CHAPTER ONE

The Lifeboat VC

The gold medal is the highest bravery award of the RNLI. It is awarded for a rescue in which outstanding courage, skill and initiative have been shown. This medal has been awarded only nine times in the last half century, so it is hardly surprising that it is known as the lifeboatman's Victoria Cross. No lifeboatman would set out to win a gold medal, for the dividing line between extreme gallantry and death is thin indeed. And the medal has never been awarded unless all criteria are met. With the medal comes a welter of publicity, yet it can also foster jealousy and envy. All gold medal rescues, by any measure, are outstanding.

If he grew a beard, Brian Bevan would fit the archetypal image of a lifeboat coxswain. Dark hair, twinkling eyes, two gold earrings and a cheeky half smile meant that 32-year-old Bevan was swamped by women of a certain age when he was in London to have three bravery medals - a gold, a silver and a bronze - pinned to his chest. Suddenly, and uniquely, a lifeboatman turned pop star. The women were looking for kisses and autographs, while Bevan, embarrassed, was looking for the exit. His story is worth telling not only for the rescues that propelled him to prominence, but also to count the price of fame.

Brian Bevan was a Yorkshire fisherman who went to school with Fred Walkington, who later became the Bridlington coxswain. As young men Bevan and Walkington crewed the local Bridlington lifeboat. Then the Humber coxswain had to stand down as he was diagnosed with diabetes, a condition that has caused heated debate within the RNLI on the level of risk it poses to crew who are sufferers. Bevan applied for the job of running the Humber lifeboat and being the appointed village chief of the tiny community of seven lifeboat families stranded on a 4-mile spit of land, washed on one side by the powerful North Sea and on the other by the siltladen River Humber.

Spurn Head, where the promontory widens slightly, has no other permanent residents, though Humber pilots work there and hundreds of seabirds visit. Ruins of Second World War fortifications remain, as do traces of the railway that took supplies along the point. Between the land and the end of the point, the spit narrows to a few yards, and is constantly battered by the sea in a cycle of erosion and deposition that is fully chronicled by academics at nearby Hull University. They contend that nature should be allowed to take her course and turn Spurn into an island; the families living on the end disagree. The existence at Humber lifeboat station is, then, only for the hardy. The men must stay on station, but women and children are free to come and go as they please, travelling for 6 miles to schools, shops and the nearest community. The current Superintendent Coxswain (there is only one holder of this grand title in the whole RNLI), Dave Steenvorden, says that for those who can stand the isolation, the place is idyllic - safe for children, good for families who don't mind living in close proximity. 'The day I stop enjoying it is the day I'll hang up my lifejacket,' he says.

The men are on a strict roster for five days a week. The pub, a tempting 4 miles away, can only be visited on a day off. Humber is a busy station, averaging fifty calls a year. Weeks can go by without a call out, but then there can be more than one at a time.

In the grim winter of 1978/9 that is exactly what happened. Over a period of seven weeks, the men of the Humber were tested time and time again in the most extreme conditions. They emerged covered in glory.

Many seafarers were pleased to see the back of 1978. The Fastnet Race in August that year had been overwhelmed by hurricane force winds, with a fleet of 306 yachts strung out across the 150-mile stretch between Land's End and the Fastnet Rock. A massive rescue operation was mounted, involving ships at sea, coastguards, helicopters and thirteen lifeboats that spent a total of 170 hours at sea. Fifteen yachtsmen died, some needlessly abandoning their boats for life rafts that were overwhelmed, one tragically washed off a rescue ladder as he had forgotten to unclip his lifeline from the raft. It was a shocking loss of life.

NEW YEAR'S EVE RESCUE

Just as the year was drawing to a close, another gale whipped across the North Sea, which Rudyard Kipling called 'the cold, grey widow maker'. The intensity of the storm was a major threat to shipping. First caught was the Dutch coaster, Diana V, which was shaken and rolled until her cargo of maize shifted in the hold, pushing the ship into a dangerous list. Although she was 74 miles from Spurn Head, she was in acute distress and needed help desperately.

