Edward Birch 1937 – 2022

Many years ago, at a time when the range of Gibson postcards was great and varied, visitors could purchase a card of Edward’s boat and punt, moored in the tranquil and sunlit waters of Old Grimsby. The boat was called The Ranger; an elderly cream sailboat that had been fitted with 3.5hp Kelvin engine. If the punt ever had a name this has been lost to history, but it was at least famed for containing more tar than the A30.

Edward loved to fish in the Ranger but his vessel had a slight flaw. Though the Kelvin was reliable enough, it had only one speed and that was Full Steam Ahead. Edward’s engineering skills might not have been up to tackling the engine itself but his native island cunning did not let him down. In order to regulate his speed, he attached a couple of buckets which he could toss overboard when fishing or in the event of an emergency stop.

Somehow this modified sea anchor seems quintessentially Edward, an unfussy and effective approach to sorting out a problem. Homespun. Islandspun. Edward was never flash, he was steady – he was a quiet and self-contained man, who but for National Service, spent his whole life on Tresco. Tresco born and bred is how he described himself.

Tresco was where met his wife Liz and where their daughter Jenny grew up. Tresco was his life and for the past 85 years, Edward has been a big part of life on Tresco.

Edward was born on 1st October 1937, the eldest son to Arthur and Beattie, and “Big Bruv” to twins Mary and Jean, Valerie and Henry. From his earliest days, Edward loved island life.

A fond family memory is of the day a young 14-year-old Edward took his 11-year-old sister Mary out for a row to St Helen’s, where they found, washed up on the water’s edge, a great piece of timber; precious potential fuel for the hearth of Raven Cottage. This flotsam needed to be brought home and the only way was to tow it back to Old Grimsby but they had no rope. Sometime later, Edward appears back on Tresco at Raven Cottage, looking for some tow rope. “Where’s your sister?” asks Mother Birch. “Oh, I left her on St Helen’s.” replies Edward. Mother’s wrath ensues. Edward (with tow rope) rows smartly back to St Helen’s for his sister – and the wood. Family drama averted, many days’ firewood is brought ashore, and Eddie has his initiation into the sometimes tricky world of island transportation and logistics.

A few years on from this and Eddie is away for his National Service with the Royal Engineers, track laying for steam trains –steam trains were to remain a passion for the rest of his life. The mainland, however, less so, and Edward returned to the islands to become a stalwart of Tresco. From the late 50s through to his retirement in 2002, Edward fulfilled a wide range of jobs…

He helped build the Island Hotel, dragging gravel at night on the Ferguson T20 with hand torches strapped to the front of the tractor because it had no headlights. Crewing on the Black Swan, the Island Hotel launch, working on the farm, picking flowers and getting them to market. He worked on the farm when flowers were still the mainstay.

Here is a glimpse of life back then in Eddie’s own words…

One flower season there were so many flowers on Tresco that we would start packing flowers at 4am and not finish until 9.30pm that evening.

One night the tide was going out like a drain. We put the last box on board the Black Swan and Peter Bastian, the island’s under-manager, asked Clarence Handy to drive his tractor out into the water so he could get aboard. Peter climbed onboard the boat but when Clarence tried to come astern, the tractor got stuck.

Clarence, myself and Ken Jenkins were now left on the beach with the job of getting the tractor out. Ken said to me to get another tractor, the David Brown Cropmaster. Now, this was a tractor without any headlights on her – all we had to work by was the light of the moon! I went across the beach and we took the ropes off the barge that was alongside the quay. By this time, the tide was starting to flood, so we kept the engine running hard and with the David Brown and another tractor, we dragged her out at about 1am. We put the ropes back on the barge and made our ways home.

Early the next morning, Ken came up to me in the flower field, where I was picking, and said to me: “Have you seen the barge, Ed? She’s aground… over on Samson! We forgot to tie her up properly last night. How are we going to get her back without Jack Bean (the General Manager) finding out?”

