What have been some of your most memorable dives?

My very first dive on the Mary Rose was life changing. The ship was built for King Henry VIII and sank in the Solent (the stretch of water between the Isle of Wight and the south coast of England) in 1545.

Model of the Mary Rose (1509). Object ID: (SLR3012)

I was part of the volunteer team that dived on the warship in 1981, and spent two weeks helping to excavate the remaining material in the hull. I can still remember every detail of my first dive: from swimming around the wreck to holding a piece of wood that had become soft where it had come out of the mud.

One of my favourite moments was patting a gleaming bronze cannon. I remember thinking, “this is wonderful”. I had done wreck diving before, but this was the dive that changed things. From then on, all my spare time was spent diving wrecks, doing archaeology underwater, contributing to projects – and having a ball.

Stern of HMS Invincible (PAD0252)

My time on HMS Invincible in the early 1980s was also a fantastic experience. I volunteered on the wreck for ten days, working alongside Commander John Bingeman to excavate and record the structure of the ship, which sank in the Solent in 1758.

On my initial dive, I found a case of early hand grenades, with the tray of flints underneath to strike the fuses. It was amazing to think that I was the first person to have seen them for over 200 years.

Unfortunately, the whole wreck smelled of rotten eggs, which meant that by the last day, the smell of sulphur was ingrained in me. The poor taxi driver who took me back to the ferry was very brave!

What are some of the tasks you carry out when diving on a wreck?

On a dive, we’ll be recording the wreck: making measurements and logging what’s there. We’ll bring small cameras with us, as well as lights, so we can record the dive. When I first started diving, we would wear thin wetsuits, which were nicely secured by yellow tape so the water would come in. If I go diving in the winter now, I wear a heated undersuit, a sealed dry suit and warm gloves.

Jane Maddocks on a dive. Image credit: Teddy Seguin, 2013

In maritime archaeology, you have to work with the tides. However, this can mean that you have limited time underwater if conditions aren’t favourable. When we were working on HMS Invincible, we needed the tide to be in, so the air lifts could carry away the sediment.

Strong winds significantly impact wave conditions too: no one wants to dive in 85 mph winds. When winds do stop us, we hone our skills in lakes instead. We also test our equipment, such as working out new ways to photograph things.

There is a misperception that diving in British waters is cold and uncomfortable, but it’s very exciting – and just so different.

You’re passionate about uncovering the tales connected to wrecks, sharing your findings in research papers and lectures. What are some of the stories shipwrecks can tell us?

A shipwreck is never in isolation; it forms part of a wider story about the people who sailed on it, the history of the vessel, what happened to it, and the objects found on board. A few years ago, I was involved in a research project about the cargo ship SS War Knight. This formed part of a wider initiative to raise awareness of the forgotten First World War wrecks along England’s south coast.

On 24 March 1918, SS War Knight collided with the world’s largest oil tanker, O.B. Jennings, off the Isle of Wight. Both vessels were engulfed in flames. There are extraordinary stories of heroism connected with the tragedy, including a War Knight apprentice who went back into the fire to rescue his chief.

'War Knight' engulfed in flames. Image reference: (P13749)

Logbooks from the Royal Navy vessel that rescued the War Knight’s crew reveal the scale of the disaster. You can read how the ship’s speed increased from eight to 16 knots, and you can imagine the stokers shovelling coal for everything they’re worth to get the injured men to Portsmouth Hospital.

Of the 47 crew on board SS War Knight, only 11 survived. SS War Knight was later sunk by gunfire in Watcombe Bay on the Isle of Wight, to extinguish the flames. As part of the project, we also tracked down descendants of the War Knight’s crew, to learn more about the lives of those on board.

In the UK, we have numerous wrecks that divers are visiting in order to record, research and find their stories. If you keep the stories alive, in some way you also keep the ships alive. If we don’t dive these wrecks, they get forgotten.

You’ve been instrumental in protecting Britain’s underwater cultural heritage. What are some of the threats facing it?

When we talk about underwater cultural heritage, we’re referring to anything that is underwater that has been made or adapted by humans, such as shipwrecks, harbour installations and drowned land surfaces.

The very nature of the underwater environment makes it hard to protect the human history beneath the waves. Strong tides and swift currents can disturb shipwrecks and whisk material away in the water. The seabed is a very busy place: there are so many pipes, lines, wind farms, as well as trawls from fishing vessels, that can impact wrecks.

Wrecks also provide habitats for marine species. They’re like a reef, they have places for fish to go, animals to hide, and areas for eggs to latch on to. If you trash the wreck, these creatures have nowhere to be concealed, and the larvae have nowhere to land.

We also have the unknown effects of climate change to contend with, such as the impact of increased storms, more turbulent waters and the migration of invasive species that might enjoy munching on a wooden shipwreck.

I have a horrible feeling that we’re going to be doing what we call ‘preservation by record’ which is preserving the wreck by recording it. However, that’s not the same as keeping it. I hope I’m wrong, but I think that’s where we have to start.

I don’t know what the solution is, but we’re trying to encourage divers to visit wrecks once a year, record what is there, take measurements and collect data relating to things like water temperature. We also have an ‘at risk’ register, where divers go to the wreck, and list the risks affecting it.

Photographer: C. Balcome, courtesy of BSAC

How important is it for women of all ages to see themselves represented in maritime archaeology and STEM fields?

There is an issue that society does ‘old’ women – we make them old before their time. These days, women are able to go on well into their 70s and 80s and be productive: there are lots of women of my generation who are carrying on, doing things, and I applaud them.

I think enforced slowdown is bad news: if people make you feel as though you should be sitting down all day, that’s not helpful. On the other side of the coin, I’m noticing lots of younger women in STEM coming through, who will be carrying that torch onward.

I’ve been lucky to have had many career highlights, from diving unusual wrecks to working with incredible wreck finders who have been very generous in sharing their knowledge. Some of my favourite memories have been taking people on wrecks they haven’t dived before, and just watching them light up with excitement.

I started diving in 1971, and I still get excited when I dive on a wreck. There’s so much to be discovered in British waters, you never know what’s around the corner.

Making Waves

Stories of incredible women working at sea

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Banner image: C. Balcome, courtesy of BSAC

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Making Waves: Gail McGarva

Elizabeth Oliver — Mon, 19 Jan 2026 12:31:49 +0000

Making Waves: Gail McGarva Elizabeth Oliver Mon, 01/19/2026 - 12:31

Standing on the shore of Haroldswick in Unst, Britain’s most northerly inhabited island, Gail McGarva watched as a wooden boat plied the waters of the North Sea.

It was a landmark moment: the first vessel she had built, gliding through the water after months of intensive work. “It was the most incredible feeling,” Gail says.

Gail’s boatbuilding journey had started the previous year in 2004, when she read an article about the Boat Building Academy in Lyme Regis, Dorset. She signed up for a nine-month course. As soon as she stepped into the workshop, she knew she had made the right decision. “It was like a homecoming,” she says.

From there, Gail’s career set sail. Now based in Dumfries and Galloway in western Scotland, Gail specialises in creating replicas of boats that are in danger of extinction, which she calls ‘daughter boats’. She’s passionate about spreading knowledge of wooden boatbuilding, maintaining a busy schedule of teaching, talks and community events. She's keen to impart a love of boats to others, running educational and storytelling workshops inside The Story Boat – her mobile maritime museum made from a retired fishing boat.

Her dedication to the craft has seen her receive accolades including a British Empire Medal. In 2024, she was awarded the President’s Award for Endangered Crafts at the Heritage Crafts Awards, supported by the King Charles III Charitable Fund and selected by His Majesty.

She speaks to us about the rich cultural heritage of wooden boatbuilding, the beauty of the craft – and the importance of keeping traditional skills alive.

Gail McGarva constructing a wooden boat. Image: Rebecca Collis

Why does traditional wooden boat building capture your imagination?

Wooden boats have a mesmerising quality to them – that evolution of form and function over the centuries is breathtaking.

I love everything about traditional construction; from working with the timber – how each log behaves differently, so you have to learn its characteristics – to persuading the boat on its journey from tree to sea.

Detail of a wooden boat created by Gail McGarva. Image: Nick Matthews

When I began the boatbuilding course in September 2004, I was throwing myself in at the deep end. I had always loved working with my hands, but I had no formal skills– I come from an era where girls weren’t offered woodwork at school. However, I knew in my bones that it was absolutely right. Wooden boatbuilding would be my purpose.

During the training, I built my very first boat, Georgie McDonald. She’s a replica of the Gardie boat, built in Shetland in 1882. The idea came when I read an article about a boatbuilder called Willie Mouat, who works at Unst Boat Haven, a museum located in the Shetland Islands. He talked about the Gardie boat that was in the collection. However, he mentioned how there was no one for him to pass his skills onto on the island of Unst.

There was just something about the way he spoke about the lines of the Shetland boats that I was drawn to. So, I wrote to Willie and asked if he would be my long-distance mentor in building a replica of the Gardie boat. He said yes!

I met Willie and the Gardie boat at Unst Boat Haven on a cold day in December. Shetland craft have unique design elements – many parts of the boats have retained their names in Norn, now an extinct spoken language – so I took as many notes, photographs and sketches as I could.

The construction involved building by eye, which involves looking at the materials you’re working with and reading and understanding the wood to ensure it is creating a fair shape. As Georgie McDonald grew, so did my confidence. It was the most incredible feeling to launch her into the sea at Haroldswick in Unst, using the same slipway as the Gardie boat in the museum.

