IN the week that saw the Island welcome a sparkling new lifeboat and honour an illustrious predecessor, three other maritime stalwarts slipped quietly out of retirement and emigrated from local waters for ever.

For a transport enthusiast and supporter of local heritage, witnessing the ramp doors of Commodore Clipper in the Elizabeth Harbour ferry terminal slam shut behind the departing Puddleducks closed as significant a chapter of Island history as watching the remnants of a once proud fleet of JMT double-deckers pass through the pier-heads strapped to the deck of mv Nincop in 1971.

Call it exile, resettlement, whatever;  it is nevertheless a sad end to a long career of public service, a significant loss to the Island’s friendly holiday image and a lasting drain on operating resources.

So why am I getting so worked up about the loss of three elderly, obsolescent amphibious ferries? Simple, really: these were not some off-the-shelf production-line tin boxes; each was crafted in the Island to meet local conditions.

They may not be as celebrated as the Howard D or a Philip Ouless seascape, both of which are rightly conserved by Heritage for future generations, but in their way they represent just as significant a contribution to local maritime history because of their positive enhancement of our culture and environment.

Their prominence at West Park has ensured that they have featured in countless happy tourist snaps as part of the local scenery.

There has been an amphibious ferry service to Elizabeth Castle for the past 60 years. The first vehicles were ex- World War II landing craft, code-named DUKWs, examples of which first arrived on local beaches at the time of the Liberation. DUKWs sounded like ‘ducks’, and so they remained. 

The name had less to do with benign aquatic birds paddling in the water than the more mundane manufacturer’s acronym, which referred to their mechanical configuration and date of manufacture.

Though austere and venerable in appearance, the three craft which have just departed were relative youngsters.  They may have borne a strong family resemblance to their military predecessors, but they were designed locally by Henk Goed, who actually ran the ferry service from a workshop within the castle, and they were purpose-built for the special conditions in St Aubin’s Bay.

They first took to the water in the late 1970s, were relatively simple, robust and, as time can attest, reliable beyond their years. The familiar yellow and blue livery came courtesy of the paint shop at HM Prison La Moye in 1998, when new operators took over, and they ran as the Puddleducks till 2006.

The story could have had a happy ending. When the opportunity was presented to buy the business, there were those with considerable professional experience of the unique operational environment who advocated the refurbishment of the DUKWs, but their withdrawal also prompted a depressing catalogue of political and commercial wrangling between past and potential operators, Jersey Heritage Trust and their political masters.

There were allegations of obduracy by one side, sharp-practices by the other.  A deal could not be reached and the chosen new operators ordered new amphibians from America, which resulted in a lengthy delay in their arrival.

While this went on, the castle, one of the centrepieces of our heritage trail, remained out of reach for both locals and tourists, the Island was deprived of substantial amounts of visitor revenue and goodwill and ultimately came the demise of a friendly, well-run heritage service.  

Until a replacement vehicle was secured, the elderly craft added insult to embarrassment as they remained unused but parked prominently on the West Park slipway; they were subsequently moved to the quiet solitude of the Jersey Dairy headquarters at Five Oaks. 

Down at the beach, by the time the new vehicles were eventually delivered and operational, the service had become publicly owned, with a huge price tag attached, and there was continued scepticism about the suitability and reliability of the vehicles. 

Now, despite the well-documented mishaps, the die is cast and castle visitors can look forward to being conveyed by sophisticated but bland 21st-century technology.  We have exchanged the excitement of a sea trip on a boat which can be driven on land for all the thrill of a bus trip on water.

Given the fundamentally different approach to construction and the fact that travelling on land is infinitely simpler, it’s not at all surprising that there have been so many difficulties. Nevertheless, the old Puddleducks have gone and their absence will no doubt be greeted with a sigh of relief by those who pushed through the acquisition of their successors and changed long-held operating procedures and regulations to accommodate them. 

Sadly, the whole episode has done nothing to counter a reputation for institutional profligacy and probably contributed to the Jersey Heritage Trust’s request for emergency States funding for its 2009 budget.

So I am sad that we can no longer claim these living legends – they are all on their way to enhance the environment of their new owners, complying with stiff contemporary UK and European regulations.

But my irritation at their loss is deeper than just an anorak’s passion for some quirky old trucks; it goes down to the definition of what heritage really is. I may seem a hopeless romantic, but there is indeed an element of nostalgia embedded into our appreciation of heritage and tradition, particularly when it’s something unique, fashioned locally and has figured so prominently in our history: leisure and mechanical prowess are our heritage, too. 

And if the interest displayed at the roadside as the old DUKWs trundled down to St Helier Harbour is anything to go by, I am certainly not in a minority of one.