The paddle steamer 'Medway Queen' is the last estuary pleasure steamer surviving in the United Kingdom. She was built in 1924 on the River Clyde in Scotland but sailed in the estuary waters of the River Thames and River Medway. In WWII she was requisitioned and converted to a minesweeper. Initially she operated out of Dover and later in the war was based in Scotland as a training vessel.
Her finest moment came in 1940 when she made seven crossings to the beaches of Dunkirk rescuing 7000 men. Her bravery and that of her gallant crew lead to the title 'Heroine of Dunkirk" being bestowed.
After the war the 'Medway Queen' returned to pleasure steaming on the River Medway and Thames, under her original owners, until withdrawal in 1963.
From 1966 the ship served as a marina club house and night club at Island Harbour on the Isle of Wight. She became a well known and popular entertainment venue and her reputation there lasts to this day. In due course she was replaced by a larger vessel, Ryde Queen, and fell into disuse.
In 1984 the Medway Queen was salvaged from the river Medina and towed on a salvage barge back to her home river in Chatham.
The Medway Queen Preservation Society was formed in 1985 to try and save her. In due course, the MQPS purchased the ship in derelict condition for the sum of £15,000. She spent the following years at Damhead Creek on the River Medway while the society worked to get back to her original glory. Despite sinking at her berth several times the members have been determined restore he and in 2006 the National Lottery Heritage Fund made this possible with a grant of £1.86million pounds. This grant was for the complete rebuild of the ship’s hull. This attempt to restore her failed, however, and the Medway Queen Preservation Society was formed in 1985 to try and save her. In due course, the MQPS purchased the ship in derelict condition for the sum of £15,000. She spent the following years at Damhead Creek on the River Medway while the society worked to get the ship back to her original glory. Despite sinking at her berth several times the members have been determined restore her and in 2006 the National Lottery Heritage Fund made this possible with a grant of £1.86million pounds. This grant was for the complete rebuild of the ship’s hull.
The hull is now bring reconstructed in Bristol using the traditional method of riveting plates together rather than being of a welded construction. While work progresses in Bristol, it also continues in the Medway towns with MQPS volunteers working on all the recovered parts such as handrails, lamps, benches, vents and much more including the reconstruction of the bridge using original parts.
The work in Bristol and Medway is supported by the fundraising efforts of many people from across the World, bringing the 'Medway Queen' to a international stage. In 2010 it was announced that the Medway Queen Preservation Society in collaboration with other European Partners would received additional funding for Stage 2 of the Medway Queen’s restoration through a joined project called 'Heroes 2C”.
All the work of the MQPS, its members and friends as well as international partners will, one day, allow the Medway Queen to steam again.
http://www.medwayqueen.co.uk/home.html
Gambia SG1332
Medway Queen
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john sefton
- Posts: 1816
- Joined: Sun Mar 22, 2009 1:59 pm
Re: Medway Queen
Summary of an article by Thomas Russell, Chief cook in the “Medway Queen”
I swayed on sore feet, my head ached abominably, for I had had no sleep for 72 hours. The month of May 1940 was waning and the wartime evacuation from Dunkirk was in full swing. It was 4 a.m.
The end of a bandage was dipping in the mess‑tin which was held out to me, but I was unable to stop my robot‑like "dip and pour" rhythm in time to avoid emptying a ladle of stew over it. I looked up, and some drops of perspiration fell from the end of my nose into the stew. The soldier I saw was wounded in the head, his young face pinched and white under the blood‑soaked field dressing. Our eyes met as, reaching out, he removed the bandage, then heartily sucked the gravy from the end of it before tucking it back in place. He grinned at me. "Thanks pal. Tastes smashing."
When the evacuation was over, the small paddle steamer converted into a minesweeper in which I was serving as chief cook had carved her name in the annals of naval wartime history, by making more trips to the beaches of Dunkirk than any other vessel except the fast destroyers. It was an unbroken week of nightly visits, with the German Luftwaffe and shore batteries seeking her out as a special target. This was not surprising, as she alone brought safely back to England as many as 7,000 servicemen.