That’s one of the reasons why traditional construction is my passion: it’s amazing to see a boat in its natural environment out at sea. I also love learning about the heritage of the craft, and the stories of the communities and boatbuilding history that are attached to the vessel.

What does daily life as a boatbuilder involve?

It’s very varied: I go from project to project, but there’s a great richness in that. If I’m on a build, I could be doing anything from planing the overlapping edges of a plank to riveting. Other days, I could be filling in project proposals and researching and undertaking restoration on vessels.

The main focus of my work is creating replicas of existing endangered boats, which I call ‘daughter boats’. While the new boats pay homage to the lines of the original mother boat, they are not clones, the character of the daughter boat is her own. It’s about breathing life into a new generation of craft, and giving them a future.

Gail McGarva at work. Image: Nick Matthews

I’ve worked as a boatbuilder in Ireland and Dorset, but I’m now based in Galloway. I teach trainees as part of a heritage skills project called Building Futures Galloway. Some of these young people may have struggled in a school environment, but have found their strengths when they’re working with a chisel, plane or saw. It’s a great privilege to see them flourish in these skills. I’ve always had an open-door policy, with volunteers actively encouraged to be a part of the build, and visitors warmly welcomed.

Vera, The Story Boat. Image: Simon Tutty

Alongside boat building and teaching, you run educational workshops inside your miniature museum, The Story Boat. How did the idea for this come about?

The Story Boat is an integration of all the past and present threads of my career. My background is in performance and arts, within the context of ‘Theatre in Education.’ I’ve worked as a British Sign Language (BSL) interpreter, and I’ve always been fascinated by the power of stories to engage communities.

The Story Boat is a mobile maritime world, made from the upturned hull of Vera, a type of Dorset fishing boat known as a lerret. Vera was made in 1923 and, like other lerrets, was designed specifically to combat the challenges of the Chesil Bank.

The seed of the project began in 2009, when I received a scholarship from the Queen Elizabeth Scholarship Trust to build a ‘daughter boat’ to Vera, working closely with boatbuilder Roy Gollop.

As I was building the new boat, Littlesea, word spread along the Dorset coast. There hadn’t been a new lerret built for 40 years, and people from the fishing community started sharing their memories with me. I worked with Lyme Regis Museum to capture these stories, but I wanted to share Vera’s story too.

Vera’s previous owner had retired her, but he didn’t want her to fade away in a field. I decided to take her on, and bring her history to life. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to do this, but I had a vision of creating a mobile maritime museum that I could take to schools and communities. I worked with two Devon-based wheelwrights, Mike and Greg Rowland, to create a bespoke wagon, using Vera’s upturned hull as the roof. It was an incredible overlapping of two worlds: the world of the wheelwright and traditional boatbuilder.

Inside The Story Boat. Image: Simon Tutty

I’ve since taken Vera to primary schools and communities around Dorset, Devon and parts of Scotland. Children climb aboard and I tell Vera’s story, as if I am the boat herself. She’s filled with memory objects that link to her history, which have been given to me by fishing communities. As part of the workshop, each child makes a tiny miniature plank and rivets it, to capture a memory of Vera’s life.

Vera has such a strong personality, people fall in love with her. One of my favourite moments was seeing a child lying on their back, in their own little world, totally mesmerised by Vera’s hull. Wherever I’ve taken The Story Boat, people tell me their fishing memories. It’s an honour to be the custodian of Vera, and to have people share their stories.

Why is it crucial to raise awareness of our maritime heritage – and the craft of wooden boatbuilding?

I do feel that people have an instinctive response to boats – it’s almost part of our core. When I’ve seen people encounter boats like Vera or work alongside me on traditional vessels, it either ignites them with a sense of joy, or it touches them very deeply somewhere. I can’t explain it. However, people have become disconnected from the coast, even if they live there.

My driving force is to keep endangered wooden boats, their memories – and our maritime heritage – alive for future generations. The beauty of traditional wooden boatbuilding is my passion, but this phenomenal wealth of skill is on the brink of being lost. The craft is now classified as ‘Endangered’ by Heritage Crafts.

Close up of Gail McGarva at work. Image: Rebecca Collis

The fact that the craft is listed on the organisation’s ‘Red List of Endangered Crafts’ gives urgency. We need to safeguard these skills to ensure the craft has a future, and the endangered vessels and their stories can be protected.

I hope that through teaching, like my work with Building Futures Galloway, that I can carry through the skills, knowledge and memories of the teachers I’ve had – and ensure that these aren’t lost.

I’ve been lucky to have had mentors who have so generously shared their lifetime of experience with me. I can’t thank them enough. I hope that a new generation will be able to know and hear the words of Ralph Bird, Jack Chippendale, Roy Gollop and Willie Mouat.

How important is it for women to see themselves represented in boatbuilding?

Boatbuilding, and specifically traditional wooden boatbuilding, has historically been such a male preserve, but there’s no reason at all why women can’t be boatbuilders.

When I first studied at the Boat Building Academy, I was the only female in that cohort. That wasn’t a problem in any way – it was just a fact – but that has now changed dramatically. Thanks to organisations like Women in Boatbuilding, there has been an increase in women taking up the craft.

For any young woman or any woman considering the profession, it’s absolutely paramount to have other female role models. It’s important to have this representation and know that it is possible.

Making Waves

Stories of incredible women working at sea

Discover more Image: © Inka Cresswell

Banner image credit: Rebecca Collis

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With grateful thanks to The TK Foundation for its support of the Making Waves series.

Making Waves: Dr Dawn Wright

Elizabeth Oliver — Thu, 15 Jan 2026 14:54:31 +0000

Making Waves: Dr Dawn Wright Elizabeth Oliver Thu, 01/15/2026 - 14:54

When American oceanographer and geographer, Dr Dawn Wright, embarked on a ten-hour voyage to the deepest known point of the ocean, she wasn’t nervous or scared – just excited.

In July 2022, Dr Dawn journeyed to the depths of Challenger Deep in a submersible, as part of an initiative to map the area’s seafloor. Lying 10,935 metres below sea level, Challenger Deep is located at the southern end of the Mariana Trench in the western Pacific Ocean.

The record-breaking mission saw her become the first Black diver to have descended to Earth's deepest spot, an experience that she recounts in her book Mapping the Deep: Innovation, Exploration and the Dive of a Lifetime.

Dr Dawn Wright prepares to enter the Limiting Factor submersible. Image courtesy of Caladan Oceanic and Esri

Known as ‘Deepsea Dawn’ to many, her drive and determination have made her one of the world’s leading environmentalists. Alongside her role as chief scientist of Esri – an organisation that makes geographic information system (GIS) software for mapping and spatial analysis – she manages a busy schedule of public engagements and academic work. She’s spoken at the 2025 UN Ocean Conference and is an award-winning professor of geography and oceanography at Oregon State University.

With a childhood spent in Hawaii, Dr Dawn’s love of the ocean began at an early age. She’s passionate about inspiring others to become involved in ocean conservation and science communication, sharing her experiences online. She also wants to encourage people to pursue their dreams and interests – which for her, also involves LEGO, cycling and spending time with her dog, Riley.

Here, she reveals what exploring the deepest part of the ocean was really like, from descending for hours in complete darkness to the sea life she encountered.

How did growing up in Hawaii shape your love of the ocean?

I decided to become an ocean scientist when I was eight years old. I was raised on a steady diet of oceanographer Jacques Cousteau’s television documentaries and would spend a lot of time in the ocean. But when I learned about the origin of the Hawaiian Islands – how they started on the bottom of the ocean and grew to breach the surface – I was fascinated.

I grew up in the 1960s, and there wasn’t a clear path to become an oceanographer. I ended up going to a small private liberal arts college and majoring in geology. From there, I went to Texas A&M University and got a master’s degree in oceanography, with a speciality in studying the seafloor and the geology of the oceans.

I then had a chance to live the dream of being at sea and being around science, as part of a three-year placement on the drilling vessel JOIDES Resolution of what was then known as the Ocean Drilling Program (it is now the International Ocean Discovery Program). I fell even more in love with ocean science and had the opportunity to help collect and process oceanographic data in the Southern Ocean, Indian Ocean, Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean.

After this, I went to the University of California, Santa Barbara and ended up with a dual PhD in geography and geology, with an emphasis on the ocean and GIS.

You've been on several research expeditions, including a record-setting mission to the East Pacific Rise. You've also spearheaded the use of GIS technology for seafloor mapping. What were the aims of the 2022 Challenger Deep expedition?

Challenger Deep is made up of three distinct depressions – the Western, Central and Eastern Pools – which are located in the Pacific Ocean’s Mariana Trench. The July 2022 expedition was piloted by Victor Vescovo, founder of research company Caladan Oceanic, and saw the two of us descend in the submersible Limiting Factor to the relatively unexplored Western Pool.

A model of Challenger Deep. Image courtesy of John Nelson, Esri

We wanted to test a prototype of a portable sidescan sonar, which would help us produce detailed images of the seafloor. Most of these instruments fail at depths of 6,000 metres due to the immense pressures of the ocean – let alone the maximum depth we achieved of 10,919 metres – so we wanted to see if we could get the instrument to function and collect data (which we did)!

Print of HMS Challenger. Object ID: (PAD6215)

The history of Challenger Deep

The area takes its name from HMS Challenger – a research vessel that went on a global voyage of deep-sea exploration between 1872-76.

During the voyage, the expedition carried out oceanographic experiments, including deep-sea soundings and observations of currents, water temperatures, weather and surface ocean conditions.