Watch how the time unfolds with this story. Imagine this. Leave the comfort of reading this book and put yourself in the cold, wet, stomach-churning storm. In front of you, in serried ranks, an endless line of waves as high as houses, steep and powerful. You start at 2 p.m. and all afternoon, evening and night, you do battle with the elements whose power will sap your energy, chill your bones, throw you about, damage and, potentially, kill you. Why do it? Because the call to action comes. The call to help complete strangers. The call to save seafarers.

Imagine, then, pushing on relentlessly at full speed into snow showers that give you only 100yds visibility. After nearly two hours, you have made only 25 miles. Everything depends on your skill, endurance, and your boat. Suddenly, the boat speed drops. The storm is beginning to take charge. An oil pipe has cracked under the violent battering. You cannot safely go on.

That is what faced Brian Bevan on his way to Diana V in the Humber lifeboat City of Bradford IV, but the Dutch ship was no longer on her own. The naval vessel Lindisfarne was heading for her, and Cromer lifeboat had been launched too. Bevan had an agonising choice - turn back for repairs or go on, risking his boat, his crew and the rescue. He did what coxswains hate to do, he turned back - a decision that was vindicated as the rescue unfolded, for if he had gone on with only one engine there was every chance that he and his crew would have been killed. Mechanics Bill and Ron Sayers hunkered down in the cramped engine room and, as the lifeboat battered its way back to Grimsby, somehow managed to strip down the pump, ready for fitting a new pipe.

By 5 p.m. Lindisfarne was on the scene and Diana V was able to get under way at 9 knots towards the River Humber. Cromer lifeboat was released. The Norfolk men made for Great Yarmouth as it was impossible to rehouse at Cromer. They spent eight hours - the equivalent of a whole working day - in the storm.

Bevan reached Grimsby, stopped just long enough to pick up the spares, and the new pipe was fitted as the lifeboat ran down the river to refuel at Spurn. Shortly before 9 p.m. things took a turn for the worse. The storm was still raging and water was now seeping slowly and treacherously into Diana V. A helicopter reached the scene but had to turn back because of the weather. Lindisfarne was still there but she was much too big to get near enough to take people off Diana V. Humber lifeboat had to put out again, now with 28 miles to go to reach the crippled ship.

Once again, the City of Bradford IV took on the violence of the North Sea at full throttle. As she topped one wave, she would momentarily be airborne, crashing down into the hollow of the next. Then, still 8 miles from the casualty, she fell off a huge wave and the lights, wipers and fans failed. Lifeboatman Dennis Bailey Jnr (both father and son were on this mission) was thrown into a bulkhead, injuring his right eye, knee and elbow. Bevan reduced to half speed to allow the mechanics to fix the problem, but as soon as he did, the radio brought a terse message from Lindisfarne. The situation on Diana V was now critical. The four crew and two women had to be taken off - would Humber make best speed? Bevan put the throttles down again and briefed his crew. They would go alongside using their only illumination, two hand torches.

At 11.01 p.m., they reached the Dutch coaster. She was steering an erratic course of 5 knots, the maize and water making her list heavily to port. The wind was gusting to 56 knots, storm force 10 and the temperature was -4°C. Sea water was freezing on the lifeboat's deck and rails, making every move perilous. But Bevan needed his crew on the bow, to put out fenders and to catch the survivors. They clipped on their lifelines as Bevan radioed Diana V's captain. Lindisfarne trained her powerful searchlight onto the coaster. Bevan made his first run in. As he edged into the coaster's stern, where the survivors were huddled, a wave broke over them, almost washing them away and smashing the two vessels into each other. The lifeboat was lifted 10ft above Diana V's deck and crashed down, damaging her fendering. Throttles back, the lifeboat pulled away and tried again.

On the second run, the storm chose the lifeboat, a wave crashing her bow against the coaster, inflicting more damage. As he pulled back this time, Bevan's head was 3ft away from the cold steel of the ship.

The third try was lucky. The lifeboat hit the casualty 5ft below where the desperate people were waiting. A twelve-year-old girl was dropped into the arms of the lifeboat crew. As a wave pushed the lifeboat up the coaster's side, a woman and four men jumped to safety, the lifeboatmen breaking their fall. Cold, wet and severely shocked, but safe, the survivors were taken below. Now only the captain remained on Diana V. Twenty miles...