Cock of the North

John Jackson a noted ferryman of North Scale on Walney Island ordered Cock of the North with a view to racing her with his three sons as crew. With a first prize equivalent to five weeks wages, racing was popular on the Walney Channel. Passengers paid half a penny to be rowed across the Walney Channel from Barrow to North Scale by John Jackson. The road bridge to Walney Island was not opened till 1908. It was initially a toll bridge. The North Scale ferry remained in operation till the 1940s. A possible source of the boat’s name is the folk song “Walney Island Cockfight” about a cock fight between a cock from North Scale at the north end of the island, where John Jackson lived and one from Biggar at the south end. “Cock of the North” is also a military marching tune associated with the Gordon Highlanders.

Cock of the North would have cost around £70 which would have been a major investment for John Jackson. At halfpenny a ferry trip it would be equivalent to 33,600 trips across the Walney Channel. The boat would have built of larch planking on oak frames, taking four men about six weeks to build.

On Saturday 8th December 1900, John Jackson and his three sons went to Arnside to collect their new boat.

They set sail from Arnside in their new boat in flat calm. As they approached Walney Island, a gale sprang up at short notice. Despite reefing, their new main sail was blown into ribbons. By this time they had reached Bass Pool, the channel between Walney and Piel Islands, south of Barrow. With the tide and wind against them they were being driven backwards out into Morecambe Bay. They tried dropping two anchors, but the boat broke free. To save themselves they jumped overboard eventually reaching the lighthouse at the south end of Walney Island dodging the crashing waves in the shallow water.  Cock of the North is never seen again.

With money collected by friends, John Jackson ordered Ploughboy from Crossfields in 1902. A condition of purchase was that Crossfields had to deliver the boat to Walney Island.

To read about Ploughboy click

The  below poem was written and recited in local theatres to raise funds to help John Jackson buy a new yacht:. It is not known who wrote the poem, but they must have had good knowledge of sailing in Morecambe Bay.

 

Our ship was new smart and clean,

As nicer craft as e’er was seen,

Built by the company of fame.#,

Crossfields of Arnside is their name.

 

Our captain scanned his well-built craft,

Marked well her lines both fore and aft,

He looked aloft and along her side,

And with her seemed well satisfied.

 

“Twas one December’s afternoon,

We hoisted sail to bring her home,

And with light airs we sallied forth,

On our good ship Cock of the North.

 

With sail and oar to stem the tide,

We down the bay did glide,

And mid the gathering gloom of night,

The lights of Morecambe came in sight.

 

We shortened sail, stood in for land,

And all night by our ship did stand,

And thro’ the hour of that dark night,

We longed and wished for the dawning light.

 

Next morn’ long ere at the break of day,

With a double reef we were under way,

Down Lune the rollers they ran high,

But our Bold Cock kept fine and dry.

 

We ploughed along thro’ wave and foam,

Till clear of Banks we stood for home,

With a sou’ west wind right in our teeth,

Which bade us tighten in our sheet.

 

With many an anxious look at Piel,

Whilst taking soundings ‘neath our keel,

But ere the wind veered round nor’ west,

Down on us came a blustering gale,

It stopped our song and split our sail.

 

Then my boy ’twas touch and go,

And how it was we ne’er shall know,

But guided by some unseen hand,

Our little ship she reached the land.

 

We anchored her with anchors two,

And thought we’d done all we could do,

We went aside a little way,

To shelter on that dreadful day.

 

We held her there two full hours or more,

Then we deemed our journey o’er,

When the cry arose “the boat’s away”,

Which filled our hearts with sore dismay.

 

And for our lives, we each did run,

But just too late, the Cock was gone,

We watched her long with storm-dimmed eye,

The wind blew hard the seas ran high.

 

Till mid the gathering gloom of night.

The Cock, she vanished from our sight,

Although our noble ship ill fared,

We thankful to our lives were spared,

 

To lose our noble ship so soon,

And watch her drift out to her doom,

We searched far, we searched near,

But naught of her could see her here.

 

And since that day she dragged from shore,

She’s ne’er been seen or heard of more,

Whether in quick sands or the deep,

The ocean will it’s secret keep.

 

I’ll ne’er forget that dreadful day,

When the Cock was lost in Morecambe Bay.