Paddy’s Whale of a Sceál

*IRISH WORD FOR STORY

BY LLOYD GORMAN

Photo courtesy of Albany Advertiser

DUBLIN MAN JAMES FREDERICK (PADDY) HART WAS THE SKIPPER OF THE LAST AUSTRALIAN WHALING SHIP WHEN THE FINAL HARPOON IN THAT BARBARIC TRADE WAS FIRED AND COMMERCIAL WHALING FINISHED IN 1978.

He spent 14 years at sea hunting these magnificent creatures to be carved up and processed at the Albany Whaling Station for their valuable oil, blubber and other parts. Later in life he joined Greenpeace and travelled to Japan to lobby the government there to end its whaling activities.

Part of his inspirational story is told in some of the exhibits on display at the whaling station, including the ship itself, which a small group of us visited in late January while on a trip to WA’s beautiful Great Southern region over the school holidays. Not long after our excursion, I decided to find out more about this legendary figure whose life has been well documented in the local newspaper (The Albany Advertiser). But at first, try as I might, I couldn’t find much about his background in Ireland, except that he was born there and was a great talker, had a deep intellect and loved to have fun. Fortunately, however, with

the help of the whaling station operators, Discovery Bay Tourism, I was able to speak with his daughter Angela and his elder brother Rory, who lives in Churchtown, Dublin. Home to the brothers when they were growing up was Pearse Street in inner city Dublin and going to sea was something of a family tradition. Paddy, as you will read later, was a powerful swimmer and I was curious as to how a city boy could have been so good in the water. “Uncle Charlie brought us to Tara Baths and threw us into the sixft deep end and that’s how we learned to swim,” said Rory (83). The brothers – separated in age by 18 months – were close and hung out together. They lost their mother when they were aged just four and two and were raised by an aunt. “We used to go down to Burgh Quay in the city and swim there or board the ships and dive off them into the water,” Rory said. “It was illegal to swim there and we were often chased by the river police. We’d grab our clothes and run down Lime Street and into our block of flats. There was no devilment in what we were doing but it was part of the fun.” Rory described his brother as a prankster and “a great rambler”, so much so that he was always late for meals as he would go for long walks, including from the city centre to Cabra where their grandmother lived. Paddy’s first job was in a Woolworth’s cafe in Henry Street in the city centre and then the Wicklow Hotel in Wicklow Street. After that he worked at the Paradiso Nightclub, which was above the Irish Times office in Westmorland Street. Paddy then trained as a chef and, after qualifying at age 19, he went to work with Irish Shipping. His first ship was the Irish Willow which sailed to Africa, followed by the Irish Spruce. “He jumped ship in Albany,” said Rory, “but they brought him back and locked him in his cabin. However, when they were leaving, they opened it to let him out and he jumped overboard again and ran into the bush.” While he was at large Paddy found work building a school for a Russian. But the end of the working relationship did not go well for either man and about six weeks later Paddy found himself in police custody in Albany, after which he was transferred to prison in Fremantle. Rory, who was a steward on the British-owned ocean liner, SS Southern Cross (built in 1955 by Harland & Wolff, Belfast and which sailed from the UK to Australia and New Zealand), happened to be in Fremantle when he got a letter about his brother’s predicament. But when Rory went to the jail, he found he had missed his brother by a week. Meantime, after the authorities had checked Paddy’s background