Find out more about the Challenger expedition

How did you prepare for the Challenger Deep expedition?

My role at Esri is office-based, so I no longer go to sea on a regular basis. I’m also in my 60s, and while I do keep fit and do lots of cycling, I felt it necessary to increase my flexibility and upper body strength. The Limiting Factor submersible is very confined, so I had to be able to hold my body weight, lower myself into the hatch and then pull myself out at the end.

To get to Challenger Deep, I flew to Guam, an island in the Western Pacific Ocean. I then sailed for one-to-two days on the deep submergence support vessel (DSSV), Pressure Drop, which serviced and deployed the deep submergence vehicle (DSV) Limiting Factor.

Dr Dawn Wright and the crew of Pressure Drop. Image courtesy of Caladan Oceanic and Esri

The Challenger Deep dive was a ten-hour round trip, with no toilet inside the submersible. I had to slowly and carefully dehydrate myself leading up to the dive, reducing my food and drink intake. The day before, I received a full overview of the dive plan from my roommate Kate Wawatai, who was one of the technicians maintaining and supporting the Limiting Factor, and is now a record-setting submersible pilot in her own right.

I had done many submersible dives before, but none as significant as the Challenger Deep mission. I wasn’t scared or nervous, just very excited. I was completely knowledgeable of the operation, and confident that the people who were supporting it knew exactly what they were doing.

What was the descent like?

Descending into the ocean feels like going on a smooth, quiet elevator ride. It’s not at all like going into space where it’s very disruptive and you’re feeling all the G-forces. The Limiting Factor submersible is designed for ocean depth diving, so it slipped through the water very quickly.

Dr Dawn Wright and Victor Vescovo at the controls of Limiting Factor. Image courtesy of Caladan Oceanic and Esri

The colours that I saw were amazing. You have the gorgeous aqua blue that you see in the lit part of the ocean – known as the ‘euphotic zone’ – that is home to lots of life, which slowly recedes to grey. After about 1,000 metres, the ocean is pitch black, almost like ink.

Most of the life in the ocean is thought to live 1,000-3,000 metres below sea level in the 'twilight zone.' These species communicate with each other in very different ways, such as bioluminescence – light produced by a living organism from a chemical reaction. During the descent, we saw bioluminescent jellyfish and siphonophores (worm-like organisms).

It took four hours to reach the bottom, and I brought some special items with me, including LEGO bracelets that I took down for a couple of little girls.

What did you see on the ocean floor?

The Mariana Trench is a collision zone between two tectonic plates: the Pacific plate and the Philippine plate, so the ocean floor was spectacular. We saw vast fields of angular blocks, home to creatures like anemones and hydroids.

Angular blocks in the Western Pool from tectonic plates colliding. Image courtesy of Caladan Oceanic and Esri

Our dive plan was to reach the bottom of the Western Pool, where we could carry out observations, test the prototype instrument and capture footage of the seafloor. The temperature of the seafloor was close to freezing, which meant that the temperature inside the submersible dropped to 40-45 Fahrenheit (around four-to-seven degrees Celsius).

We wore NASA flight suits throughout the mission, as these are fire retardant and kept us warm. I also wore a ‘Map the Gaps’ T-shirt – a nod to the community non-profit that is one of many organisations taking part in Seabed 2030. This UN programme seeks to map the global seafloor in detail by 2030.

Overall, the expedition in July collected four terabytes of data, including high-resolution videography of the Western Pool. The data has been given to Seabed 2030 and ArcGIS's Living Atlas of the World, which brings together geographical information from around the globe.

After two-and-a-half hours on the ocean floor, we began our ascent. This involved discarding several biodegradable concrete weights, which were subsumed into the seabed.

Dr Dawn Wright returning to Pressure Drop after the Challenger Deep dive. Image courtesy of Caladan Oceanic and Esri

More than 80 per cent of the ocean remains unmapped. Why is this the case?

The ocean is a very difficult environment to map because of the water. In space, you can use electromagnetic energy, such as light, which can travel through Earth’s atmosphere. However, electromagnetic energy doesn’t penetrate the surface waters of the ocean very deeply.

Instead, we need to mimic the communication systems of species such as dolphins and whales and use acoustic energy. 70 per cent of the Earth is made of water and acoustic energy travels much more effectively and efficiently through the ocean. To measure the depth of the ocean (bathymetry), we measure the travel time of calls or pings to and from the seabed.

We can also use mapping to enhance our knowledge of climate patterns. The ocean plays a critical role in regulating the Earth’s climate. Through mapping, we can understand how heat circulates: not just at the surface, but all the way through the different depths of the ocean – and how this interacts with our atmosphere and drives the temperatures we experience on land.

Another use of mapping is to monitor marine life stocks and to help address illegal and unregulated fishing – including the fishing of species that live on the seafloor. Around 95 per cent of our internet data and traffic are relayed through submarine cables, so we need to understand the intricacies of the ocean floor to maintain and expand this vast network.

You're passionate about encouraging others to become involved in ocean conservation and STEM. How important is it for women to see themselves represented in these areas?

When tackling issues like ocean conservation, we need to ensure we have a variety of perspectives, so we can bring together the best ideas, generate solutions and move forward. But how can we do this if we're not including half of the human population, which is the female perspective?

One of the guiding lights in my career has been Marie Tharp, who helped to establish the discipline of marine cartography. Between the 1950s-70s, she worked with scientist Bruce Heezen to create a series of beautiful maps of the ocean floor. The discoveries she made while creating these, such as the rift valley in the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, helped to spur on the plate tectonics revolution.

The floor of the oceans based on bathymetric studies by Bruce C Heezen and Marie Tharp, 1980. Object ID: (G201:1/57)

Another scientist I admire is Cassie Bongiovanni, who is a couple of generations younger than I am. Cassie was the lead mapper on Victor Vescovo’s 'Five Deeps' initiative, which made dives to the deepest known points in all five of the world's ocean basins. She helped to locate these five deepest spots so that Victor could dive on them, as well as mapped eight trenches in the Ring of Fire, a belt of volcanoes in the Pacific Ocean. Cassie is in the prime of her career.

Expeditions like these, where women have been able to lead or participate, are very important. The message this sends – and what it represents – is extremely powerful: young people and children can see that everyone can participate in these activities, and everyone has something to contribute.

Making Waves

Stories of incredible women working at sea

Find out more Image: © Inka Cresswell

Banner image: Dr Dawn Wright climbing out of the Limiting Factor submersible. Image courtesy of Caladan Oceanic and Esri

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With grateful thanks to The TK Foundation for its support of the Making Waves series.

How does the UK respond to a maritime emergency?

James Gill — Mon, 22 Dec 2025 11:45:32 +0000

How does the UK respond to a maritime emergency? James Gill Mon, 12/22/2025 - 11:45

An emergency at sea is different to an incident on land.

The size of the vessels, number of passengers or hazards of the cargoes, not to mention the frequently wild and inaccessible locations, all pose unique challenges when ships run into difficulty.

But there is another, perhaps less obvious, difference when it comes to maritime emergencies.

‘Say there’s a major accident which requires a motorway to be closed. The police will close the road, the fire service will come to rescue people, ambulances will take them away for treatment and so on,’ says Stephan Hennig, the Secretary of State’s Representative for Maritime Salvage and Intervention (more on that job title later).

‘At no point in that scenario would any of the authorities say to the car drivers, “Right, start cleaning this up.” And that is the key difference: the distribution of responsibilities,’ Hennig says. ‘Because at sea that is precisely what commercial entities are duty-bound to do under international and national regulation.’

Stephan Hennig

Maritime ‘salvage’ – the recovery of a damaged, stricken or wrecked vessel and its contents – is a commercial operation carried out by specialised, experienced and well-equipped teams. ‘No country can have the amount of assets to be everywhere and do everything,’ Hennig explains. ‘The duty on the authorities is to ensure that those commercial parties discharge their duties in the appropriate manner.’

That’s where the Secretary of State’s Representative for Maritime Salvage and Intervention, or ‘SOSREP’ for short, comes in. The role was created following an investigation into the Sea Empress disaster of February 1996, in which more than 204 million litres (72,000 tonnes) of oil spilled into the sea close to the port of Milford Haven in Wales.

‘The role was created in 1999,’ Hennig says. ‘It gives the state an instrument to make decisions during maritime emergencies that either threaten safety or have the potential to cause significant pollution.’

As a single individual tasked with coordinating the salvage response, Hennig is uniquely placed to explain what happens during an incident in UK waters.

‘You will always be thankful, in that one moment when something goes wrong, that you’ve prepared for it’

What kind of incidents do you respond to?

I’m probably involved in between 40 and 70 incidents per year.

The UK is a maritime nation with a phenomenal amount of traffic in our territorial waters, not least in the Dover Strait and the English Channel – one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. Just like cars on the road, vessels can encounter engine and mechanical problems. It’s just that problems can be a lot more complex on 300- or 400-metre-long vessels, which consequently means they usually take a lot longer to fix.

The idea of the SOSREP system is about early notification. It doesn’t have to be a grounding or collision, which is almost starting at the back end, where you need to respond to something that’s already gone wrong. My deputy or I may be notified if, for example, repairs are taking too long for comfort, or the issue occurs close to the shore. There’s obviously a difference if a vessel loses engine power five miles from the shore versus 50 miles out to sea.

The degree of urgency may be different, but what applies in all cases is that we need the ship owners – and, if required, insurers or salvors – to take the correct steps to prevent that breakdown from carrying over into something more significant that might endanger the ship’s crew, other vessels or the environment. The role is as much preventative as it is reactive.

