03/10/2026
Nance: The Morecambe Bay Prawner That Refused to Disappear
Standing beside Ulverston Canal today, it would be easy to walk past Nance without realising just how much history is sitting quietly in front of you. The remains of the old fishing boat are no longer surrounded by the slap of seawater against timber, the creak of ropes under strain or the sharp smell of salt, wet nets and freshly caught shrimp. Instead, there is the softer sound of the canal, birds moving through the trees and footsteps passing along the towpath. Yet beneath those peaceful surroundings is the story of a working boat that survived more than a century of change, from the days when sail-powered fishing boats filled Morecambe Bay to a time when only a handful of these vessels remain.
Nance was a Morecambe Bay prawner, a traditional sailing fishing boat closely associated with what became known as the Lancashire nobby. These boats were not built simply because they looked attractive under sail. Every part of them had a purpose. Morecambe Bay is a difficult place to work, with enormous tides, shallow water, shifting channels and weather that can change quickly. Fishermen needed boats capable of coping with those conditions, pulling nets across the bay and then getting the catch back to shore as quickly as possible. Before refrigeration, speed really mattered. A slow journey home could mean the difference between selling a fresh catch and watching part of a day's work begin to spoil.
According to the interpretation panel beside Nance, she was built in 1917 by Crossfields of Arnside, one of the best-known boat-building families associated with Morecambe Bay prawners. Crossfields had been building boats at Arnside since the nineteenth century and became particularly well known for producing strong, fast fishing vessels suited to the shallow waters of the bay. Nance was approximately 34 feet long, 10 feet 4 inches across the beam and drew around five feet of water. She cost £125 to build, with another £20 required for her sails. In simple inflation terms, £125 in 1917 would be roughly £11,000 to £12,000 in today's money, while the £20 paid for her sails would be about £1,700 to £1,900 today. Altogether, the £145 cost of Nance and her sails would come to somewhere around £13,000 in modern purchasing power. It is only an approximate comparison because wages, timber, skilled labour and the cost of boatbuilding have changed enormously, but it gives a much better idea of what a serious investment Nance represented to a working fisherman.
There is, however, an interesting mystery surrounding her age. Some museum records have described Nance as dating from 1913 or 1914, while the information displayed alongside the surviving boat gives 1917. Until an original Crossfields construction ledger, vessel register or another contemporary source is located, the discrepancy cannot be completely resolved. For now, 1917 appears to be the strongest date attached directly to the vessel, but it is one of those historical puzzles that makes researching old boats so interesting. Somewhere, perhaps sitting quietly in an archive box or inside an old handwritten ledger, there may still be a single line that finally settles the argument.
Nance's first owner was Percy Baxter of Morecambe, and research into that name opens another fascinating part of the story. Parish records show a Percy Baxter baptised at Holy Trinity in Poulton-le-Sands, now part of Morecambe, on 28 December 1873. His parents were Henry and Mary Baxter, and Henry's occupation was recorded simply as fisherman. If this is the same Percy Baxter who later owned Nance, he grew up surrounded by the fishing culture of Morecambe Bay. He would have known the smell of tarred rope and wet timber, the sound of boats knocking gently together as the tide lifted them, and the sight of sails appearing on the horizon as fishermen made their way home.
Percy would have been in his early forties when Nance was built if the 1917 date is correct. By then he would have been an experienced man rather than a young fisherman buying his first boat. Commissioning a new Crossfields prawner would have represented a major commitment. These boats were working tools, but they were also something fishermen took enormous pride in. A good prawner had to earn her keep, survive difficult weather, work in shallow water and, preferably, be faster than the boat belonging to the fisherman moored alongside you.
Nance appears to have proved that she could certainly move. In 1920 she came first in the Half-deck Fishing Boat Handicap Race, with Percy Baxter still recorded as her owner. Fishing boat racing formed an important part of coastal life. These were the same boats that spent their working days dragging nets and carrying catches, but when regattas and local races were held, fishermen could test both their vessels and their sailing skills against one another. It is easy to imagine Nance under full sail on Morecambe Bay, her hull pressing hard through the water, canvas pulled tight by the wind and the crew watching every movement of the boats around them. For a working fisherman, winning was more than receiving a prize. It was proof that his boat could sail.
The term half-decker tells us more about Nance herself. These vessels were partly decked rather than completely enclosed, leaving fishermen enough open working space to handle their gear and catches. Their relatively low working areas made it easier to haul nets aboard, while the bow needed enough height and strength to cope with rougher water. It was a design shaped by generations of experience rather than appearance. Every curve, plank and frame existed because fishermen had learned what worked on Morecambe Bay and what did not.
Nance would have been used primarily for catching the pink and brown shrimps for which Morecambe became famous, although flatfish and other species could also find their way into the nets. Fishing in those days was cold, wet and physically demanding. Hands would become stiff from hauling soaked ropes. Clothing absorbed spray and rain. Boots moved across decks made slippery by seawater, mud and the contents of the nets. The smell of salt would have mixed with fish, damp timber, tarred rope and smoke. There was no heated wheelhouse to retreat into and no modern electronic navigation equipment telling the crew exactly where they were. Fishermen learned the shape of the coast, the movement of the tides and the constantly changing channels of the bay.
Then Nance's history becomes frustratingly quiet. After her victory in 1920, there is still a large gap in her known story. Nearly four decades pass before she clearly appears again in the surviving information. There must have been owners, fishing trips, storms, repairs and ordinary working days during those missing years, but their details have not yet surfaced. Boats such as Nance rarely lived gentle lives. Planks were replaced, sails wore out, rigging was renewed and engines were sometimes fitted as traditional sail fishing declined. Somewhere within those missing years is another large part of Nance's story still waiting to be uncovered.
