Ropes for Ramps

In February 2026, a pilot of a Fishbourne Car Ferry, called St. Clare, misjudged his entry into the Portsmouth dock, and damaged the ramp.  Consequently, apart from the kerfuffle of getting the cars and passengers on and off, the pilot managed to inconvenience subsequent passengers and freight, that the busy service provides, for a considerable amount of time.

This is not a new occurrence.  Long ago in the mid-1970s, when my children were five and three years old, I was given the responsibility by my husband, to drive back to London after a holiday with my mother in Wootton.

The bit that scared me the most was the ferry.  Would I be able to drive on and get close enough to the other cars, that would require me to manage the power and drive it slow enough.  My driving skills would be put to their utmost ability.

These feelings must have shown on my face because a young deck hand, who was hanging around, waiting to direct the cars onto the ship came over and spoke to me.

I was leaning on the bonnet of my car when the deck hand said, ‘Did you know that the ramp of this ferry, has been damaged by a pilot who rammed it.  He hit it so badly that only one end of the boat can fit snugly into its rightful spot.  So, you are going to have to reverse on.’

‘Reverse!’ I screamed inwardly as I said, ‘Oh!’ as nonchalantly as possible. 

‘You are the first car on, so you will set the routine so to speak.’

‘No other cars in front or behind me,’ I thought, ‘that’s good I won’t hit a super sports car, or posh Rover.’

He wandered off, I took a deep breath and tried to look as confident as I could.  I had only been driving for a year or so.  I returned to my car, the children in the back were busily being children and shouting at each other.  ‘That does not help!’ I yelled.

The young deck hand returned to me, put his hand on the door and he said, ‘It wasn’t this pilot.’  

Did he really expect me, to be reassured about what I was going to have to face, by the fact that the captain of this boat was more competent, than the one who have bashed into the Portsmouth dock.

I nodded my head and thanked him.  ‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said and he waved his arms encouragingly.  I moved slowly with complete control, backwards. 

Following his clear instructions, I reversed beautifully.  I was quite proud of myself.  The children were quiet.  Maybe they had sensed my anxiety.  

I don’t remember much of the crossing.  The boat was old; the floor was wooden planks. There was no canteen or place to relax.  We stayed with the car.  I looked at the broken ramp which were held together in its closed position and secured by ropes.  They were beautifully tied.  In a neat order, the ropes were fixed to the ramp and then the deck.  I stared at this wonderful display of macrame.  

My fears about driving on and off were dispelled.  All I had to do was to drive off, there were no manoeuvres to be done in reverse, I was the last one off, having been the trend setter for reversing on first.