How are you informed of an incident?

Well, sadly everyone in the industry – certainly in the salvage industry – has my number! But ordinarily the notification process goes from the ship – what we would call the casualty – to the Coastguard. The Coastguard gathers information and determines whether they need to notify other on-call duty officers in the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, who then make further assessments. They determine whether they need to call the SOSREP or not.

That’s the ordinary chain of notification, but sometimes it works the opposite way round, where either a salvor or a marine insurer calls me directly about a problem with one of their vessels that nobody else in the chain knows about. It becomes a bit messy then, because you need to say, ‘OK, well, first of all you need to tell the Coastguard and we need to close that information loop.’ There’s no point stepping in at the top of the chain if the bottom doesn't know that there’s something going on.

It’s not a planned system, but in a way it’s a system of redundancy: nothing really should fall through the cracks. I always say to say to colleagues, both in industry and in government, ‘I’d rather know than not know’, because if I know I can decide whether I need to do something about it.

If a situation is serious enough, the National Contingency Plan describes how you may assemble a ‘Salvage Control Unit’. What is that?

The Salvage Control Unit typically involves representatives from all the stakeholders in the incident, usually a single representative, because the smaller your cell the quicker you can make decisions. It’s very much an operational cell, involving only the individuals that have a direct involvement in the salvage response.

I will have the final say on what happens operationally, even though the suggestions for how the problem should be resolved rest with the commercial parties. They will explain what they’re planning to do, and that then either gets approval from me or, with help from technical advisors and specialists, we have a discussion. But it’s a comparatively small group of individuals affecting the outcome of the incident. Of course we work with the other stakeholders who, quite rightly, have a vested interest in the incident and its consequences, but not in that Salvage Control Unit, because that is very much focused on the technicalities of solving the problem.

Who is typically involved?

On the water, responsibility for the ship sits with the ship owners and managers, insurers and commercial salvors. When something goes wrong it is still a commercial issue – albeit the significance might be such that the state might have to become involved.

On the government side, it depends. The Maritime and Coastguard Agency is my employer, but in an incident I have an individual function that essentially is detached from all of government.

I have a duty to inform all the relevant government departments, both the Maritime and Coastguard Agency and the Department for Transport, of what's happening. When it comes to potential impacts on the shore, we also have local authorities, environmental regulators or protection bodies that all have an interest.

And is this in an actual room? Do you all meet up?

Well, we can’t pick our locations! In the past we’ve used everything from village halls and hotel meeting rooms to Coastguard centres and port offices.

COVID certainly taught us you can do quite a lot of things remotely. Nothing replaces being in the same room with people, but in the interests of time you can have calls to work out if the incident is manageable remotely or whether we need to deploy closer to the scene. It all depends on the severity of the initiating incident and the proximity to shore.

On the first day of national lockdown in March 2020, for example, we had a ship grounding off the west coast of Scotland. Our entire response system that we would normally activate was not on the cards; we couldn’t take the risk with a global health pandemic.

So, we had to make do: salvors could go because they could form their own bubble, and pollution responders too, if required – but those were the only parties deployed to the grounding. That incident lasted 42 days, and it was only on the last day when we brought the ship into dry dock [watch the timelapse below] that I drove there to see the ship arrive safely. We conducted all meetings via good old-fashioned telephone conference call.

How much contact do you have with the ship and the crew?

Communication between the ship and the shore is usually via VHF [very high frequency] radio, and that’s through the Coastguard operation centres. But where a vessel needs outside assistance, be that a towage company or a salvor, then there might be a salvage master or a salvage crew placed on board the ship, and we then have direct communication with them.

What drives your decision-making in an emergency?

Obviously our first concern is for the ship’s crew. Then we look at whether the incident has the potential to affect the safety of other seafarers or anyone on land. Then there is the environmental impact and the protection of property.

For any incident, however, whether it’s a notification with a watching brief or a full-blown response, my consideration is always: ‘What’s the worst-case scenario? What’s the absolute worst thing that could happen as a consequence of this, and how can we prevent it from happening?’

Why worst-case rather than best-case scenario?

This is something we’re very bad as humans at accepting. Following an accident or an incident, there may be one outcome where we tidy it all up, but with anything in between there are only variants of bad. In a way there are no good elements because the accident has already happened.

I think the case study for that would be the MSC Napoli in January 2007. During the response operation the decision was made to deliberately beach the ship. The considerations were: do we run the risk of this vessel breaking apart at sea in one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world, with thousands of tonnes of fuel oil, over 2,000 containers and two bits of ship endangering large tracts of the environment and the safety of other shipping? Or: do we run this thing up on the shore in a place where we can essentially have an element of control? There are consequences whichever way you look at it, and they’re all bad.

Documentary on the salvage of MSC Napoli, ©PKFV

Communicating that is obviously quite important so that people don’t get the wrong impression. To run a ship up a beach deliberately, that’s a hard call for anyone to make – master, salvor, authorities, ship owner – but you would make it in the interest of avoiding something worse.

How did the role of SOSREP come about?

In the aftermath of the Sea Empress grounding and the subsequent environmental pollution, there was a demand for a public inquiry. That inquiry was led by a former High Court judge, Lord Donaldson of Lymington, and one of the key recommendations was the creation of this role. He even gave us the abbreviation ‘SOSREP’ – he must have recognised that it takes a very long time to say the full title!

The Marine Accident Investigation Branch had identified that in the immediate aftermath of the initial grounding there was a lack of coordination between the various authorities. The incident occurred in port-controlled waters, so there was an element that said that the Port Authority had an obligation to coordinate the response. But, obviously, in an incident of such significance, local administration and central government also became involved. There was a lack of delineation over who should do what, and that probably caused delays in decision-making.

That was Lord Donaldson’s takeaway: if we could streamline the coordination and give decision-making power to a single individual empowered to act and make decisions, we could prevent that kind of issue happening again.

Learning from the past

Thirty years on from the Sea Empress oil spill, a section of hull from the ship is on display at the National Maritime Museum – a symbol of the impact that maritime industry can have on the environment. Explore the legacy of Sea Empress, and meet the people working to prevent disaster at sea today.

Find all the stories in this series

What’s the legacy of the Sea Empress today?

Certainly in salvage and in the marine insurance sector, both the Sea Empress and the Torrey Canyon spill of 1967 are still important case studies. There is an acute awareness of those pivotal incidents that have effected change, and a recognition that the Sea Empress review directly led to the creation of the role I’m in today.

News report on the Torrey Canyon disaster (courtesy of British Pathé, ID 2023.39)

How has the role changed since it was established?

The core responsibilities don’t change. They’re well enshrined and well practised, and people in the maritime sector understand how it works in terms of responsibility and who can make decisions.

But nothing ever stands still. When the first SOSREP was involved in the grounding of the MSC Napoli, at the time that was one of the largest container ships in the world with 2,400 TEU [Twenty-foot Equivalent Unit, a general unit of cargo capacity]. Here we are, barely 20 years later, dealing with ships with 24,000 TEU – that’s a significant challenge in terms of the technical response required.

How does the UK compare to other countries in how it handles emergencies?

Cooperation is really good, certainly with all the administrations that we share boundaries with. We all have different ways of working, but if we’re talking about the way that the SOSREP system operates, it’s unique. There is not really any other administration that delegates decisions to single individuals acting on behalf of administrations.

There’s recognition in the maritime sector, particularly among insurers and salvors, of our system, because you can streamline so much. But it obviously puts a lot of pressure on the person in the role to act as a sort of buffer between all the different stakeholders.

How do you respond to the pressure that comes with the role?

When you have an emergency and you need quick decisions, you can only make decisions based on the facts you have at that moment of time in the interest of preventing this bad scenario from going too catastrophically badly. And somebody’s got to make the decision.

Control, I think, is that illusion. We’re in control of very little. If you repeat the mantra, ‘I can only control things up to a point.’ The elements, sea, weather – I have no control over that. We can only work with what we’re given. And once you appreciate that and you work in this field for long enough… I’m not saying it’s easy at any given moment, but it becomes easier when you realise what your limitations are, and that all the parties – whether in industry or in government – are working towards the same outcome. We may have different ways of getting there, but from the outset we’re committed to preventing this from going terribly wrong, so let’s pull together and resolve this together.

Are you always on call?

My deputy and I share on-call duty. However, legally, the role is set up for a single decision maker in maritime emergencies, so when my deputy is on call and something is so urgent that it might require government intervention through this role, she’ll have to defer to me – unless I’m out of the country.

Is that hard to handle?

I mean, I’ve worked in maritime incident response for 20 years now, initially in a Coastguard Operations Centre and then as a duty officer for the last 13 years. So, I know what the gig is. When the phone rings and it's so urgent that you think, ‘Right, I better pack now’, that’s already well-rehearsed and the family tolerate it.

What incidents stand out for you?

There was a car carrier in the approaches to Southampton that had gone on its side and took three weeks to remove. For a ship that had been lying at an angle of about 50 degrees, that [salvage operation] was quite an achievement, with no significant pollution in the ensuing salvage.

Marine Accident Investigation Branch report into the grounding of the Hoegh Osaka

In 2016 we had a semi-submersible drill rig that was being towed for recycling in Malta. As it was being towed around the Outer Hebrides, the tug lost the tow during a storm. The drill rig sat on the beach for two and a half weeks until salvors managed to refloat it. In all, it took three months to resolve.

