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Trailing from the submerged part of the Hulk's hull was a veritable forest of seaweed attracting Bass and
Mullet to it. This prompted myself and many other locals to cast a fishing line, ever hopefully, alongside. Despite being 'electrified’, the C.l. continued to burn freely available solid fuel in an onboard boiler. I found to my cost that boiler cleaning meant the dumping of
unwanted burnt and burning cinders over the vessel's side, from a giant bucket. Stripped to the waist and fishing from a dingy alongside the Hulk, I, a friend and my dog once suffered the
consequences of this practice. ' Without any warning’ dust ash and red-hot cinders arrived in one large lump, scorching the heads, shoulders and legs of both my friend and I. At the same
time a strange smell signalled my dog's coat was burning. Fortunately, the action of throwing the dog overboard then following him into the water saved all from serious burns. It only remained
for us to upturn and flood the burning dinghy as it took on the appearance of a Viking funeral boat.
A subsequent fishing trip had us more cautious. We lashed the dinghy's painter to the
Hulk's anchor chain, an arrangement that kept us well away from her hull and the dangers of raining embers. A tide change and the consequent rapid straightening of the Hulk's chain rendered boat, selves and one dog, airborne. While endeavouring to untie the rope by which all were suspended a lurch in the huge chain
caused my thumb to become trapped. I next lost my foothold on the dinghy's bow and was left hanging by the trapped thumb. When my fishing partner finally cut through the rope we were all treated to
yet another salty dunking. Patiently treading water and wearing a ‘not again’ expression, my dog was last to clamber back into the waterlogged dinghy as our catch of fish drifted down-harbour.
My opening remarks termed the C.1. ugly, I could have added passive and impotent, since she was unable to move
under her own power, relying instead on tugs.
Passive would not describe the conduct of the French battleship Courbay’s crew,
taken over by the British Navy, impounded and moored a couple of hundred yards away from the C.1. in July 1940. The Courbay bristled with fixed guns; it also boasted many hand-held weapons. Unfortunately
for the residents of Hardway and crew of the C.1., the French crew were permitted to use these weapons during air-raids; and they did so, with gusto. My family's shoreside air-raid shelter was
located opposite the Courbay, and I well recall that during air-raids the French crew would sometimes spray the area with bullets — and the occasional shell. As dawn broke after a raid, we would
vacate the dubious safety of our shelter and check to see if the C.1. was still afloat, since it had been exposed to the double hazard of German and French attack.
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