Talland Bay, nestled on Cornwall’s south coast just around the corner from Looe, is known for its scenic beauty and clear tranquil waters. But between gullies of slate strata that jut out of the centre of the bay, lie remains that hint at a more violent history of ruin and shipwreck which still capture the imagination of those who visit today. This then is the story of the Maguerite: a French vessel that sank in the bay on Friday 3rd March 1922, leaving its mark indelibly in the history of this coastline.
Foundering
The Maguerite was a 220-ton steam trawler registered in Boulogne. They had cast their nets wide mid-channel, bringing in a large haul that their skipper, Capitain Bonjonn was determined to land in Plymouth the next day. However, by the night of the 2nd March a strong westerly gale got up, greatly reducing visibility and leaving the fisherman hopelessly lost. By BonJonn’s reckoning they were somewhere approaching the Eddystone light, but in the foggy twilight hours of that Friday morning they instead ran at full speed onto the rocks at Talland Bay.
Alarm
As the relentless power of the waves shifted the Maguerite’s starboard side into the gale, and then further and further up the beach, her hull was holed repeatedly from the stabbing rocks which also detached both rudder and propellor. The fishermen first tried to attract attention with their siren and then broadcast a wireless S.O.S, but they mistakenly gave their position as the Eddystone Reef. Acting upon this, that was where Ryder, the alerted Looe lifeboat, began pulling for.
Luckily, the error was spotted ashore before the lifeboat had gone too far; it was recalled with signal flares and the motor lugger Dorothy, belonging to Mr J Whynall, put out from Looe, bringing them the three miles around headland under tow, to save the crew from having to row into the still very heavy south-westerly.
Rescue
Back in the bay, the Marguerite’s crew were becoming increasingly desperate; Bonjonn himself despaired for the life of his ten-year-old son (brought along for the trip) and had him strapped to his shoulders to preserve him from being swept away. The crew had attempted to launch their tender to put some of their number ashore, but realised conditions made it almost impossible to land safely amongst the rocks. By this point it was about six thirty in the morning and the crew’s position had become impossible.
At this moment Thomas Toms, Coxwain of the lifeboat Ryder, and his men hove into view still under tow of the Dorothy. In an example of expert seamanship, Toms gave the order to part the tow from Dorothy then dropped an anchor to bring the shallower-draughted Ryder on a safe angle into the bay, once slipped, the lifeboatmen were carried through the worst of the breakers.
Alongside the Marguerite, the captain’s son was quickly passed to the rescuers first, followed by the rest of the crew with the captain being last to leave his stricken vessel. In all, the full 21-man crew of the Maguerite were rowed to safety in one of Looe Lifeboat’s most successful rescues, and certainly the ‘most meritorious act of Ryder’s illustrious 28-year service at Looe’.
Nature’s Triumph
Landing back in Looe, the rescued Marguerites were helped to warm food and drink aplenty. There was considerable praise for the work of the lifeboatmen given the entirely successful rescue in dark and difficult conditions, with Toms’ judgement and direction of the rescue particularly celebrated. Later in the day, several of the lifeboat crew joined the gathering public on the beach to view, as the Western Morning News rather poetically described it: ‘a pathetic object of Nature's triumph in her wildest mood’. The Cornish being fairly notorious for wrecking fever, local rumour has it a guard was posted to deter the removal of the Marguerite’s expensive gear or their estimated fifty-ton haul of fish. Undeterred, the locals just went round the back- apparently determined not to waste the opportunity of a free lunch! Alas, the carbide used for the boat’s lamps had poured over the catch, rendering it pink and rather unpalatable. It is known that the crew, pictured below, were able to re-enter the wreckage at low water to retrieve whatever valuables they could ahead of their return to France.
Marguerite and Talland Today
Owing to its position high up on the rocks, formal salvage and refloat was impossible. The wreck was gradually broken up by subsequent storms and scattered amongst the gullies, with only the famous boiler now remaining in position. In this fate she shares the bay with two (known) other well-broken-up wrecks.
These are the Austrian brig Ester, lost in an easterly gale in in March of 1885, and Tregothick of London, a West Indiaman that likewise got lost in rough weather, mistaking the land around the Talland Manor for Rame Head and dashing itself to pieces in the shallows on the 10th January 1786. Sadly in this earlier wrecking, her captain, his son and eleven other seamen drowned. Such losses, despite the successful rescue of the Marguerite’s crew, echo in the quiet waters of Talland Bay and help us remember that the sea is both beautiful and dangerous.
It’s the former I want to dwell on for the last part of this blog though, for today the boiler is still an impressive piece foreshore wreckage (well worth a visit itself) and Talland bay can be a truly spectacular shore dive or snorkel. Whilst visiting spearos at campsite above the cliff have a tendency to clear the place out each August, with time and a healthy tide there remains life to be found schooling over the flats and poking out from the gullies. This of course includes the boiler of the fishing vessel itself, now finally and somewhat ironically a home for our marine fauna.
Long may it be so.
References:
Thanks to Peter Mitchell and Looe Lifeboat Station for some of the finer details of the sinking.
Richard Larn ‘Dive South Cornwall’
Richard Larn and Clive Carter, Cornish shipwrecks, The South Coast, Pan, 1976, first edition 1969.
Note: Restored via a National Lottery grant, I’ve frequently sailed past the Lifeboat Ryder as she has been moored on Display at Polruan in the Fowey estuary for many years. Recently she was bought by the Polperro Heritage museum, and has now been stationed on permanent display at Charlestown harbour, as the last example of the Standard Self-Righting Lifeboat. The intention is to keep her sea-worthy (a century and counting) to support the fantastic work of the RNLI with charity rows on lifeboat days. I hope I get a chance to row her some time soon.
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