The Transocean Winner drilling rig aground off the coast of Scotland (courtesy of Stephan Hennig)

Most recently I was involved in the 2025 collision off the Humber between a container vessel and a tanker [the Solong and the Stena Immaculate]. They’re all kind of big events and in the public eye, but at the end of the day you know what the problem is, you do your best together with all the parties to bring it to a resolution as quickly as possible.

What do you do when you’re not responding to emergencies?

We run exercises and scenarios with ship owners, insurers and salvors and other organisations. We attend professional development events, and we share knowledge. In this line of work everybody seems to know everybody, which is phenomenal for an industry that is truly global. You will come across the same people, sometimes working for different organisations as the years go, and it’s valuable to have that continued experience.

That’s dropping off, however, and it’s a concern both in industry and administration. Where previously you would have had people working in the same industry for 30 or 40 years, you just don’t have that anymore, which means you no longer have that accumulated corporate knowledge.

That’s a challenge for everybody: there’s a generational gap, and maritime has always been a little ‘out of sight’. It’s only in the public eye when something goes wrong.

Do you find it odd that a lot of that work rarely sees the light of day?

When you’re working on the first stages of an incident, you do a lot of work in preparation for the worst case. And a lot of work that you do – thankfully! – never comes to anything. Now, that could be quite depressing if you think you’ve done all that work and nothing comes of it, but in fact it’s great: you will always be thankful, in that one moment when something goes wrong, that you've prepared for it.

Did you always want to work in maritime?

I’m from northern central Germany and had no connection to the sea until I moved to the Shetland Islands 25 years ago, when I still thought I was going to be a teacher.

As part of my university degree there was a teaching assistantship. After I sat an interview, the exchange body decided where they were going to place me. And there was this little box insert in an atlas – nowhere near to where it really is! – and I thought, ‘Oh, islands, that sounds interesting.’

Eventually I realised that teaching was maybe not what I wanted to do, so I started in the Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre in Lerwick. I worked as a watch officer for seven years. It was shift service: you worked two days and two nights and then had three-and-a-half days off. And it was search and rescue coordination, but also putting out maritime safety information to mariners and to people on the coast.

After being in the operations room, I became a counter pollution and salvage officer based in Aberdeen, working with stakeholders around Scotland and Northern Ireland, but also doing emergency response. That’s where I met my predecessor, who I worked with for five or six years before he retired. He asked me one evening, in terrible Scottish west coast weather during a ship grounding, whether I could imagine being his deputy. Obviously, I still had to go through the proper recruitment, but eventually I became the deputy SOSREP. Then my predecessor retired and I was asked to fill the role temporarily until we could recruit, and now here we are.

None of this was planned, which for that part of my life I quite like! In emergency response, you need to be quite structured in how you respond to problems. I’m quite happy to have this element of my life be more meandering.

Our relationship with the sea is changing. Discover how the ocean impacts us – and we impact the ocean – with the National Maritime Museum.

The women leading India's maritime future

A new project supported by Royal Museums Greenwich documents the experiences of women in India's maritime industries. How do they compare to stories from the past?

The unexpected history of the shipping container

They carry everything from apples to iPhones – but how did a simple metal box have such a profound impact on the way we live, work and shop?

Making Waves: Jane Maddocks

Maritime archaeologist Jane Maddocks shares her experiences diving on some of Britain’s most famous wrecks – and why we need to protect our underwater cultural heritage

Making Waves: Gail McGarva

Gail McGarva explains how her passion for traditional wooden boatbuilding took hold

Making Waves: Dr Dawn Wright

Oceanographer and chief scientist Dr Dawn Wright on diving to the deepest part of the ocean – and why we need to stand up for our blue planet

Sea Empress oil spill – 30 years on

Explore the legacy of the Sea Empress oil spill, and meet the people working to prevent disaster at sea today

Remembering the Sea Empress oil spill

Cliff Benson reflects on how efforts to save oiled sea birds inspired a lifetime's dedication to wildlife protection

'I want to go to sea, do you think this might be possible?' – Nina Baker in her own words

Dr Nina Baker became the first female deck cadet in the British Merchant Navy. Listen to her account of a pioneering career

St Paul and Amsterdam

This blog threads together a selection of items from the collections of the Caird Library and Archive that record the experiences of seafarers visiting the islands of St Paul and Amsterdam in the southern Indian Ocean.

Main image: Car carrier Hoegh Osaka stranded on Bramble Bank (Photo © James West via Flickr, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Feature image: The Lysblink Seaways aground off Kilchoan in February 2015 (courtesy of Stephan Hennig)

Sea Empress oil spill – 30 years on

James Gill — Mon, 22 Dec 2025 10:36:29 +0000

Sea Empress oil spill – 30 years on James Gill Mon, 12/22/2025 - 10:36

At 8.07pm on the evening of 15 February 1996, the oil tanker Sea Empress ran aground.

The ship had been travelling towards the port of Milford Haven on the south-west coast of Wales. It was carrying more than 368 million litres (130,000 tonnes) of light crude oil – enough to fill more than 900 swimming pools.

At first, rescue teams managed to refloat the Sea Empress and move it back into deeper waters. With weather conditions deteriorating, however, tugs were unable to hold the tanker. During the following week the ship repeatedly ran aground on the Pembrokeshire coast.

In total more than 204 million litres (72,000 tonnes) of oil spilled into the sea. While less than 7 per cent of the oil reached the shore, the impact was traumatic: beaches and coastlines were contaminated and thousands of sea birds, invertebrates and marine plants were killed.

The incident remains one of the worst oil spills in British maritime history. It also fundamentally changed how the UK responds to emergencies at sea.

Thirty years on, a section of hull from the Sea Empress is on display at the National Maritime Museum – a symbol of the impact that maritime industry can have on the environment. But it also serves as a reminder of the people who work every day to protect the ocean and keep ships and seafarers safe.

Explore the legacy of the Sea Empress oil spill and meet the people working to prevent disaster at sea today.

Learning from the past

Alamy/Paul Glendell

‘I never want to see something like that again’

Cliff Benson was lying in bed, listening to the radio and waiting for the shipping forecast when he heard a news report announcing that a ship had run aground off the coast of Wales.

‘The news said that an oil tanker had hit the rocks in Pembrokeshire going into Milford Haven. I just thought, “Oh no, I don't believe this.”’

Now in his 70s, Benson is the founder of Sea Trust Wales, a charity based in Pembrokeshire committed to studying and raising awareness of local marine wildlife. His efforts mobilising volunteers to rescue sea birds in the wake of the oil spill changed his life.

Remembering the Sea Empress oil spill

Car carrier Hoegh Osaka stranded on Bramble Bank (Photo © James West via Flickr, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

‘You will always be thankful, in that one moment when something goes wrong, that you’ve prepared for it’

If a ship runs into trouble in UK waters, an individual known as ‘SOSREP’ – the Secretary of State's Representative for Maritime Salvage and Intervention – is often one of the first to be notified.

The role was created in 1999 as a result of the investigation into the Sea Empress disaster. Today the post is held by Stephan Hennig. As a single individual tasked with coordinating the salvage response, he is uniquely placed to explain what happens when something goes wrong in UK waters.

What happens in a maritime emergency?

Our relationship with the sea is changing. Discover how the ocean impacts us – and we impact the ocean – with the National Maritime Museum.

The women leading India's maritime future

A new project supported by Royal Museums Greenwich documents the experiences of women in India's maritime industries. How do they compare to stories from the past?

The unexpected history of the shipping container

They carry everything from apples to iPhones – but how did a simple metal box have such a profound impact on the way we live, work and shop?

Making Waves: Jane Maddocks

Maritime archaeologist Jane Maddocks shares her experiences diving on some of Britain’s most famous wrecks – and why we need to protect our underwater cultural heritage

Making Waves: Gail McGarva

Gail McGarva explains how her passion for traditional wooden boatbuilding took hold

Making Waves: Dr Dawn Wright

Oceanographer and chief scientist Dr Dawn Wright on diving to the deepest part of the ocean – and why we need to stand up for our blue planet

How does the UK respond to a maritime emergency?

If a ship runs into trouble in UK territorial waters, an individual known as ‘SOSREP’ is often one of the first to be notified. Who are they, and how do they help prevent disaster at sea?

Remembering the Sea Empress oil spill

Cliff Benson reflects on how efforts to save oiled sea birds inspired a lifetime's dedication to wildlife protection

'I want to go to sea, do you think this might be possible?' – Nina Baker in her own words

Dr Nina Baker became the first female deck cadet in the British Merchant Navy. Listen to her account of a pioneering career

St Paul and Amsterdam

Remembering the Sea Empress oil spill

James Gill — Fri, 19 Dec 2025 16:31:06 +0000

Remembering the Sea Empress oil spill James Gill Fri, 12/19/2025 - 16:31

Cliff Benson was lying in bed, listening to the radio and waiting for the shipping forecast when he heard a news report announcing that a ship had run aground off the coast of Wales.

‘The news said that an oil tanker had hit the rocks in Pembrokeshire going into Milford Haven. I just thought, “Oh no, I don't believe this.”’

The oil tanker Sea Empress stranded off the Pembrokeshire coast (PA Images / Alamy)

Benson, then in his early 40s, lived in nearby Fishguard and was a volunteer for the local Dyfed Wildlife Trust. His first thought was for the wildlife.

‘I was young in the 1960s when the Torrey Canyon [oil spill] happened in Mount’s Bay in Cornwall. I remembered what a fiasco that was, and the nightmare pictures of all the oiled birds. And I know all the birds around here: I knew what the potential for disaster was.’