It all began on the last Sunday in May. The paddle steamer was the MEDWAY QUEEN, attached to the Dover Patrol of the loth Flotilla of Minesweepers. It was mid‑morning and Sec, my young assistant, and I were leaning on the rail before preparing lunch for the crew. The whole 10th Flotilla seemed to have foregathered at Dover. We recognised the BRIGHTON BELLE, THE BRIGHTON QUEEN, THE QUEEN OF THE SOUTH, THE GRACIE FIELDS‑all paddle steamers, though like the MEDWAY QUEEN, each was painted battleship grey.
Immediately after breakfast a launch had toured the flotilla and all senior officers were now on the flagship and now a naval barge had finished unloading onto our little craft a tremendous amount of food suppliesevery storage space was crammed full.
The next day the news came. Paris had fallen, and our lads were fleeing to the Dunkirk beaches. The whole flotilla was going to move out together at dusk to bring back as many of them as they could. My orders came at about 5 p.m. on Monday, May 27th and were to prepare hot food, sandwiches and drinks for "several hundred men who will no doubt feel somewhat peckish". Immediately we had cleared dinner out of the way ‑about 7 p.m.‑Sec and I each took a quick shower. We knew we were in for a long session.
The galley of the MEDWAY QUEEN was not large. I butchered a carcass of mutton and then prepared carrots, onions and potatoes‑countless sacks of them‑to make an Irish stew. Sec cut up dozens of loaves to make sandwiches, using cheeses and tinned meats. We made several pots full of cocoa, opening dozens of tins of condensed milk.
It wasn't until every available space on the stove was covered with steaming pans and we had a "mountain" of sandwiches made, that we noticed the time. It was 2.30 a.m. and we were wet and tired. We had been too busy to pay attention to anything going on outside, but now we were aware of the noisesof the whistling of shells, the crack of explosions, and our ship's guns blasting away.
Sec wandered outside for some air. He was back in a flash. "Chief !", his young voice squeaked with excitement, "Come and see!" Wearily I went up on deck with him. The ship was anchored in the deep channel outside Dunkirk harbour, and all of the crew were there ‑‑ transfixed ‑‑ standing on the blackedout ship in silhouette one moment, then reflected in the flashes of bombs and gunfire the next. Everyone seemed awestricken. The scene was one to which we returned six further times, and I shall never ever forget it. The sight of every British craft imaginable, from single rowing boats to destroyers which rallied to Dunkirk at that time. Emotions of fear, horror, wonder and pride fought for supremacy inside me as I gazed about, swallowing a huge lump in my throat.
Mixed up in the inferno were our boys, hundreds and hundreds of them, many up to their necks in the water. They were being machine‑gunned by swooping planes as we watched, many falling, never to rise again.
Presently I realised that the launch heading our way which held about 60 soldiers, would soon be alongside. Sec came running up to me. "I've just heard we're taking on a thousand if we can". "A thousand!" This was the ship's full passenger capacity in peacetime. I felt panic, we'll never cope I thought. Oh, God‑we haven't got nearly enough food prepared.
We flew back to the galley, opening tins of beans, milk, making pots of tea. We could hardly move, the galley was so full of food. Suddenly there was a crush at each galley door, with innumerable khaki‑clad arms‑many dripping wet‑waving billy‑cans, mugs and mess‑tins at us. The hubbub of voices was clamorous and insistent. These weren't "peckish men". These were starving animals, most of them too desperately hungry and thirsty to be polite‑pushing, shoving and snarling. Someone opened the starboard half‑door and they started to flood for service right into the galley. Sec and I were serving as fast as we could but we were getting shoved back and forth and could scarcely manage. Some of the lads started to help themselves. It was pandemonium.
