After almost a decade of controversy, court cases and budget problems, replica Famine ship the Jeanie Johnston finally set sail this week. Iva Pocock joined the fee-paying voyage crew for the maiden trip from Dublin to Belfast
The Jeanie Johnston is no stranger to stormy weather. Before she was launched in Blennerville, Co Kerry, she had hit squall after squall: endless budget over-runs, two court cases leading to impoundment, and repeated State intervention after its bill for the project ran to more than €10 million.
The weather forecast for her maiden voyage on Tuesday rang familiar, with strong south-westerly gales, and storm force 10 predicted for Thursday night.
But, like the original vessel which reputedly never lost a soul on any of her transatlantic crossings or even when she sank mid-Atlantic in 1856 (a passing ship picked up the crew), the Jeanie Johnston is a lucky ship. Despite the inclement winds, the trip from Dublin to Belfast went without a hitch and for many of the crew on board, it is the fulfilment of a life's dream.
For Martin Holles from Dublin, sailing on the Jeanie Johnston is just one of three adventurous ambitions - the others are to go to the North Pole and to climb Mount Everest. He is not the only "voyage crew member" (paying €400 to travel on board just for this voyage) keen on climbing high mountains in far away places. Before meeting on the Jeanie Johnston, Dennis McKeown from Dundalk and Gerry Walsh from Cork last met at the foot of Kilimanjaro in Kenya. But neither of them has ever climbed rigging and moved out along the yards (the horizontal poles from which the square sails hang) of a square-rigged ship, and although her highest yard is only 90 feet above the deck, these guys are like little boys by the time they descend to the stability of the deck below.
Dubliner Terry Reede, who has no sailing experience, is grinning from ear to ear after climbing the main mast. "I did the Pope on it. I kissed it", he smirks, unable to contain his delight.
The Captain Tom McCarthy, one of the few captains in the world to hold a square-rig Master's ticket, stresses that the key to enjoying the trip is participation. As former captain of the national sail-training vessel, Asgard II, he advises "the amount of knowledge you take home with you is directly related to the number of questions you ask".
Some of the permanent crew are more like showmen than seamen. "They'd be better off in Equity than the Seaman's Union," one voyage crew member chuckles.
Many of the permanent crew, including Boyce "Cecil" Nolan from Bullock Harbour in Dublin, sailed together previously on Asgard II. Boyce also spent two years sailing square-riggers from Sydney, where in addition to many sea-miles he also picked up an Aussie twang.
Only three of the permanent crew are women and all are under 30 - cook Sarah Caffrey; Fin Goggin, who is normally Bosun (the person who looks after the deck, the sails and the rigging) on Asgard II, and Frida Bjorsell, a woodworker from Ballyvourney, Co Cork. The majority of permanent crew are from counties Cork or Kerry, but nearly all of Ireland is represented and there are two Englishmen, John Nelson from Yorkshire, who's now a community leader with Belfast City Council, and First Mate Rob Mathews from Devon.
Communication between all on board is good but even John Judge, who is studying for a doctorate in applied computational linguistics, is of no help to Fiona and Gráinne, the wee girls from Belfast who cannot understand a word from veteran sail-trainer Michael O'Riordan. From Kanturk, Co Cork, Michael is a square-rig fanatic, in small doses. "The sea is grand for a few weeks but not for making your living," he grins.
The captain lets the voyage crew off anchor watch on our first night on board, knowing in his wisdom that the gentle motion of the ship at anchor acts as a soporific. Seán Baker from Dublin sleeps like a baby: "as soon as I hit the pillow I was out", although he does mention having three whiskeys before bed, just to embellish the trip.
The first call is at the leisurely hour of 6.30 a.m. Weighing (lifting) the anchor involves a human chain with walkie talkies, torches, the large ship's bell and plenty of loud orders.
"Two six heave, two six heave, two six heave," shouts Mark Tighe, watchleader for the "main watch" (each "watch" is named after one of the three masts - fore, main and mizzen), demonstrating how to go about sweating and bracing (pulling and securing) one of the many sheets (the nautical name for a particular rope). For the first-timers, everything is overwhelming. But the excitement is palpable.
Each "watch" consisting of nine people rotates between cleaning the messroom, the deck and the heads (the toilets in non-nautical jargon). After a detailed description of how much toilet paper to use and the vagaries of the suction sewerage system by the ship's engineer, Stephen Gallagher from Donegal, cleaning the "heads" is definitely the pits although infinitely better than the 19th-century system of "bucket and chuckit". (Remember voyage crew are paying for this pleasure).Nevertheless everyone gets stuck in , the jobs get finished and team spirit is thriving before we've passed Lambay island.
Heading north along the east coast is the perfect voyage for a barque like Jeanie Johnston in the winds that are blowing. As Capt Tom explains, "it can be blowing a hooligan out there but you can have a calm sea off the land".
Despite the "calm sea" (the cook, Sarah Caffrey (27) from Limerick says she can't feel a thing), a few poor sailors are wretched with sea sickness, especially David Philips from Belfast. Endless theories and suggestions abound for overcoming it, from walking and singing to popping pills and sleeping.
There's always the pleasure of knowing that a generous-sized bunk awaits at the end of a four-hour watch. Back in the 1840s, there were five people to a bunk, explains watch leader Mark Tighe. He also points out that with three full meals a day and the option of a cup of tea whenever you like it, sailing on today's ship is a whole different nutritional experience.
"The passengers back then would have eaten salt cakes riddled with weevils. At least that would have been an extra source of protein." But just to be sure Cork man John Browne mutters something about "keeping the scurvy away" as he reaches for an orange at dinner.
Talk of life aboard the first Jeanie Johnston and the realities of the Famine is limited. On day two, having overcome his queasiness, David Philips says philosophically: "I can feel for those people as I've had very few meals. I only had breakfast and it was cold".
On Thursday night, sitting up in the bow of the ship at 3 a.m. as we pass the Cope Islands just south of Bangor, Fiona McIvanney (18) from Belfast is enthralled by the moonlit sea: "Where would you get it?" she muses, oblivious to having finished her watch an hour previously.
One doesn't know what tales the crew were telling back in the 1840s and while poker and chess were possible forms of entertainment back then, challenging your mate to a round of Gameboy golf definitely wasn't. One thing is certain: the language of the sea hasn't changed. The Jeanie Johnston is definitely a "she" and her first crew, especially the well-weathered Bosun Tom Harding, treat her like a lover.
After just four days on board, many of the voyage crew seem to be falling in love with her too - Dennis from Dundalk is already signed up for her maiden transatlantic voyage. Both permanent and temporary crew are united in their desire to silence the Jeanie Johnston critics. They're confident she'll be welcomed in the US with the same enthusiasm displayed by Belfast's Lord Mayor, Alex Maskey and the city council, who sponsored the four Belfast teenagers on the trip.
One of them, David Philips, says the whole experience of the voyage home "has been amazing despite the sickness. I never thought I'd be sailing under the stars".
Maybe the long wait and the millions spent were worth it.