Heres a lovely excerpt from a lovely book about the loveliest, 'Spirit of Chartwell', Queens Barge for the Pageant full with TM treasures, furniture & fittings. WHERE SHIPS GO WHEN THEY DIE
There is a strange and particular place, on the coast of Gujarat, in Northern India, where half the world's ships go to die. It's called Alang Bay, it's 30 miles south-east of the city of Bhavnagar, and it's
the global capital of the marine re-cycling industry. Once a ship has beached here, be it an elegant cruise liner or a workday cargo tanker, the dismantling process begins, and doesn't stop for at least the next six months. A vessel that arrives as a 1,000-foot-long giant ends up leaving in small, skillfully-detached pieces. The propeller, the engines, the wooden decks, the chairs, the washbasins, the crockery, the electrical equipment, the metal cables, the ship's hull, even the light bulbs and the beds. “I bought up 300 original bunk beds off an ocean liner just the other day”, says Mark Jameson, who, with father Roger, runs Trinity Marine, the UK firm which specialises in salvaging architectural and design treasures from de-commissioned ships, and which has supplied Philip Morrell's two cruise boats with pieces that once adorned the handsome ocean liners of the 1950's. The items that have come via Trinity include portholes, bar stools, coat hooks and assorted deck furniture from the RMS Union Castle, along with brass friezes from her sister ship, the RMS Kenya Castle, both of which belonged to the celebrated Union Castle cruise line. All of which were incorporated into the design both of the Morrell-owned river-cruise ship Lord Of The Glens, and its elegant counterpart, Spirit of Chartwell, which, on the third of June 2012, carried Queen Elizabeth up the River Thames, at the head of the Diamond Jubilee flotilla. “In many ways, Philip was ahead of the game when he first came to us, for pieces that would complement those ships”, says Jameson. “Since then, though, demand for marine collectables has just taken off: chandlery, fittings, ship's décor, you name it. Particularly from ships launched pre-1960. Things were built so solidly and permanently in those days, particularly in the Scottish shipyards.”
And not just at famous shipyards such Harland and Wolff, and Cammell Lairds, either; the Alexander Stephen and Sons yard, at Govan, on the Clyde, wasn't as well known as the other two, but they produced some beautifully-appointed ships. Up until around 1960, that is. “From that point onward, aluminum started to replace brass, and then Bakelite replaced aluminum”, says Jameson. “Out went the intricate marquetry, out went the exotic woods; basically, the quality and durability just went downhill.
“That said, though, you can find some lovely furniture on BP oil tankers of around 1965. There's always some good-quality stuff in the captain's cabin.”
Although the Jamesons are based in the Teign Valley, on the edge of Dartmoor, they are frequent visitors to Alang Bay, some 4,500 miles away, in India. “I get notification that a ship is going to be beached and broken up there, so I don't mess around, I get out there pretty quick”, says Mark. “I'm usually there on the beach, waiting for it to arrive, and I'll be one of the first people climbing the 100-foot ladder up the side of the ship, once it's come to a halt. “Sometimes, a cruise liner can't get right up onto the beach, so you have to wade out into the water until you reach it. “Once we're on board, we go round making notes and taking photos of all the things we want, putting those pictures on i-Pads so we can remember what we've got our eye on. “We won't be the only one, either. Quite often, there will be some other European guys there, in suits, who are putting in bids for the really mundane, specialist, unexciting bits of kit. The way we operate, though, and the way we compete, I guess, is that we don't cherry-pick; we don't just bid for the nice bits of furniture, we put our hand up for enormous amounts of stuff, which gives us a much better chance of getting what we want. We're only spending pocket money, really, compared to what the whole ship is worth, so we're prepared to take some wheat with the chaff.”
Then comes the tricky part: the bargaining. Here, the Jameson’s adopt a strategy which runs counter to the slow-paced traditional, Eastern way doing business. Rather than spending a week or so, gradually beating the price down, they go through the process at a rate of knots, on the basis that they have to get back to Britain, and can't devote day after day to the process of haggling. “I allow myself 10 minutes maximum”, says Mark. “I offer £6,000, they ask £16,000, and we end up doing the deal for £10,000. Mind you, it takes a bit of nerve, once you've agreed the price, handing over £50,000-£100,000 to the person you're buying from, and then going home.
“The goods you've bought won't end up getting delivered for weeks, and even when the container does arrive, there are usually 20 per cent of headaches waiting for you when you open up the container they've come in. “You'll have bought 100 original lights, for example, and you'll find 10 or so of them are modern copies that have been substituted. So you raise this with the vendors, and they say 'OK, we won't re-fund you the money, but we will make it up to you in the next container-load'. “And to a large extent, they do, though you've got to take the attitude that this is a long-term business relationship. You can't go over to Alang, put your foot on the boss's chair, and start making demands; you'll get eaten for breakfast.
“All of which means that each time you open up a container, it's a bit like Christmas; you never quite know what you're going to get. Rough rule of thumb is, the longer you've been dealing with the people at Alang, and the better you'll be treated.” And it's not just in the sub-continent that the Jameson’s do their best buying. They have worked with the Ministry of Defence for many years, selling off equipment surplus to Forces requirements. “We've got rotating gun emplacements that don't have any guns attached; we’ve got miniature yellow submarines that we sell off for £850 a time, and which will probably end up in beach bars, in places like the Gulf. “Of course, you have to make sure that what you're buying is a genuine original. For example, I can make a porthole which looks old, costs £50 to manufacture, and I'll sell it for £80. There are other people, though, who do the same, and sell it for £350.
“By and large, we charge the same sort of price for an item, no matter what vessel it's come off. We tend not to feel that sentimental about the ships we work on; this is a business, after all, and we don't get too excited about the history. “That said there is a good chance we're going to be working on the breaking-up and sale of fittings off the old Ark Royal aircraft carrier. I don't know if I'm getting soft, or something, but I have to admit, just thinking about that does give me a definite twinge!”