I pushed through the crush and pulled at the sleeve of the first ship's officer I saw. He was very calm and efficient, and soon had the whole thing organised, with the lads forming orderly queues for service. Sec and I were working like machines, handing out sustenance in a never‑ending stream. We ran out of stew nearly half‑way back, and as the ship was nosing into Margate harbour at about 7.30 a.m. we had served great quantities of baked beans, sausages, eggs, chops‑anything we could lay our hands on.
When the last of the troops had left, there was no time to relax. We had to prepare the normal meals for our crew, but also had to start preparations for the coming night. The "Queen" wasn't going to go out sweeping until the evacuation was completed, but the cleaning‑up operation kept all hands hard at work. Mud and sand were everywhere, also abandoned rifles, empty cigarette packets, bottles and paper. It seemed as if hundreds of the men had been sea‑sick. Hardly an inch of the ship didn't require to be washed down.
My responsibility weighed heavily, as I knew I was the only person in the ship able to cook in quantity. Sec was there, but he was a lad still in his 'teens, and inexperienced. It was up to me to see that there was plenty of hot food.
And so there commenced what was to become a marathon of human endurance, not just for Sec and I but for every member of the crew. During the days, the cleaning‑up job and preparation. During the nights, our thousand weary and hungry guests to collect and care for during the voyage home, with incessant bombardment from the Germans.
I know that somehow I managed to keep awake during that week of horror ‑ by snatching mini‑sleeps sitting upright on my galley stool ‑ by grabbing every opportunity to take a cold shower, and drinking innumerable cups of strong tea and black coffee liberally laced with spirit.
The days merged and my actions became automatic, and my attitudes to others became anti‑social. There were periods of near delirium when I was haunted by visions of satin‑cool cushions, but before I could reach them they turned into sandwiches and mess‑tins of stew being grabbed away by dozens of grubby, disembodied hands.
At dawn on June 3rd, the last muddy khaki‑clad figure left the MEDWAY QUEEN, and a three‑day leave was given to all of the crew. I could not concentrate to pack, and stretched out. I was the only human being left in the "Queen".
I slept the clock round, and then I went home‑and slept some more.
In 1966, with my brother and our wives, we celebrated my retirement after over 40 years of seafaring by dining once more in the MEDWAY QUEEN. This time I enjoyed a superb meal in leisurely, luxurious style.
Due for scrapping, she was purchased by Alan Ridett, Ltd., an enterprising group of young architects practising on the Isle of Wight. She is now a very beautiful lady indeed, with first‑class amenities for dining, wining and dancing. She is still a "paddle‑steamer" but at permanent anchorage on the shores of the River Medina, near Cowes. My galley is a storage cupboard.
She carries a brass plaque commemorating her great effort during those historic days, and it was with a deep feeling of pride, when asked by Alan Ridett's associate to sign her visitors' book, to see him carefully print in red letters beside my name "Ship's Cook During Dunkirk".
Sea Breezes February 1970
I swayed on sore feet, my head ached abominably, for I had had no sleep for 72 hours. The month of May 1940 was waning and the wartime evacuation from Dunkirk was in full swing. It was 4 a.m.
The end of a bandage was dipping in the mess‑tin which was held out to me, but I was unable to stop my robot‑like "dip and pour" rhythm in time to avoid emptying a ladle of stew over it. I looked up, and some drops of perspiration fell from the end of my nose into the stew. The soldier I saw was wounded in the head, his young face pinched and white under the blood‑soaked field dressing. Our eyes met as, reaching out, he removed the bandage, then heartily sucked the gravy from the end of it before tucking it back in place. He grinned at me. "Thanks pal. Tastes smashing."
When the evacuation was over, the small paddle steamer converted into a minesweeper in which I was serving as chief cook had carved her name in the annals of naval wartime history, by making more trips to the beaches of Dunkirk than any other vessel except the fast destroyers. It was an unbroken week of nightly visits, with the German Luftwaffe and shore batteries seeking her out as a special target. This was not surprising, as she alone brought safely back to England as many as 7,000 servicemen.
