Beware the Lunar Tides

Surely there can be no other settlement in our green and pleasant land akin to Sunderland’s (not, I hasten to add, the northeast home of the red and whites at Roker Park). This tiny enclave lies on the leeward shore of a promontory forming one of the jaws at the mouth of the River Lune. Like a blunt-edged dagger stabbing at the flat expanse of Cockerhan Sands, Sunderland remains a fragment of the distant past transplanted into the 21st century.

 

The Bell and Ship Inns have long since been converted to residences, but a warm and friendly community still remains. Tidal flooding that effectively cuts the village off by road at regular daily intervals ensures an ethereal mysticism that has become a bewitching attraction to modern-day tourists. This sense of isolation appears to draw the residents close together in mutual support against the elements. Knowledge of the tides published in local newspapers is accordingly essential to avoid being caught unawares by the fast-rising waters which can so quickly leave the unwary motorist stranded, a consideration that is transferred to visitors such as this humble correspondent who once forgot the vital need for clock-watching – sincere thanks are here offered to those who gave from the heart.

Its fortunes were temporarily revived only in the early 19th century when sea bathing became popular with the upper classes.

Sunderland’s birth as a major port was the vision of Robert Lawson, a local Quaker businessman. Before the Lune was made navigable in the 18th century, ships from the Americas unloaded tobacco, rum, sugar, and cotton here on the wharf. These goods were then transported over the marshes by packhorses to Lancaster. Indeed, Sunderland was the first port in the country to import raw cotton, the essential constituent of the Industrial Revolution that became focused on Lancashire. It has been suggested that the first cotton crop languished here for two years before its true importance was realised.

The port’s heyday eventually reached a halt after 1787 once ships could disgorge their loads into the more sheltered waters of Glasson Dock on the far shore. Thereafter, sailors referred to the abandoned port as Cape Famine. Its fortunes were temporarily revived only in the early 19th century when sea bathing became popular with the upper classes. Many of the old warehouses were then converted into holiday accommodation to encourage visitors to linger awhile in comfort. This brief spell ended with the rise of Morecambe as a more popular destination for holidaymakers.

Lades Marsh has witnessed the stranding of too many vehicles by those who failed to heed the warnings.

Although trading ships that made the name of Sunderland a byword in maritime circles of the 18th century no longer tie up at the stone jetty, other time-honoured professions continue. Fishing and agriculture still provide employment for numerous residents, the river being cleaner today than in living memory. Whitebait, sprats and flounder, and the ubiquitous salmon all find their way into nets strung across the estuary.

After ensuring sufficient time to explore this unique settlement has been taken into account, take a stroll along the quayside fronted by the residences of First Terrace, taking note of the enthralling sculpture by Ray Schofield depicting local wildlife. Beyond this initial set of buildings, a narrow causeway connects with Second Terrace. Most of the structures here are three storeys and were originally warehouses. This was the main dock, the first building being the old Bath House which was a delousing shed for ‘lively’ sailors. It later became a changing room for the bathers of a genteel age in the 19th century.

Some say he died of grief, others that drunken sailors murdered him.

At the end of this block are the remains of the legendary Cotton Tree. After 250 years of constant growth out of a wall, it finally succumbed to the ravages of time and the harsh weather on New Year’s Day of 1998. Opinions vary as to its original lineage. Most claim it grew from a Kapok seed from the West Indies, dropped by one of the sailors and left to sprout. Another suggestion is that it is a Black Poplar from Europe. Its prestige in times past led to a ground lintel being placed over the roots for protection when the current building was erected in the mid-18th century. This familiar landmark was regarded affectionately, its waving fronds jogged by the steady beat from the prevailing westerlies offering locals a stabilising reminder of their poignant heritage. Today, sadly, only a stump remains of this antiquarian relic.

The last and oldest building on the peninsula is the Old Hall, built in 1683 for the Pearson Family. Beyond lies Sunderland Point itself, forming the southern tip of the blade and fast being worn away by the strong tidal current.

Returning to First Terrace, head left along a rough track called The Lane which leads down to the western shore. Here is to be found a small fenced enclosure with a simple grave where a slave called Sambo was buried in 1736, having been abandoned by his master. Some say he died of grief, others that drunken sailors murdered him. Nobody really knows the true story. In those far-off days, death was a solitary affair for slaves who were not considered ‘suitable’ for a Christian burial. One thing is certain, Sambo has become far more renowned in death than he ever was in life. Could that be considered sufficient recompense? I think not.

A brass plaque affixed to the stone slab, written in 1796, has a touching verse in dedication:

‘Full sixty years the angry winter’s wave
Has, thundering dashed this bleak and barren shore
Since Sambo’s head laid in this lonely grave
Lies still, and ne’er will hear their turmoil more.’

Perhaps a fitting tribute from those who pass this way would be to ponder the distressing circumstances that led to such an austere location being chosen. Local children have paid their own special testimonial by leaving painted mementoes to brighten the ascetic locale. Thankfully, we have come a long way since those bleak times when human beings were treated as possessions to be sold at will.

And so, we come to the end of a memorable visit to this uniquely enthralling settlement. Although most visitors arrive by car, it is possible to reach Sunderland using a local Ordnance Survey map following the footpaths on the far side of the flood control barrier from Overton. With time passing, however, car drivers must keep a close watch on the progress of the incoming tide. Lades Marsh has witnessed the stranding of too many vehicles by those who failed to heed the warnings. So, beware of the Lunar tides and do not, like myself, be one of those sorry souls who are not careful.

NorthernLife Sept/Oct 23