1838. The Final Journey

1838.The Final Journey

There is something about this canvas, this painting. And the story behind the painting energises and animates the oils and strokes that capture the soul of this piece of art... it becomes so much more than a seascape, rather it unfolds as a metaphor for life. Perhaps it was that thought that kindled interest and inspiration to take a brush to canvas? or some say the artist was there in 1838 as this scarred but noble piece of history slowly passed by- not under its own power, but pulled by more modern technology-a tug, whose black- smoke- belching -engine tethered to this mighty ship, pulled a much larger vessel to its final mooring - and its demise. What canvas are we talking about? We are talking about the canvas of a 98-gun warship that earned its reputation at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 alongside Nelson's Victory: We are talking about The Fighting Temeraire, painted in 1838 by J.M.W. Turner for the Royal Academy.

Some speculate that the painting could be Turner himself reflecting on his mortality and the slow but sure erosion of capability and relevance as the years unfold. That is speculative, but no one disputes the fact that in 1838 this ship of the line was being towed to Rotherhithe to be broken up for scrap. But in its day this warship held an able and well trained crew facing an armada of French and Spanish warships about to engage with Nelson at Trafalgar: On that day the tension would rise with the crew as they manoeuvred to engage the enemy; canons would be primed and from a moment of silence all hell would break loose as canons discharged, reloaded blasting away at close quarters. Canon balls, grape shot and more would tear at the fabric of the Temeraire with decks being awash with casualties, wood splinters, gun smoke and the smell of cordite. It must have been terrifying. The Temeraire survived the battle with the scars and damage inflicted by such close quarter bombardment- a metaphor for life where we pick up the injuries and scars of our encounters that add to our life stories as Trafalgar added to the Temeraire's story.

Yet now, despite the ships history and commitment to answering the call to action, she had been sold. The years of service, the sacrifice and damage she would have shared with her crew counted for little. It is said that the reason that Turner knew about this man-o-war was because her sale had been announced in the press. And as part of that sale, and in preparation for her final destiny, her sails had been removed as had her canon and crew. This fine vessel, stripped of its fighting prowess was now deemed to be surplus to requirements and handed over to the highest bidder. Her end would be at the hands of men with hammers and axes who will dismember the boat so that it is no more.

How like life this painting is. Turner perhaps was reflecting on his and others mortality. At the prime of his artistic powers, he was much sought after and patronised by the great and the powerful. But...perhaps this painting that hangs in the National Gallery is his immortality? No breakers yard for him- he lives on. But for us mortals? We may serve our time well and perhaps make a significant contribution to our community and country. We may be involved in significant events making a valued contribution ensuring its success. Then time will hollow out our abilities and our contacts who will move on, and that fleeting moment of notoriety or popularity will be gone.

And what of the captain of the tug taking the Temeraire to Rotherheide? Did he have some sense of the job he had been given? For Turner, the agent -or agency- of the ships demise is this black smoke belching tugboat captained by who? And what might he know of this historic event? Did he know his boat would be immortalised in oil on canvas? Or perhaps the thirty odd years since Trafalgar had dulled his senses or knowledge of this magnificent ship? If we could see him, or talk to him? What did he look like? What would we say to him or he to us? Perhaps the Captain of this tug pulling the Temeraire is a long serving river man? he will be standing at the helm of his paddle steamer. I imagine him as a man with a lined and weathered face and a dense black beard peppered grey. His large muscular hands on the wheel as his eyes move from right to left scanning the Thames for any hazards. If I enter the painting, if I stand in the wheelhouse of the tug what might I say to him? Perhaps...'I think you know this river well Captain.'

'Man and boy...and my father before me.' He would be smoking a clay pipe that sits on a small tobacco-stained shelf.

'Do you regret the passing of this great vessel?' I say.

He would not look at me but continues to scan the river, ‘It’s a job,' he says, 'that's all. All things pass away.' His voice monotone, factual.

'But it's the mighty Temeraire, she fought at Trafalgar!'

' True. She did. We all have our moments of greatness. But time and tide and reputation count for little in the end.'

The tug would slow and deliver the Temeraire to the dock where she will be dismembered. I watch the team of shipwrights as they set her fast with the prow fixed hard against her dock. I place my hand on the curving timbers of her hull and hold it there in an act of reverence. I look at the cannon portals; the masts standing tall and proud and her whole frame lying in the water with dignity awaiting the first hammer blows, the grind of the two-handed saws and the agonising screech of timber against timber as planks are ripped from their place. I feel sorrow empty of feeling and bereft with a sense of loss as if I have lost a loved one. Such a glorious fighting ship cast to one side - dismembered.

These musings may be fanciful but the emotion that this painting elicit, and its continued place in The National Gallery, challenge the viewer to look, to ponder and wonder why this event so captured the imagination and the skills of J.T.W. Turner.