It all began on the last Sunday in May. The paddle steamer was the MEDWAY QUEEN, attached to the Dover Patrol of the loth Flotilla of Minesweepers. It was mid‑morning and Sec, my young assistant, and I were leaning on the rail before preparing lunch for the crew. The whole 10th Flotilla seemed to have foregathered at Dover. We recognised the BRIGHTON BELLE, THE BRIGHTON QUEEN, THE QUEEN OF THE SOUTH, THE GRACIE FIELDS‑all paddle steamers, though like the MEDWAY QUEEN, each was painted battleship grey.
Immediately after breakfast a launch had toured the flotilla and all senior officers were now on the flagship and now a naval barge had finished unloading onto our little craft a tremendous amount of food suppliesevery storage space was crammed full.
The next day the news came. Paris had fallen, and our lads were fleeing to the Dunkirk beaches. The whole flotilla was going to move out together at dusk to bring back as many of them as they could. My orders came at about 5 p.m. on Monday, May 27th and were to prepare hot food, sandwiches and drinks for "several hundred men who will no doubt feel somewhat peckish". Immediately we had cleared dinner out of the way ‑about 7 p.m.‑Sec and I each took a quick shower. We knew we were in for a long session.
The galley of the MEDWAY QUEEN was not large. I butchered a carcass of mutton and then prepared carrots, onions and potatoes‑countless sacks of them‑to make an Irish stew. Sec cut up dozens of loaves to make sandwiches, using cheeses and tinned meats. We made several pots full of cocoa, opening dozens of tins of condensed milk.
It wasn't until every available space on the stove was covered with steaming pans and we had a "mountain" of sandwiches made, that we noticed the time. It was 2.30 a.m. and we were wet and tired. We had been too busy to pay attention to anything going on outside, but now we were aware of the noisesof the whistling of shells, the crack of explosions, and our ship's guns blasting away.
Sec wandered outside for some air. He was back in a flash. "Chief !", his young voice squeaked with excitement, "Come and see!" Wearily I went up on deck with him. The ship was anchored in the deep channel outside Dunkirk harbour, and all of the crew were there ‑‑ transfixed ‑‑ standing on the blackedout ship in silhouette one moment, then reflected in the flashes of bombs and gunfire the next. Everyone seemed awestricken. The scene was one to which we returned six further times, and I shall never ever forget it. The sight of every British craft imaginable, from single rowing boats to destroyers which rallied to Dunkirk at that time. Emotions of fear, horror, wonder and pride fought for supremacy inside me as I gazed about, swallowing a huge lump in my throat.
Mixed up in the inferno were our boys, hundreds and hundreds of them, many up to their necks in the water. They were being machine‑gunned by swooping planes as we watched, many falling, never to rise again.
Presently I realised that the launch heading our way which held about 60 soldiers, would soon be alongside. Sec came running up to me. "I've just heard we're taking on a thousand if we can". "A thousand!" This was the ship's full passenger capacity in peacetime. I felt panic, we'll never cope I thought. Oh, God‑we haven't got nearly enough food prepared.
We flew back to the galley, opening tins of beans, milk, making pots of tea. We could hardly move, the galley was so full of food. Suddenly there was a crush at each galley door, with innumerable khaki‑clad arms‑many dripping wet‑waving billy‑cans, mugs and mess‑tins at us. The hubbub of voices was clamorous and insistent. These weren't "peckish men". These were starving animals, most of them too desperately hungry and thirsty to be polite‑pushing, shoving and snarling. Someone opened the starboard half‑door and they started to flood for service right into the galley. Sec and I were serving as fast as we could but we were getting shoved back and forth and could scarcely manage. Some of the lads started to help themselves. It was pandemonium.
