Page 177 - IT'S A RUM LIFE BOOK TWO "BOSTON 1960 TO 1970"

take the strain, the boat has to come up quickly and allow me
to swing the jib over the trailer in one quick movement.”
If anything were to go wrong I thought, the dragline would
topple over on its tracks and career crazily downwards into
the river and crush the boat beneath.
His instructions were clear and the ex boat owner secured
the lifting hook onto the straps. He had to stay aboard for the
lift as by now the water was so low he had no chance of gaining
access to the bank.
The drag line engine revved and clattered and we began.
Just as soon as the jib took the strain of the boat its “excess
weight” warning bell clanged loudly enough to wake the dead.

It was too much, but we had begun and the wonderful
driver continued to pull hard on his lifting levers. The boat
sprang from the water on the end of a taught cable and the tall
jib seemed to wobble in all directions. At least the dragline
tracks stayed firm on the ground and within seconds the boat
was up and swung round over the trailer.
The bell clamouring in our ears finally stopped with the jib
being more erect. I can still picture the scene, the ancient rusty
clattering machine and its wonderful “lifesaving” operator
poised on the edge of the steep tidal quayside with its
dripping cargo swinging gently, ready to drop the boat down
onto the trailer deck. This we could do at a more leisurely pace
to ensure the weight distribution was just right for our long
journey north.
All I could offer the dragline driver was a drink but
together with our heartfelt thanks. I am sure he enthralled his
friends and neighbours for weeks to come with this tale of the
unexpected. He certainly saved our bacon.

177