It’s late November 2024 and Storm Bert is tearing its way across Wales and England. With high winds and widespread flooding, it isn’t long before the alarm sounds at Trinity House: Lightvessel No. 2 has broken from its mooring at Foxtrot 3 and is floating freely in the English Channel. As the ship drifts there is at least one small comfort – that no one is on board the lightvessel.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for a similar incident 70 years prior. The South Goodwin Lightvessel disaster of 1954 resulted in catastrophic loss of life. On the 70th anniversary, Digital Engagement Lead Sarah-Jane Lakshman, looks back at the tragic incident and remembers the lives lost.
Built to protect
Lightvessels were the innovation of 18th century navigation; a ship fixed to the seafloor and fitted with a light. Their ability to move from one hazard to another made the vessels favourable for managing the ever-changing seabed. In 1937, Lightvessel 90 was commissioned to mark Goodwin Sands, a prominent sandbank approximately six miles off the Kentish coast and hauntingly regarded as the ‘notorious graveyard of ships’. Around 118ft in length, Lightvessel 90 was constructed of iron and steel and sat affixed to its station with four mushroom anchors. Completely unpowered and pulled to and from its station by Trinity House vessels, she was moored in close vicinity to her sistership tethered at East Goodwin. Both vessels helped protect mariners from running aground on the bank for many years, until one fateful night.
Trouble on the horizon
A storm had settled in on England’s east coast, and the night of 26 November 1954 saw monstrous waves and winds beat down on both lightvessels. Around midnight, Lightvessel 90’s Master, Horace Skipp, mustered his crew in the galley. Crammed into the small space were the seven seafarers and one unlucky guest, Mr Ronald Murton from the Ministry of Agriculture. At only 22 years of age, Murton had joined the vessel a month prior to study migratory bird activity.
Within minutes of mustering, Lightvessel 90 broke from its mooring at South Goodwin. In the chaos of the waves and wind, no one on board could have possibly known what was unfolding beneath them. Those at East Goodwin watched in horror as their sistership began to drift away from its station, and desperate calls were made to the mainland.
Back on Lightvessel 90, Master Skipp had just turned on his heel to make way to the ships’ radio communication. Before he could confirm whether they were drifting, the vessel pitched violently and fell hard on its starboard side. Upon impact, the crew were thrown and, in the darkness, icy water surged into the galley which began to fill alarmingly fast.
Lightvessel 90 stricken on Goodwin Sands
Rescue
When the distress calls came through, rescue teams readied themselves, but the bad weather hampered any immediate action. It was 0200 hours when the Ramsgate Coastguard urgently messaged the 66th Air Sea Rescue Squadron of the US Air Force. Major Paul Park, Captain Curtis Parkins and Airman Elmer Vollman were ready to board their Sikorsky Chickasaw helicopter, but high winds meant they were unable to leave the airfield until 0700 hours.
Major Paul Park, Captain Curtis Parkins and Airman Elmer Vollman (Park family archives)
When rescuers did sight Lightvessel 90, they found a most distressing scene. The vessel lay beached on its starboard side, pinned against Goodwin Sands by relentless waves. The Royal National Lifeboat Institution had battled the swell for hours to reach the lightvessel, yet could not get within 700 yards without jeopardising the safety of the rescuers. By this point, Lightvessel 90 had been in its stricken state for eight hours and there was little hope for those that had been aboard.
Rescuers attend Lightvessel 90
The shock came when the Squadron rounded on the beached vessel – someone was clinging to the deck scaffolding! The airmen plunged the helicopter to a mere 30 feet above the ship and it was at this altitude they threw down a lifeline to the exhausted, pyjama-clad man. After nine hours of hanging on for dear life, young Ronald Murton was saved.
Lone survivor
From his hospital bed, Murton recounted his ordeal in great detail. As water had surged into the galley, Murton had squeezed through a hatch above the ship’s oven. Out on the deck, he had clutched at the hull with all his strength. He said:
“For eight hours I clung to a rail, waves smashing over me. Then in half light and mist the helicopter settled down over the ship. I grabbed a noose of rope which was dangled down and was hauled up into the machine.”
Murton detailed the seven men still trapped below, having spoken with crewman Tom Porter through a porthole who had relayed that he, Master Skipp and Fog Signal Driver Viney were all trapped together. This was promising news, and hope flickered for the rescue teams and families of the trapped men. Despite the armada of ships that raced to the site of the disaster, no one was able to board Lightvessel 90 safely until 28 November. The Lightvessel was searched and the surrounding waters surveyed.
But alas, Master Skipp and his crew were never found.
Bravery and honour
The disaster hit national headlines, and commemorations for the fallen seamen poured forth. The storm was heralded as the worst in 30 years and attention was turned to the brave men and women who had leapt to assist at a moment’s notice.
Major Park, Captain Parkins and Airman Vollman were honoured for their bravery in hauling Murton from the wallowing vessel. Their rescue was regarded by all as a ‘daredevil act’, one which saw the squadron put aside concern for their own safety to save the young man from death. On 8 March 1955, Major Park was awarded one of the highest levels of recognition by the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. He was presented the award by Her Royal Highness Katherine, Duchess of Kent, in a grand ceremony in London.
Major Park receiving award from HRH Katherine, Duchess of Kent (Park Family Archives)
Remembering his father’s brave efforts, Jim Park writes:
“My father, Major Paul Park, was the commanding officer aboard the rescue helicopter that night. I want to express my family's appreciation to Trinity House for keeping the memories alive of the men who perished that night, the one man who was rescued, Ronald Murton, and the heroism of those men who made the rescue. In 2014, my wife and I were fortunate enough to travel to London and donate several artifacts to Trinity House, including letters, photos, and a painting from that horrible night.”
We remember
Horace Thomas Skipp, Master
George Henry Charles Cox
Kenneth George Lanham
Sidney George James Philpott
Walter Alfred Viney
Henry Lynn
Tom Benjamin Bridges Porter