By 1959, Nance belonged to Ted and Frank Gerrard. Their ownership gives us another glimpse of the very different life these vessels could provide. The Gerrards reportedly lived aboard Nance while fishing and travelled as far north as Maryport. Living aboard a 34-foot fishing boat would have been far removed from modern ideas of comfort. Space was limited, dampness would have worked its way into clothing, bedding and timber, and the smell of the day's catch would have followed the men below deck. On a calm evening there may have been little more than the soft knock of water against the hull, but poor weather would have transformed that same small space into something entirely different, with the boat rolling beneath them, ropes groaning and wind pressing against the rigging outside.
The journey north towards Maryport also shows that boats like Nance were not confined to one small part of Morecambe Bay. Similar Crossfields vessels worked all along the north-west coast, including Barrow, Fleetwood and the Cumbrian coast. Another Crossfields-built fishing boat called Christine was built around the same period and later worked from several of those ports. Nance belonged to a whole maritime network that has now almost completely disappeared from everyday life.
Eventually the years caught up with her. In 1978 Nance was hauled from Walney Channel by Joe Dowthwaite, together with members of his family and friends. It is difficult not to imagine that moment. After decades of fishing, sailing and exposure to salt water, the old boat was being pulled from the channel rather than heading out into it. Her working life was effectively over, but somebody had decided that she was worth saving.
Joe Dowthwaite spent around five years attempting to restore Nance as a hobby. Restoring an old wooden fishing boat is an enormous undertaking. Salt, rot and decades of movement work deep into timber. Frames weaken, metal fastenings corrode and planking loses its strength. What initially looks like a handful of damaged boards can quickly become the rebuilding of an entire section of hull. Nevertheless, Joe continued working on her until his death prevented the restoration from being completed.
In 1987, Mrs Dowthwaite donated Nance, together with her husband's boat-building workshop, to the Furness Maritime Trust. The Trust played an important role in preserving the maritime history of Furness and helped lay the foundations for what eventually became the Dock Museum in Barrow. Nance had now made the transition from working fishing boat to historic artefact. Instead of being valued for how many shrimp she could bring home, she was being valued for everything she represented.
When the Dock Museum opened in 1994, Nance became part of its maritime displays. For around twenty years visitors were able to stand beside a genuine survivor from Morecambe Bay's fishing industry. For some older visitors she may have brought back memories of a coastline filled with working boats. For younger visitors she offered a glimpse into a world that had almost disappeared completely.
Her survival was still far from guaranteed. In 2014 Nance was removed from display and later stored at Salthouse. Wooden boats do not stop deteriorating simply because their working lives have ended. Once exposed timber begins to decay, preserving a vessel of this age becomes increasingly difficult and expensive. By this point Nance had already survived close to a century.
Rather than allowing what remained of her to disappear completely, another rescue attempt began. The Ulverston Canal Regeneration Group became involved and obtained funding from the Sir John Fisher Foundation. The surviving skeleton of Nance was eventually reassembled by Siemens Energy apprentices, while the artwork surrounding her was created by CB Arts.
That brings us back to the remains beside Ulverston Canal today.
Walk around Nance and her size becomes much easier to understand. Her outer planking has largely disappeared, leaving the great curved wooden ribs of the hull exposed to the open air. They rise from the ground almost like the bones of an enormous animal, each one once hidden behind thick planking and constantly moving against the pressure of the sea. Long timbers still run through the frames, showing how the strength of the vessel was carried along her hull.
Sunlight now passes straight through spaces that would once have been dark inside the boat. Grass, brambles and young trees grow around her timbers, leaves brushing against wood that once sat surrounded by seawater. The smell of salt, tar, fish and wet rope has gone, replaced by damp earth, vegetation and ageing timber. Birds move through the trees where once there would have been gulls circling overhead, waiting for scraps from the catch.
Even in this stripped-back state, the shape of Nance is unmistakable.
The curve of the hull is still there. The ribs still show the breadth of the vessel and the amount of timber needed to hold her together while she worked the bay. Looking through the open framework, it becomes easier to imagine those spaces covered once again by planking, the deck above, ropes coiled nearby and fishermen moving around as the boat rolled beneath their feet.
The remains also make Nance feel less like a museum object and much more like what she really was: a working vessel.
These timbers were not made to sit quietly among trees. They were shaped to move through water. They once shook as sails filled with wind, flexed when Nance met waves and carried the weight of men, nets, equipment and catches. Every tide placed another strain upon them. Every winter brought more rain, salt and cold. Yet enough of those timbers survived for the shape of the boat still to be recognised more than a century later.
There is something fitting about Nance ending up beside the canal at Ulverston. She spent her working life connected to the waters of Morecambe Bay, eventually reached Walney Channel, became part of Barrow's maritime collection and now rests only a short distance from the coast that shaped her entire existence.
Today there are no fishermen standing aboard pulling wet nets over the side. There is no catch waiting to be sold, no sail cracking as the wind changes direction and no Percy Baxter trying to squeeze another fraction of speed from her during a race. Moss and weather have replaced salt spray, while footsteps along the canal have replaced the voices of fishermen calling across the deck.
But Nance is still here.
More than a century after she was built, after countless tides, changes of ownership, years of fishing, abandonment, restoration attempts, museum display and another period of deterioration, enough survived for her story to continue.
And perhaps that is the most important part of Nance's history.
She was never a grand passenger liner or famous naval vessel. She was a working boat. She belonged to ordinary fishermen earning their living from one of the most unpredictable stretches of water in Britain. Boats like Nance helped feed families, supported fishing businesses and once formed part of the everyday landscape of Morecambe Bay.
Thousands of people must once have watched vessels like her sailing home, their sails visible across the water long before the boats reached the shore.
Most of those boats are now gone.
Nance, somehow, refused to disappear.