Now in his seventies, Benson is the founder of Sea Trust Wales, a charity based in Pembrokeshire committed to studying and raising awareness of local marine wildlife. His efforts mobilising volunteers to rescue sea birds in the wake of the Sea Empress oil spill changed his life.

Cliff Benson at the headquarters of Sea Trust Wales near Fishguard in Wales

Phone calls and the 'phoney war'

The Sea Empress had run aground at 8.07 p.m. on the night of 15 February 1996. The following morning, Benson drove to the cliffs at West Angle Bay to see what was happening.

‘You could see the tanker, you could smell the oil and see people cleaning a bit of oil off the beach – although there hadn't really been a lot spilled at that point.’

The ship was carrying more than 368 million litres (130,000 tonnes) of light crude oil. Tugboats initially managed to refloat the Sea Empress and planned to hold it in place until the cargo could be offloaded onto another vessel.

Benson had been told by the Wildlife Trust that the RSPCA was coordinating the official wildlife response and was given a number to call: ‘This was before mobile phones, so every hour or two I went and poured loads of coins into a phone box,’ he says. ‘I just kept them up to date with what was happening.’

He describes the early stages of the grounding as being like a ‘phoney war’, with people rushing to the scene or offering support but with no real signs of harm on land.

‘I managed to persuade the Youth Hostel Association to let us have the youth hostel at Marloes,’ he recalls. ‘They'd had a load of volunteers painting the place, so not only did we have all the accommodation we could ever need, but we also ended up with white paint all over our clothes. That was quite funny, I guess.’

An experienced wildlife volunteer, he was also making his own preparations in case there was a need to help rescue birds: ‘My partner at the time said, “Look, wine boxes are probably the right size for birds. Let’s go around the supermarkets and get as many as we can.” Then we needed something to line them. Initially I thought nappies, but we soon realised how much that was going to cost. So my partner suggested going to the local newspaper and getting the end rolls from their newsprint, because that was designed to accept oil and print and things. We could line the boxes with that.

‘We had a trailer and an old Ford Escort estate, so we were ready. But we weren’t ready…’

Nightmare on Pendine Sands

Severe weather and strong currents meant that the initial plan to hold the Sea Empress in place and offload oil failed. Tugs lost control and the ship repeatedly ran aground, eventually spilling almost 204 million litres (72,000 tonnes) of light crude oil and 1.05 million litres (370 tonnes) of heavy fuel oil into the sea.

Benson remembers receiving a call from the Wildlife Trust area director. ‘He said, “Cliff, can you get to Pendine? From what I hear, there's a bit of a nightmare going on there.”’ Pendine Sands is a stretch of beach 7 miles (11 km) long in Carmarthen Bay, just down the coast from Milford Haven.

‘We jumped in the car and drove to Pendine, and I don’t ever want to see anything like that again. There was just tonnes and tonnes of oil in the water slopping about, with hundreds and hundreds of scoter sea ducks. They overwinter in Carmarthen Bay, and so the oil had come from the tanker and had surrounded them with the tide. And they were just absolutely overcome with it. It was horrible.’

People did what they could to respond, but the damage had already been done.

‘There’s a pub just where you go on to the beach,’ Benson says, ‘and there was a vet there overwhelmed by people bringing in birds: people in ordinary clothes, getting oil all over themselves.’

That day remains Benson's worst memory from the disaster. A government report on the impact of the spill published in 1998 stated that ‘3,500 scoters are known to have died, but peak numbers during the following winter were well below normal and 10,000 fewer than the peak in 1995/96.’

Guillemot covered in oil following the Sea Empress tanker disaster (Alamy/Paul Glendell)

What to do if you find a bird covered in oil

The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) advises to contact HM Coastguard if you come across an oiled bird on the coast, or the Environment Agency if the bird is found inland. They also recommend calling the RSPCA if the bird is found alive.

‘Oil is particularly toxic to a bird if ingested, which easily happens when they try to preen off the oil,’ the RSPB says. ‘Please do not attempt to clean birds yourself, it requires specialist equipment and expertise.’

Bird cleaning and patrols

In the days following the spill in mid-February until the beginning of April, Benson organised a team of volunteers who patrolled the coastline looking for oiled birds. These would be recovered, taken to cleaning centres and then monitored for several weeks while they regained their natural waterproofing. Benson estimates that at one point there were between 50 and 60 volunteers working with him, just one part of a huge operational response.

‘It was plastered over the TV what was happening; all over Europe and whatever. There were people who desperately wanted to help, and they'd be sent to us – I guess because we had the accommodation,’ he says. ‘Students, old people, French, German, people from all over.’

In the immediate aftermath of the disaster the RSPCA set up an emergency cleaning centre in Steynton close to Milford Haven. Benson admits that there were tensions between the volunteers and the organisations tasked with managing the official response.

‘They asked us if we could send people – because there was quite a lot of us by then – to help them clean the birds,’ Benson says. ‘And, basically, they had four sinks and not enough water. The water pressure was so slow, and it was taking something like 30 minutes to clean each bird.’

‘I’d met a good guy, a local RSPB inspector, when I went in there. And I said, “How's it going?” And he said, “Come look at this.” When we went round the back of the place there were just skips full of dead birds.’

The report into the environmental impact of Sea Empress concluded that, ‘Given the enormity of the task, the collection of birds, first aid and transportation generally worked well.’ It acknowledged that the number of birds at the cleaning centre in Steynton exceeded capacity and said that there were challenges involved in training and managing some volunteers. It recommended that the RSPCA establish ‘strong links’ with regional groups, given that ‘in any oil spill that affects birds, numerous small local organisations and wildlife hospitals will play a vital supporting role’.

Despite Benson's frustrations, there were other moments where working with the authorities brought results. He recalls that during a patrol at Martin’s Haven on the peninsula, he noticed a group of farmers who had come and begun hosing down the rocks, sending oil back into the sea rather than collecting it.

‘I said to this guy, “What are you doing?” He replied, “Well, we’ve just been told that’s what we do.” Then I saw a guy come down in a suit, and I thought, “Right…” I said, “Excuse me, who are you?”

‘He said, “Oh, I’m from Texaco. I’ve just come to see what’s happening and what we can do.” So, I explained and he just said, “Right, you lot stop. We’ll get people here to do this properly.” We then went and had a cup of tea and a chat, and he asked what they could do to help. Which is fair play; it was their oil.

‘They ended up giving us a load of protective clothing and masks and wellies and all that stuff. So that did help, because until that point we were going around the second-hand shops asking for any clothing we could get – we were just getting filthy all the time. So instead of being in second-hand clothes, we suddenly had these proper coveralls and gloves and everything else. So that was something.’

Learning from the past

Find all the stories in this series

‘If the spill had happened a month later, it would have been untold tragedy’

The Sea Empress environmental impact report concluded that, ‘in several cases the environmental impact was not as severe as many people had initially feared,’ thanks in part to the time of year the accident occurred, as well as the type of oil spilled and the patterns of winds and tides which carried much of the oil away from sensitive parts of the Pembrokeshire coast.

Benson agrees that the time of year was a major factor in the outcome.

‘Skomer Island was a real worry for us. Luckily there was a gang of old wardens that went over onto Skomer and cleaned up The Wick, which is a major seabird colony,’ he says. ‘The amazing thing was, it being February, all the puffins, razor bills, guillemots and the thousands of birds that usually breed there – not to mention something like a third of a million Manx shearwaters – hadn’t arrived yet. If the spill had happened just a month later, it would have been untold tragedy.’

Some of the birds that Benson brought in for cleaning were ringed before release in order to track their progress: ‘Some of them actually turned up three, four, five years later, which proved it had been worth it – at least for some of them – to be cleaned and rescued.’

Looking back now, he says the experience with Sea Empress ‘sowed the seed’ that later grew into Sea Trust Wales, the marine conservation charity he founded in the early 2000s.

‘We needed to put some local capability and knowledge together,’ he says. ‘It occurred to me that if people come here and learn [from Sea Empress] but then go away, that knowledge goes with them. That’s why we’re here now.’

More than a year after the Sea Empress oil spill, for instance, Bensons notes he began to spot dozens of porpoises from Strumble Head near where he lived. He speculated that they had moved further round the coast to avoid the effects of the oil but knew that without community engagement there would be no way of monitoring the creatures in the long term.

‘Cetaceans’ – whales, dolphins and porpoises – ‘are at the top of the food chain,’ he explains. ‘If they’re doing OK it’s like a litmus test: you can tell how good or bad the situation is over time. We needed to get a group of people together to start learning.’

Sea Trust Wales today

Now the charity runs education programmes and carries out regular marine surveys from its ‘Ocean Lab’ headquarters in Fishguard Bay. It also tries to work with the local fishing and maritime industries to protect the marine environment.

‘We have a project called Recycle Môr. Môr is the Welsh word for sea. Fishing gear over the years has just been thrown over the side when it’s finished with, where it traps fish and birds or slowly breaks down into microplastics.’

Sea Trust Wales arranged for recycling bins to be put in the main fishing ports around Pembrokeshire to collect end-of-life equipment. The fishermen responded. Now the challenge is to work with government to increase the recycling capacity.

‘We’re collecting it quicker than they can take it,’ Benson says. ‘It’s high-quality stuff and expensive to produce. If you recycle it, it should become part of a circular economy.’

For Cliff Benson, projects such as these are the real legacy of Sea Empress.

‘Looking back, I was all hyped up with it, and what did we do? We saved a few birds at the end of the day,’ he says. Looking around the headquarters of Sea Trust Wales, he adds, ‘This is what we’ve done.’