I suggested to Ken that he go and see Laurie Terry, Tresco’s harbourmaster, and ask if he could help bring the barge back when she’s afloat. Laurie and Ken made their way over to Samson at high tide and managed to get her back alongside the quay without Jack Bean knowing anything about it.

The crew of the Black Swan that night was Mike Pearce, Peter Bastian, Dom Sewick and Laurie Terry. The crew would not have picked up their moorings until about 2am –loading the Scillonian back then was not a quick job. In those days, all the flower boxes were tied together in twos and loaded on to the barge loose. They were then loaded on to the Scillonian by the side door into the hold. There were no pallets in those days!

Eddie’s words and Eddie’s observations, detailing everyone’s names and the tractor model. Details from another era, an unimaginable world without pallets!

Eddie was to become Eddie Transport or Eddie Eighteen Wheeler as his CB handle declared. All goods off and on the island were his responsibility to move and deliver. Coal or Christmas presents, barrels of beer or baked beans, Edward fetched and carried for everyone and everywhere, from the Bothy to the Abbey. He delivered the goods to us all, in every way.

Tresco was Edward’s life and what Tresco gave him, Edward returned with interest – he served as a coastguard for 26 years and as a fireman for 20 years.

Edward was a quiet chap. He might not have moved fast but he kept on moving. I think the real measure of this can be seen in the years when his full time employment ended. When Eddie “Eighteen Wheeler” retired, he earned a few new handles…

He became Eddie The Toast, making his way to the Island Hotel kitchen every morning to fire up the toaster for breakfast service.

He became Eddie the Transport and Heritage Correspondent of this venerable publication, penning his idiosyncratic, meticulously recalled memories of life and work on Tresco.

He became Eddie the Bramble-wrangler, rattling and chugging his way around the island on the magnificent Ferguson T20 tractor, trimming roadside brambles into temporary submission and always with a bag for any pine cones he might pick up on the way.

He became Eddie the Guide, as he developed a side-line of Eddie’s Tours showing visitors around his favourite parts of Tresco.

He became Eddie the Fundraiser – one of the key supporters of the RNLI on Scilly, one year collecting over £6,000 for the lifeboat. The Eddie Stall outside of Bay Row, every fete, every craft fair, every one of his tours, Eddie would be there with the quiet Eddie grin making money gently and persistently.

As a young man, when Edward rowed in a gig, it was not in the flashy Czar, it was in the Sussex, the beamy transport gig. The gig you’d choose for transporting sacks of coal or even livestock. The gig for logistics, not glory. Practical and steady.

One of my own memories of Edward inevitably involves transport. One December, I’d been asked by the lovely Eve Cooper to put in an appearance as Father Christmas for the school children. Costume on, I was gathering myself to head off from Blockhouse Cottages to the Community Centre when there was a knock at the door. There was Eddie in his thick plaid jacket and an old Island Hotel baseball cap.

A bit surprised, I greeted him uncertainly “Hello Eddie…” For his part, Eddie did not seem the least bit surprised to find Father Christmas in residence at No 4 Blockhouse Cottages.

Eddie grinned his grin and said “Come on boy, your sleigh’s outside.”

Sure enough there on the track was my sleigh, looking to all the world like a grey Ferguson T20. Eddie gestured to the link box and said “Get in, Santa”.

For such a short journey it really was remarkably uncomfortable, as I clung to the lurching, swaying link box while we plunged through a succession of puddles and potholes. Presents sprung out of the sack like leaping salmon, while my beard, wig, hat and even the Santa suit trousers all made individual attempts at escape. Of course, Eddie was blissfully unaware of the pandemonium taking place in the link box; only delighted by the reception given to us by the waiting children.

When I think of Eddie today, I see him on that venerable grey T20 – they made a good pair, contemporaries, colleagues, both always brought a smile to the face, a classic of a bygone era, synonymous with steady graft, straight-forward, reliable, consistent, long-serving and loved by all.

So long Eddie – Eighteen Wheeler/ the Toast/Transport and Heritage Correspondent/Tour Guide/Fundraiser/ Santa’s Little Helper/Big Bruv.

By ALASDAIR MOORE