Paddy (centre) with crewmates at installation of new plaque at The Gap

Paddy and Ches Stubbs

Paddy at home in St Stephen’s Green, Dublin

and found no criminal record, he was allowed to stay. Two years later in 1960, he found work with the Cheynes Beach Whaling Company, including on its chaser ship, Kos VII. Over the next 15 years, after working his way up through the ranks from fireman to mate, he became a relieving skipper/gunner on the firm’s three catchers, and then took over as permanent skipper of Cheynes II, which also happened to be the last seagoing steamship in WA. The skipper’s job was demanding and dangerous. Two articles about the Cheynes II in the September 1994 edition of the Maritime Heritage Association Journal, published in Perth, offer a fascinating insight into what was involved. According to one story, titled “A Day Whaling On Cheynes II”, the skipper and the mate would be alongside on the bridge. Information would come in from the spotter plane, the deckhand in the barrel and the sonar room. The skipper would move quickly down the narrow catwalk to the gun-deck from the spotter plane via the bridge. The information was vital to help the skipper prepare for a good shot. He would direct with hand signals to the wheel and bridge for manoeuvres. Quite often he would rely on the call from the deckhand in the barrel as the latter had a better view and was close at hand. When the skipper fired the gun and hit the whale, the call from the bridge would be “fast fish” by voice tube to the engine room. Engineer Bob Wynch would already have heard the gun and stopped the engine dead by putting her into “mid-gear”. This was very important as the ship could overrun the whale and the harpoon line might foul the prop. The chase and harpooning manoeuvres were the most dangerous. Rapid decisions had to be made, involving a large (steel) harpoon (weighing over 70kg), a gun (with a 90mm bore), explosive grenades (with a 9kg grenade head), fuses, harpoon shell and charges lines and winches – all of which were on the foredeck. Naturally, in a heavy swell, a lively ship such as the Cheynes II would make the task more difficult. Tensions could run high if mistakes were made during the chase and harpooning. In 1965 Paddy saw just how perilous and unpredictable the job could be, but he proved his courage in the most deadly and difficult of circumstances as shown by this story, based on a Voiceprint of the men talking about the incident. It was created by Albany oral history enthusiast Kim Lofts with help from historian Malcolm Trail. “I actually witnessed the incident,” Paddy said. “I can recall the day quite well because nothing had gone right; we had a lot of misses and it was quite frustrating and hectic.” Skipper Ches Stubbs recalled it was a rough day with waves coming across the gun deck where he was firing harpoons. His leg got caught in the rope of the final harpoon fired that day. “Boom she went and severed the leg straight off,” Ches said. “I went on me back on the gun deck with the leg up in the air and there was blood spurting out of it. My first thought when I saw it was, what a way to die, out here bleeding to death.”

• A general whaling image of a Sperm whale being prepared for removal to the whaling station site. • Paddy Hart as Master Gunner (Skipper) • The Cheynes II whale chaser at the Continental Shelf Photos courtesy of Albany’s Historic Whaling Station

The ship was about 50km from Albany and time was of the essence if they were going to save the skipper’s life. Paddy was the first crew member to get to the stricken skipper. “It was quite shocking to see a man who had just lost the bottom part of his leg,” he said. “Ches was in a bit of shock, I don’t think he realised what had happened because he kept trying to stand up and it took everything I had to keep him sitting down and get it through to him that he was hurt. “Someone went up to the medicine chest and got some morphine tablets and they seemed to help, so a tourniquet was applied to stem the flow of blood. I raced in and called the other whale catchers on the radio to let them know we had had an accident.” John Bell, the pilot of the spotter plane (a small single-engine Cessna with floats), heard the call over the radio as he was heading for home. “One of the crew called up and said the skipper had had an accident and what were the chances of picking him up and whipping him into hospital?,” John said. “I had to make a quick decision. Although it’s called a sea plane, it’s really a calm water machine, so I had to be very careful about landing in the open sea, it can be quite dangerous.” When John landed and taxied up to the ship he had a much better idea of what they were were up against. “I said heck we’ve just got to get on with this, it would have been rather awkward to have landed and taken off and left him behind.” John got as close as he could, but as the link between the ship and the plane, they needed to use a rubber raft, which he carried in the plane, Paddy jumped into the heavy waters to get the raft from the plane and bring it to the ship. Once there Ches and chief engineer Alf Laurence were put into it. “But when they tried paddling towards the plane they just kept going around in circles,” said Paddy. “I could see they weren’t going to make it, so I dived back in, pulled the raft across to the plane, loaded the two men on board, and I swam back to the ship with the raft. “But when the plane tried to take off the sea was so rough it couldn’t get airborne, so John decided Alf would have to get off as he was making it too heavy . Then we discovered that Alf couldn’t swim, so I tugged the raft back over to the plane, got Alf back in, and pulled it back to the ship.” John described Paddy’s actions as “pretty brave” because it was highly likely the waters would have been infested with sharks due to the whaling activity. Even with a lighter load, John struggled to take off. But in a skilful display of seamanship the Cheynes created a more stable area for the plane to take off by sailing around in a circle and the plane was able to get away. Just six months later, Ches, sporting a prosthetic leg, was back at work!

MIND THE GAP

South Australian tourist Stephen Matthews was with friends at the beauty spot The Gap taking photographs when a freak wave knocked him into the water. His companions raised the alarm and Paddy Hart skippered his 440-ton steam ship, Cheynes II, out from the whaling station, 17km away, not expecting Stephen to be still alive but willing to run a rescue attempt in any case.