Our relationship with the sea is changing. Discover how the ocean impacts us – and we impact the ocean – with the National Maritime Museum.

The women leading India's maritime future

A new project supported by Royal Museums Greenwich documents the experiences of women in India's maritime industries. How do they compare to stories from the past?

The unexpected history of the shipping container

They carry everything from apples to iPhones – but how did a simple metal box have such a profound impact on the way we live, work and shop?

Making Waves: Jane Maddocks

Maritime archaeologist Jane Maddocks shares her experiences diving on some of Britain’s most famous wrecks – and why we need to protect our underwater cultural heritage

Making Waves: Gail McGarva

Gail McGarva explains how her passion for traditional wooden boatbuilding took hold

Making Waves: Dr Dawn Wright

Oceanographer and chief scientist Dr Dawn Wright on diving to the deepest part of the ocean – and why we need to stand up for our blue planet

How does the UK respond to a maritime emergency?

If a ship runs into trouble in UK territorial waters, an individual known as ‘SOSREP’ is often one of the first to be notified. Who are they, and how do they help prevent disaster at sea?

Sea Empress oil spill – 30 years on

Explore the legacy of the Sea Empress oil spill, and meet the people working to prevent disaster at sea today

'I want to go to sea, do you think this might be possible?' – Nina Baker in her own words

Dr Nina Baker became the first female deck cadet in the British Merchant Navy. Listen to her account of a pioneering career

St Paul and Amsterdam

'I want to go to sea, do you think this might be possible?' – Nina Baker in her own words

James Gill — Wed, 10 Dec 2025 11:43:10 +0000

'I want to go to sea, do you think this might be possible?' – Nina Baker in her own words James Gill Wed, 12/10/2025 - 11:43

Nina Baker was a pioneer in opening up access to seafaring careers for women, rising through the ranks of an industry that for centuries had been a male-dominated environment.

In 2020 Nina shared her story with the National Maritime Museum as part of an ongoing oral history project, recording the experiences of people connected to, living or working at sea.

Nina Baker photographed at the National Maritime Museum in 2020

The recordings, along with her journals, service records and photo albums, offer a generous and detailed view of her life – from a childhood love of all things afloat to her efforts to secure a cadetship. Nina spent seven years at sea before leaving the Merchant Navy, going on to study mechanical engineering and completing a PhD.

Here we share extracts from her oral history, and follow her experiences as Britain's first female deck cadet. Donald Mullis, Curatorial Assistant (Oral History), takes up the story.

'I was mad about boats'

Born in 1954, Nina Baker’s introduction to maritime life came very early.

Her parents lived on a rented Thames barge berthed at Cheyne Walk in Chelsea, London, described by Nina as being 'quite a bohemian location'. With a shared love of all things afloat, Nina and her father would often go to watch the cargo ships in the Pool of London – a section of the River Thames running from London Bridge towards Limehouse, still busy in the 1950s with merchant ships. She has even kept one of her first picture books, ‘The Little Golden Book of Boats’, which she was given as a child.

‘By the time I could express any kind of opinion I was already mad about boats, and very much a tom-boy from quite a young age,’ Nina says. Did she already have ideas of a life at sea? Listen to her answer below.

Nina can’t recall having a direct discussion with her parents about wanting to pursue a maritime career. By her early teens however, she was already considering ‘how I might make myself the most possible person to employ at sea’.

Describing herself as a ‘misfit’ at her academically leaning secondary school, Camden School for Girls, Nina decided a change was needed.

‘I could see that it was a bad idea to go straight from an all-girls school into an all-male environment. So I asked to move school,’ she says. ‘I then went to the school that all my primary school classmates had gone to, namely Holland Park Comprehensive, which of course is a mixed school.’

Nina was under no illusions that this was not a typical career path for a woman at the time: ‘Anybody I met who had any connection with the Merchant Navy, I was up saying, “You know, I want to go to sea, and do you think this might be possible?”. And some of them would say, “Well, the only women at sea are stewardesses on the cruise ships” and this kind of thing.’

There were some positive signs however: Nina recalls speaking to somebody who had met trailblazer Victoria Drummond MBE, who, in 1926, had become the first woman in the UK to be a marine engineer. ‘So I knew somebody had been able to get to sea,’ she says. Listen to her reflections in full below:

Nina’s break came when she met a recruiter at the Shipping Federation (an association of employers in the shipping industry) who supported her search for a company willing to taking her on. After a barrage of interviews, the oil company British Petroleum (BP) ‘decided that I might have what it took’ and promised her a cadetship after she had finished her A-Levels.

In 1972, aged 18-and-a-half, Nina left school to take up her Merchant Navy training.

This is a list of items required as part of the ‘Uniform And Outfit by Deck Cadets’ with BP. You can see where Nina has annotated or amended the list for her own needs, including tights, skirt and a handbag.

Nina remembers the branch of the outfitters she went to being ‘full of these very old-school tailor guys with tapes around their necks. The first fitting of my blue double-breasted suit, the thing didn't fit at all because they'd been too timid to sort of measure me right up.’

BAKR/2/16

Cadet training and a life at sea

Nina’s naval training began with two weeks’ induction – ‘very basic ship safety’ – followed by a year at sea on various ships. ‘That’s your first sea period,’ she explains.

Her first voyage, on the tanker vessel British Willow, took her from Japan to the Persian Gulf doing hard manual work, in what she remembers as ‘baking sun’, before sailing on to Australia and New Zealand to deliver liquid fuels.

Photograph of the ship British Willow, found in the archive collections of Nina Baker (BAKR)

‘That first ship had all-British crew, and some of them were a bit of a rough lot, as you might suppose, but I didn't have any problems with them,’ she says. Indeed, Nina formed strong working relationships with the men on board.

‘There was this one Scot AB [able seaman],’ she remembers, ‘and he was regarded as unmanageable. But there was this residual Scottish gentlemanliness about him, and he would never say boo to me. If there was an issue [the officers would say], “Send Nina to get him.” And he was probably the most skilled, practical seaman on the ship.’

‘People like that had a lot to teach,’ Nina reflects. ‘Some of the older ABs had grown up in a time when a lot of old-school skills were still in use. So they taught me to splice wire ropes and things, which was very useful. When I got back to college, during phase one in those days you had to take an exam called the Efficient Deck Hand exam – EDH ticket – which included doing something which I imagine is now long out of use called a Board of Trade splice. I could do it practically in my sleep, and nobody else had ever seen it before! I gained a lot from working with these quite tough guys.’

After her first period at sea, Nina spent six months at the Plymouth School of Maritime Studies, where she encountered the first major challenge to her maritime career. She found her classmates in the hall of residence ‘deeply hostile’, a situation made worse by there being no female staff on the premises at night and ‘nothing in the way of pastoral care’.

Following another period at sea combined with directed study, Nina returned to the School to take her final exams.

‘We were in a different hall of residence but again there was nobody on site, no female on site, and I did have a difficulty there,’ she says. ‘I found somebody in my room at night. I hadn't ever found it necessary to lock my door at sea, and I didn't realise that it might be necessary ashore. I did find somebody, and I hauled them out, and was on the point of hammering on the warden's door with this character. I basically got him by the neck at this point. And the other cadets said, “Don't, it'll finish his career, we'll deal with him.” So, OK.’

She never reported the individual directly, but believes that her experience shaped how later female cadets were accommodated while in halls of residence: ‘I just had to tough it, but it wasn't easy. And I think the fact that girls were always in pairs or in groups afterwards at each of the other colleges, [that] must have been part of the learning experience for companies.’

Newspaper clippings kept by Nina Baker show how her acceptance into the Plymouth School of Maritime Studies was covered at the time.

The caption in the centre photograph reads, 'There was no lack of escorts for Miss Nina Baker, when she arrived at Plymouth School of Maritime Studies to train as a Merchant Navy navigation officer, yesterday.'

BAKR/4/6

Expected challenges – and the lack of them

Hearing Nina’s words directly, it’s clear that she’s not someone to mess with. But expecting to be treated with little respect on a ship because of her sex, Nina offers that she felt treated appropriately according to her rank.

She never experienced hazing (a slang term for a humiliating initiation) and at her first ‘crossing the line’ ceremony – a messy, riotous ritual to mark a ship or its crew crossing the Equator – she says the crew ‘got off pretty lightly’.

‘The gunk that we were lathered in and the things we were made to eat were fairly innocuous for the time,’ she says, adding that at the end of the ceremony, ‘I was welcomed into the “Sisterhood of the Sea”, and as a mermaid I’m entitled to sit on a rock at sunset combing my hair. I’ve got a certificate to prove it!”’

Nina remained with BP after completing her cadetship. Here she recalls a typical day as a Third Officer:

Nina remembers only one person who took against her while at sea. On the cargo ship British Unity, Nina encountered a captain who did not wish to take her on as a crew member. The shipping company gave the captain an ultimatum: take Nina or resign. The captain did not resign and Nina was taken on.

The resentment persisted, however. During their first meeting on board, Nina recalls that ‘his opening words to me were, “We will have no sex on this ship, if you please, Miss Baker.” Which was a bit of a start.’

When her contract with the British Unity ended, the captain sent a negative conduct report about her to the shipping office. Nina recalls what happened next:

Apart from this one exception, Nina feels that she was treated no differently to any of the male cadets, and that no allowances were made for her by male co-workers. Nina suggests that this was possibly to avoid any accusations of her receiving privileges or being given special consideration. On the other hand, Nina claims that she has heard some accounts of other female cadets not being given enough work to gain full experience of a ship, resulting in them failing to complete training.

