I was annoyed. Annoyed at the RNLI’s decision to close St Abbs Lifeboat Station. It followed me on the thirty minute drive to and from work. At home, with a newish wife, Morag, and a very new baby, Wee Peter, I didn’t have much time to dwell on it. But on those drives it was like an itch I couldn’t stop scratching.
I’d grown up in St Abbs, but after marrying I’d moved to Dunbar, so I’d been out of the local loop. That changed when I drove down to attend the first meeting in the Ebba Centre. Most of the community was there, along with half of Coldingham. We were still in shock, struggling to take in the closure. Alistair Crowe chaired the meeting. He put on a brave face, but it was clear the RNLI’s betrayal had cut him deeply. I left more restless than ever. The itch was worse. Next time, I thought, I’ll come with a plan.
It began with a logo. Between nappy changes I sketched ideas until I had an early version of the Save St Abbs Lifeboat logo. Oxford blue felt right from the start — my favourite colour, the colour of my father’s fishing boats, and far bonnier than maroon.
From there came the idea of a T-shirt. I’d never quite recovered from losing the St Abbs Primary School T-shirt design contest years earlier (Faye Wilson’s puffin design was admittedly better than mine), but I’d since designed one for the St Abbs Rowing Club. This time I mocked something up and rang Steven, who’d just opened a T-shirt shop in Dunbar. He offered to print them at cost, £8 each. If we sold them for a tenner, we might raise a few hundred pounds for the campaign.
Working in IT, I knew we’d also need a website. Without asking, I registered www.stabbslifeboat.org.uk and added it to the back of the T-shirt design.
By the next community meeting the itch was easing. I had a logo, a plan for social media and a website, banners, and a best of all an actual T-shirt in my back pocket. Still, I worried. Would anyone actually like it? Other than Morag and Steven, nobody had seen a thing.
This meeting was different. People had had time to think, and ideas were flowing. During a lull I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and made my pitch. Handouts went round. There were nods. The logo worked. The website idea was welcomed. Then I pulled out the T-shirt and suddenly we had a campaign.
After that, everything gathered pace. With a little persuasion from Michael Cook, Euan Gibson took on the lead role. Rachael Crowe whisked away that first T-shirt for Paul to model down at the harbour. Maria Maxwell cornered me afterwards and made me promise to deliver the website (apparently I had a reputation for being unreliable).
We rebranded the St Abbs Lifeboat Facebook page, launched a JustGiving account, and ordered banners and placards. I delivered on that promise to Maria and we launched the website. And poor Rachael — she sold T-shirt after T-shirt after T-shirt after T-shirt. Soon the village was awash in that bonnie merry fishing-boat blue, and the T-shirt had become the local uniform for the summer.
It was an amazing time, seeing the whole community pull together. Even now, spotting a St Abbs Lifeboat T-shirt gives me a small, smug glow of pride. But the best reward wasn’t that. It was seeing the smile return to Alistair Crowe’s face, his pride in St Abbs Lifeboat restored — a lifeboat he had dedicated his life to, now renewed and independent