I pushed through the crush and pulled at the sleeve of the first ship's officer I saw. He was very calm and efficient, and soon had the whole thing organised, with the lads forming orderly queues for service. Sec and I were working like machines, handing out sustenance in a never‑ending stream. We ran out of stew nearly half‑way back, and as the ship was nosing into Margate harbour at about 7.30 a.m. we had served great quantities of baked beans, sausages, eggs, chops‑anything we could lay our hands on.
When the last of the troops had left, there was no time to relax. We had to prepare the normal meals for our crew, but also had to start preparations for the coming night. The "Queen" wasn't going to go out sweeping until the evacuation was completed, but the cleaning‑up operation kept all hands hard at work. Mud and sand were everywhere, also abandoned rifles, empty cigarette packets, bottles and paper. It seemed as if hundreds of the men had been sea‑sick. Hardly an inch of the ship didn't require to be washed down.
My responsibility weighed heavily, as I knew I was the only person in the ship able to cook in quantity. Sec was there, but he was a lad still in his 'teens, and inexperienced. It was up to me to see that there was plenty of hot food.
And so there commenced what was to become a marathon of human endurance, not just for Sec and I but for every member of the crew. During the days, the cleaning‑up job and preparation. During the nights, our thousand weary and hungry guests to collect and care for during the voyage home, with incessant bombardment from the Germans.
I know that somehow I managed to keep awake during that week of horror ‑ by snatching mini‑sleeps sitting upright on my galley stool ‑ by grabbing every opportunity to take a cold shower, and drinking innumerable cups of strong tea and black coffee liberally laced with spirit.
The days merged and my actions became automatic, and my attitudes to others became anti‑social. There were periods of near delirium when I was haunted by visions of satin‑cool cushions, but before I could reach them they turned into sandwiches and mess‑tins of stew being grabbed away by dozens of grubby, disembodied hands.
At dawn on June 3rd, the last muddy khaki‑clad figure left the MEDWAY QUEEN, and a three‑day leave was given to all of the crew. I could not concentrate to pack, and stretched out. I was the only human being left in the "Queen".
I slept the clock round, and then I went home‑and slept some more.
In 1966, with my brother and our wives, we celebrated my retirement after over 40 years of seafaring by dining once more in the MEDWAY QUEEN. This time I enjoyed a superb meal in leisurely, luxurious style.
Due for scrapping, she was purchased by Alan Ridett, Ltd., an enterprising group of young architects practising on the Isle of Wight. She is now a very beautiful lady indeed, with first‑class amenities for dining, wining and dancing. She is still a "paddle‑steamer" but at permanent anchorage on the shores of the River Medina, near Cowes. My galley is a storage cupboard.
She carries a brass plaque commemorating her great effort during those historic days, and it was with a deep feeling of pride, when asked by Alan Ridett's associate to sign her visitors' book, to see him carefully print in red letters beside my name "Ship's Cook During Dunkirk".
Sea Breezes February 1970
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aukepalmhof
- Posts: 8005
- Joined: Thu Apr 02, 2009 1:28 am
Re: Medway Queen
She was retired from service in 1963 but, by the time the Medway Queen Preservation Society was formed in 1985 with the intention of preserving her, years of neglect had left her in a very poor state. Despite years of hard work it was a hopeless task and Medway Queen was eventually broken up in 2006.
However the Society was not to give up that easily and in 2009, with the help of Heritage Lottery funding, construction of a replica began at the Albion Dry Dock in Bristol. It includes a few parts salved from the original vessel but, although it is hoped that the replica will eventually go to sea under its own power, it is unlikely to be granted a full passenger certificate.
Read more at http://www.motorboatsmonthly.co.uk/news ... D02fOGS.99
However the Society was not to give up that easily and in 2009, with the help of Heritage Lottery funding, construction of a replica began at the Albion Dry Dock in Bristol. It includes a few parts salved from the original vessel but, although it is hoped that the replica will eventually go to sea under its own power, it is unlikely to be granted a full passenger certificate.
Read more at http://www.motorboatsmonthly.co.uk/news ... D02fOGS.99