Nina progressed from Deck Hand, responsible for berthing procedures as a ship comes into or leaves a port, advanced to Second Officer, responsible for navigation, observation and maintenance of navigational equipment, and eventually completed her studies to become First Mate.

Ship bars and faraway ports

Nina’s most vivid memory is of her first, working voyage. But across her sea career, working all types of merchant ships, Nina remembers the ships’ bars and a full social life, adding that a good ship’s bar made for a happy ship: ‘It was the focus of social life and on the deep sea ships, particularly the ones that weren't going into port very often, most captains saw it as their business to make sure that there was enough social life to keep everybody entertained.’

She also greatly enjoyed travelling to many ports around the world. Here, Nina cheekily recalls socialising shoreside in Durban, South Africa:

Leaving behind a life at sea

In 1979 Nina decided to leave the sea after seven years’ service, in part because she missed family and friends, but also because she found maintaining meaningful friendships and romantic relationships ‘just hopeless’.

An opportunity arose for Nina to get married – ‘unwisely as it turned out’. Her partner was in the Army, and very soon after the wedding he was posted to Cyprus for four years. Nina went with him, but found the rapid transition from a male working environment to the Army ‘wives’ club’ challenging. ‘I had no idea what to say to anybody,’ she reflects. ‘It took me about two years to be able to have normal female friendship relationships and conversations.’

Because of her high rank, Nina also transitioned from being waited on ‘hand and foot’ at sea (for instance, not having to do laundry or cleaning for herself) to finding herself ‘suddenly a housewife’. Nina describes the whole experience in Cyprus as being a ‘huge cultural shift’ for her. When her husband left the Army, they both chose to go to different universities and went their separate ways.

Nina studied Engineering Design and Appropriate Technology at Warwick University, a mechanical engineering course that covered renewable energy and technologies. At university she joined the UK Ecology Party, later the Green Party, and was elected in 2007 as a city councillor for the Scottish Green Party in Glasgow.

Nina has since stepped back from politics but remains an environmental champion, and follows from a distance developments in the industry she once worked in. ‘It's interesting how slow, in some ways, the technology is to change,’ she says. ‘I'm sure that the efforts to clean things up in terms of emissions have progressed, but in terms of a step change, I'm not sure I'll live to see that.’

Despite her environmental awareness, Nina still has a soft spot for BP, the company that gave her a career chance when nobody else would. She even still receives a pension from them: the princely sum of £3.46 per year. ‘It must cost them a fortune to administrate.’ she says:

Nina feels privileged to have had the opportunity to be at the right age at the right time when times were changing, and to have achieved her ambition. Of her career choices and determination to succeed, Nina has no regrets.

The recordings featured in this story are part of an ongoing oral history project at the National Maritime Museum. The project intends to record people's experiences at sea and memories of maritime events. If you think you may have a story to share, email research@rmg.co.uk. Please note that the team is small so may not be able to respond immediately.

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St Paul and Amsterdam

Shane McMurray — Thu, 04 Dec 2025 12:17:40 +0000

St Paul and Amsterdam Shane McMurray Thu, 12/04/2025 - 12:17

The small volcanic islands of St Paul and Amsterdam are remotely situated roughly halfway between the continents of Africa and Australia. For much of their history, they remained wild and uninhabited, only a temporary home for workers in the sealing and fishing trades, or seafarers marooned there by accident.

However, as revealed in various manuscripts and rare books, there were many episodes of British ships sighting and visiting the islands.

Navigational aids

In navigation practice of the past, sailing ships rounding the Cape of Good Hope to cross the Indian Ocean took advantage of the strong westerly winds (acting eastwards) in the southern latitudes. Ships making for the southwestern coast of Australia had a long spell of running eastwards between the southern latitudes of 40 and 50 degrees (the ‘roaring forties’). Those bound for the East Indies typically kept to a southern latitude of around 37 degrees until they sighted one of the islands of St Paul and Amsterdam. It was then time to set a north easterly course for finding the Sunda Strait between Sumatra and Java.

The role St Paul and Amsterdam had as navigational markers is conveyed in the log kept by William Abdy, sixth mate on the East Indiaman True Briton (1746) during a voyage to China in 1750 (CAL/201). The crew started to look out for the islands around three months after departing from the Downs. They would first expect to see patches of floating seaweed extending over a considerable distance. Once they had gained sight of the island of St Paul, Abdy made a profile drawing for his own reference.

The entry in Abdy’s log for 18 July 1750 including a profile of the island of St Paul (RMG ID: CAL/201).

Abundant marine life

Visitors to St Paul and Amsterdam were always outnumbered by marine animals, including seals, albatross and penguins. An early narrative describing some of these creatures is the journal of Edward Barlow (JOD/4/281). Barlow was chief mate on the maiden voyage of the East Indiaman Wentworth (1699) when he encountered the island of St Paul and its large community of seals:

And coming near the island, it appeared guarded with wild beasts, or rather sea-dogs, which stood upon their hinder fins, or what served them for legs, with open mouths grinning with their long teeth, all along the shore.

About a hundred years later, the same island was visited by the ships that carried the British diplomatic delegation to China, headed by Earl Macartney. The voyage of HMS Lion (1777) from Spithead was recorded in a log kept by Captain Sir Erasmus Gower (GOW/3). The entry he made in the log on 1 February 1793 mentions the killing of seals by a party of hunters:

As we sailed along the island, we saw smoke in several places and soon afterwards two men who made signals to us…[They] were employed by the French from the islands of France to procure seal skins. There were five of them, had been here as many months, and were to remain ten months longer. [They] had killed 8000 seals.

On the following day, the Lion safely anchored near to the basin formed by the collapsed crater of the island of St Paul. The sea here had an abundant supply of fresh fish and this brought a welcome change in diet for the ship's company.

Gower's description of the crater and its thermal springs clearly place him on the island of St Paul. However, he names the island as Amsterdam and repeats the error in his volume of nautical observations from the same voyage (GOW/1). It wasn’t uncommon for seafarers to confuse the two islands, understandable if they had spent many weeks upon the wide ocean, hoping for the pleasing sight of land.

Gower’s drawing showing the entrance to the basin on the island of [St Paul] (RMG ID: GOW/1).

Ordeals of shipwreck survivors

Two notable narratives relating to the island of Amsterdam concern passenger vessels that struck the surrounding rocks and went to pieces in the heavy surf during the darkness of night. Survivors from these shipwrecks endured several days of difficulties with the terrain and inadequate supplies before they could be rescued.

An account of the loss of the barque Lady Munro of Madras by John McCosh was published in Glasgow in 1835 (PBB4695). An account of the loss of the full-rigged ship Meridian (1852) written by Alfred J.P. Lutwyche is reproduced in a book by Joy Shepherd telling the story of the Scoltock family (PBP4011). The survivors from the Meridian had to climb steep cliffs and cross the island to reach a suitable landing place for a boat to take them off.

A profile of the island of Amsterdam in a journal kept by Albert Hastings Markham, a midshipman on HMS Camilla (1847) in 1856 (RMG ID: MRK/2).

In 1871 the iron screw troopship HMS Megaera (1849) was run ashore on the island of St Paul after corrosion caused major leaks in the hull’s iron plating. The crew and passengers spent nearly three months in an encampment on the island before they were able to continue their journey on a ship chartered by the British government. These events are told in the journal of William Mason (JOD/261/1) and transcripts of letters written by Robert Horace Walpole (TRN/82).

In search of castaways

During the second half of the 19th century, the southern Indian Ocean became less frequented by seafarers. Steam-driven merchant ships usually had no reason to go so far south, particularly after the opening of the Suez Canal. However, several British naval vessels visited the islands of St Paul and Amsterdam (and the similarly remote island groups of Crozet and Kerguelen) while engaged in surveying duties or searching for evidence of missing ships.

One vessel that disappeared in the southern Indian Ocean was the iron ship Knowsley Hall (1873), which departed from London bound for New Zealand at the beginning of June 1879. Nobody spoke with or heard of this vessel in the following months and no evidence of its fate was ever found.

A search of the island of Amsterdam made by boats from the iron screw frigate HMS Raleigh (1873) is recorded in the journal of Robert Arthur Simpson (MSS/77/121) and letters by Thomas Murray Parks (PKS/154). Simpson’s entry for 27 May 1880 mentions the firing of guns to make any castaways present on the island aware of the ship’s arrival. They only succeeded in upsetting a herd of feral cattle, still in residence almost a decade after an unsuccessful attempt to create a farming settlement:

After spending some time looking for an anchorage and finding none and after hoisting the ensign and firing guns we stood on under steam to steam around the island, continuing to fire guns occasionally. We got a splendid view of the shore in clear fine sunny weather for some time and among other things, noticed a herd of five fine bullocks or cows, probably quite wild, who were startled by our guns.

As part of the operations on remote islands, depots of clothing and provisions were set up for the use of castaways who might survive the future wrecking of passenger ships employed in the New Zealand and Australia trades.

Unique scientific sites

During the 20th century, France took formal possession of the two islands. Île Saint-Paul and Île Amsterdam now form part of an overseas territory known as the French Southern and Antarctic Lands. Recent narratives about the islands focus on the important research carried out by a seasonal staff of scientists, not the exploits and misadventures of seafarers.

The remoteness and relative ‘clean’ environment of the islands make them suitable sites for monitoring the effects of human activity on planet Earth, including atmospheric pollution. In addition, they are important breeding grounds for rare bird species and sanctuaries for biodiversity.

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