The whaler’s spotter plane reached the scene first and flew over it time and time again with his landing lights flashing to let Stephen know they were looking for him and that help was on the way. However, it was dark when the ship joined the search, and the engine and radio communication made it hard to hear as the crew listened for Stephen’s cries. At that point Paddy made the brave decision to cut the engine and ordered radio silence. The ship was dangerously close to the cliff face and switching off the engine was a risky move. So rough were the seas that when the ship went into a trough she could not be seen from the shore. In the silence of the night a cry for help was heard and a light was trained in the general direction of the cry. Stephen was spotted. Crew member Keith Richardson then stripped and, trailing a life-line, went over the side. Once Stephen was on board it was time to save the ship, so Paddy ordered full astern. The Cheynes II, crew and Stephen all returned to the town jetty safe and sound. This will be fremembered forever and the names Paddy Hart, Keith Richardson and the crew of the Cheynes II have been immortalised in the hearts of the people of Albany and the Cheynes Beach Whaling Company. Stephen, who was moments from certain death when he was plucked out of the water, spent a short time in Albany Hospital. Then, amazingly enough, when he got out he joined Paddy and the Cheynes as a crew member for some of the vessel’s final months as a whaling ship. Later, when Stephen decided to leave, Albany Council organised a reception for him and the brave men and women who came to his rescue.

POACHER TURNED GAMEKEEPER

Paddy Hart’s incredible story was featured in the book, Irish Lives – The Irish in Western Australia, by Bernard Neary, with a foreword from then Premier Brian Burke, who described himself as “being of Irish descent myself”. It was published in 1987 when

Paddy was 48.

Nine years earlier, when the whaling station closed it was a big blow to the Albany economy. The station pumped a million dollars a year in wages into the pockets of its workers. Between 1952 and 1978 some 1136 humpbacks and 14,695 sperm whales were caught and processed there. Paddy then found employment as a maintenance man at Albany Woollen Mills where he remained for the rest of his working life. But amazingly his connection with the world of whaling would later resurface in a way few could have predicted. In fact, it could be said that the seeds of this were sown in an episode that occurred in the final days and months of his time at the helm of Cheynes II. The episode involved a small group of activists from the Whale and Dolphin Coalition based in Sydney who organised and executed a three-week protest that made international headlines and turned the tide against whaling in Australia, leading in turn to the birth of Greenpeace Australia. At great danger to themselves the activists piloted a small inflatable raft (the Zodiac), fitted with an outboard engine, into the line of fire of harpoons to shield the gentle giants. Paddy and Cheynes II were often their target in this high stakes game of cat and mouse. In one incident a harpoon was fired at a whale and the Zodiac got badly caught up in the rope

from the weapon. The protestors reported the incident to local police in no small part to try and generate further media attention in their campaign. “I would not have fired had there been any possibility of danger to those men,” Paddy told police. There is nothing to suggest Paddy bore any malice towards them, even if they were trying to put him out of business. In fact, he was more sympathetic to their cause than they could have known. “My dad had felt bad about killing whales for a long while before whaling finished in Albany,” said daughter Angela. “He told us he was having trouble sleeping due to the often inhumane method of killing them. However, with a family of five children and often up to four foster children to provide for, it would have been difficult to earn as big a wage as the whaling company paid.” But then when synthetic oils were introduced, the cost-effectiveness of producing whale oil went into decline. “Dad had predicted the demise of whaling in Albany,” Angela said, “and he realised there was more money to be made in whale watching tourism. So I think he wanted whaling to finish when it did.” Brother Rory said Paddy was committed to whaling while he was doing it, then committed himself to its end. “He was a poacher turned gamekeeper,” Rory said. Journalists, researchers and historians often interviewed Paddy and the other chaser skippers for their experiences and attitudes towards whaling. He was always open and honest about the good and the bad aspects of it, and had no hesitation in declaring that he was glad it was no longer happening in Australia. His story was told in The Last Whale, written by Chris Pash, a cadet reporter with the Albany Advertiser in the 1970s. The book, published by Fremantle Press, was officially endorsed by Greenpeace. Former Greenpeace Pacific CEO Steve Shallhorn described it as “an important contribution to Australian history and the protection of whales. From a historical perspective it chronicles the people and events which created Greenpeace in Australia and it also seeks to understand the minds and thinking of those who hunted whales in Australia.” The book was important for another reason. Paddy and Mr Shallhorn met at the launch event and the two former opponents hit it off, so much so that Paddy was invited to

Left & below: Paddy in Japan

join Greenpeace to promote the anti-whaling message in Japan. In Tokyo, Paddy told reporters: “Greenpeace asked me to come along and tell Japanese people that there’s life after whaling, and I am honoured to be here.” He was an eloquent and authoritative speaker in the delegation to Japan that delivered a letter to the then Prime Minister calling on his government to halt whale hunts. “They’re spending money and losing money on food people don’t even like anymore,” Paddy said. “Also, speaking from experience as a whale gunner, there’s no humane way to kill a whale. I have sympathy for the whalers in one sense because I’ve been in that situation. But, if whaling stops, like us, they can get on with it and find something else to do. “If they want to start killing humpback whales, they should know that they’re the backbone of a $300 million industry in Australia. It’s taken 40 years for the whales to come to trust us and let the boats come close to see them. As soon as these fellows start shooting them, we’ve lost that trust and that industry, and our grandchildren will never see a whale.”

THE RAMBLER RETURNS

Most people who knew Paddy Hart called him Paddy, but to his Australian family he was always Jim ... meantime his family in Ireland called him Seamus! In his book, Irish Lives, Bernard Neary wrote that Paddy never returned to Ireland. In fact, when he set off on his first sea voyage Paddy told his family not to expect a letter, and that he would tell them about his trip when he got back. That was meant to be in three months but the three months became more than 30 years as Paddy was busy working, then raising a family with his wife, Lorna Casey, from Albany. “I was a terrible writer,” Paddy confessed to Neary. But this changed not long afterwards. “After making contact with his family again, Dad made his first trip back to Ireland to celebrate his 50th birthday in 1989,” said Angela. “Thereafter, he went back every two or three years. “Eventually, his eyesight failed badly, due to macular degeneration and when mum passed away in 2016 he came to live with me In 2018, he told me he would love to visit Rory one last time. He couldn’t travel by himself, due to his eyesight, so I said I’d go with him. “We booked our tickets for a six-week stay as soon as my passport arrived. We travelled to Dublin in June but we’d been there only a few days when we received a phone call from home to tell us that my younger sister had died unexpectedly. In a state of shock, we were back on a plane home within 24 hours. “The following year after listening to dad talking to his brother on the phone on a regular basis, I asked him if he had it in him to do another trip to Dublin? He said ‘of course, why wouldn’t I?’ So with that our trip was booked again and off we went. “Dad was unwell when we arrived and he was treated for pneumonia. He was very poorly when we arrived home three weeks later and was diagnosed with lung cancer in September.” Paddy died in June 2020 and the passing of this local icon was marked on the front page of the Albany Advertiser and by other media. His funeral was held at the whaling station and his ashes were spread on the waters of the jetty where the whaling ships used to dock.

Left: Angela and Paddy heading for Ireland

Above: Dan Teehan left loves a good beach

MISERY AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE!

Australia’s top 20 beaches for 2022 were named by Federal Trade and Tourism Minister Dan Tehan in January -- and the honour of being Number One went to Misery Beach, about 20km south of Albany. In fact, it was the only beach in Western Australia that made the list. “With more than 11,000 beaches to choose from, narrowing down the top 20 must be one of the toughest jobs in Australia,” said Mr Tehan, whose parents are both Irish.

Misery Beach is a small, secluded and very beautiful north-facing beach that offers shelter from most weather conditions along the beautiful coastline. It is a good place to go for a dip in the water or for snorkelling, surfing and

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fishing. Tourism Australia’s beach ambassador Brad Farmer said Misery Beach was world-class. “It’s stunning,” he said. “It ticks all the boxes of what the typical beachgoer is looking for — uncrowded, crystal-white sand, turquoise waters and a very dramatic granite backdrop.” The beach earned its grim name from the time when the blood, guts and gore of dead and processed whales from the nearby whaling station would wash up in the water and on the sand.. ☘

SHIPWRECKED

After whaling in Albany stopped, it was intended that the Cheynes II would get a new lease of life as a restaurant. But the plan fell through when the restaurateur went bankrupt. Albany Port Authority then towed the ship to the town jetty. In 1992, during a gale, she broke free of her mooring and ran aground on a bank on the east side of the harbour. Today, the ship, which can still be seen from Albany, looks like she is frozen in time and place -- trapped somewhere between a desire to head back out to sea in search of whales and the decision to cease whaling.