Heroes of the cruel sea struggle to find lifeline for the future

The sun is setting over the towering cliffs, along the top of which holidaymakers promenade. The ocean is beautifully calm.

It is a very different scene to the previous week, where three

teenagers on a day trip to Whitby from a psychiatric unit were caught by a riptide and swept out to sea.

Josh was first to the scene and risked his life by plunging into the fast-flowing water alongside Whitby's West Pier and pulling 17-year-old James Samuel Willis from the sea. Tragically, rescuers were unable to resuscitate him but the two 16-year-old girls who were also swept out were saved.

The Whitby RNLI lifeboat team were so impressed by the bravery of the 20-year-old and his 19-year-old colleague Megan Ellis, that they

invited the lifeguards out on one of their regular training exercises a week on from the rescue to mark the end of their season.

"It was hard dealing with it all afterwards," says Josh, who is from Gainsborough but has spent the past three summers working in Whitby,

two of them for the RNLI, after it took over training of the town's lifeguards. "I was on quad bike patrol when I heard on the radio that there were people in the water by the pier wall.

"I rushed down there as quickly as I could and saw a boy on a ladder and a girl in the water about 50 metres out. I swam out to the girl and secured her in a rescue tube then Megan attended to her.

"The lad had fallen back into the water at the end of the pier and was face down.

"I swam out to him and tried to give him mouth-to-mouth in the water. When a lifeboat came we got him into that and tried mouth-to-mouth again – but we couldn't resuscitate him.

"During the incident, your instincts take over but afterwards it was difficult to think about what happened. But I know I did everything right. I had a day off, then went back on patrol.

"Since I was a little boy, I have always come to Whitby and this is something I always wanted to do. I am a bit in awe of some of the older lifeboat men. They are definitely a lot braver and it is a privilege to be working with them."

Josh's actions follow in a long-line of feats of bravery from townsfolk who have sacrificed everything to rescue lives at sea.

Whitby lifeboat station was founded in 1802, and is one of the oldest and most decorated in the country, boasting countless heroes known locally as "iron men in wooden boats".

In 1920, coxswain Thomas Langlands retired after 50 years of service during which he collected a host of bravery medals for taking part in the rescue of more than 200 people.

Another local legend is Henry Freeman, who on his first day on February 9, 1861, was the sole survivor out of a crew of 13 after heavy waves capsized their lifeboat.

Harry went on to a prestigious career as coxswain which included being awarded the RNLI Silver Second-Service Clasp in 1880 for launching his lifeboat to four vessels in distress in just one day, saving 23 lives.

But despite this glittering past, with the RNLI's current national budget reserve at around seven months – the lowest it has been since 1996 – and the decline of the fishing industry having a profound impact on its ability to secure volunteers, today's generation admit it is an uncertain future ahead.

The charity, which costs an estimated 380,000 a day to run, was affected badly by the recession as shares in which its reserves were tied up dropped in value.

Money being bequeathed to the RNLI from wealthy donors is its traditional and still most substantial source of funding, and grassroots support is strong. Annual summer flag days often raise more than 10,000 in tiny seaside communities – a few weeks ago, Staithes raised more than 14,000.

But with the plethora of charities now in Britain and elderly people needing to spend more money on care for themselves, the RNLI admits it is has been forced to start looking at new ways to attract funding and corporate sponsorship to keep it afloat.

The charity, which has saved more than 139,000 lives since it was set up in 1824, has also had to adapt the way it now finds volunteers to its 230 lifeboat stations throughout the UK

and Ireland.

Nearly all of the lifeboat volunteers used to be fishermen, but now only 10 per cent of new recruits come from a maritime background.

In a small town like Whitby, this is having a particularly negative effect.

Mike Russell, coxswain of the Whitby lifeboat since 2001, whose eldest son Luke still works as a fisherman, said: "It is getting harder and harder to attract volunteers now.

"All the volunteers used to be fishermen but the industry here has been strangled so badly by rules and regulations that a lot of youngsters are going to work on the oil rigs or wind farms or standby vessels instead.

"There used to be 19 or 20 trawlers coming out of Whitby harbour every day and the fish market would always be going on. Now we get about seven trawlers going out in a day. It's a terrible shame.

"House prices have shot up and a lot of youngsters have to leave Whitby to get a degree or look for a job and can't give us the commitment we need.

"For the ones that do stay, we need our volunteers to be able to drop everything at a moment's notice and even though we have good people applying to us, we have to turn them away because their jobs are just not suitable.

"Also, because a lot of volunteers don't come from a maritime background, we train people up to such high standards that we lose a lot of our experienced crew to more lucrative maritime jobs when they are qualified."

The way the volunteers do their jobs has also changed dramatically in recent years.

The maroons, the traditional flares which were sent up into the sky when a stricken boat raised the alarm, were outlawed in 2005 in favour of pagers, and everything from logging injuries to filing paperwork of launches, has become much more heavily regulated.

While many of the Whitby volunteers bemoan the loss of tradition, their work remains as important to the area as when the lifeboat station began more than 200 years ago.

The town's lifeboat station is regularly named the busiest station in the North, covering a vast area between Hartlepool and the Humber.

Its fleet, the 27.5 tonne George and Mary Webb, and a D Class inflatable, have already been dispatched to 35 jobs this year, a number easily expected to surpass the 40 call-outs during 2009.

The new Whitby lifeboat station, which was opened in 2007 by the Duchess of Kent, is wallpapered with letters of thanks and certificates of bravery, and is often stocked with chocolates and biscuits sent by rescued boat crews.

For Mike, 53, who followed his uncles on to the lifeboats and currently counts his 21-year-old son Matthew among his crew, it is a privilege to work for such a prestigious station despite the sacrifices it entails.

"It is a huge part of our lives," he says. "We all have to be able to drop what we are doing at a moment's notice," he says. "It is a big ask from all of us, but it means we are all very tight-knit and like an extended family.

"I have several crewmen now who I remember as little children. Sometimes I think I could have earned more money or moved away if I hadn't been involved in the lifeboats, but I don't regret it.

"I have been frightened half to death at times and that hasn't put me off either. One time, in 2001, our boat became trapped in shallow water with our back to the sea and one of the engines got flooded.

"We had to steer the boat out backwards on one engine into deeper water to turn it around, but there were gale-force winds of 60 or so knots and the waves flattened the back of the boat. We were nearly swept overboard.

"I have been out in swells so big you couldn't even see land from just outside the harbour, and the waves were as big as houses. I am scared by the power of the sea but it inspires me to do my job as well. It is an honour to be following in the footsteps of the Whitby lifeboat men and I will be involved with this in whatever way I can for the rest of my life."

Their modern-day boats may now be built out of different materials but it seems the lifeboat men and women along the North Yorkshire coast are, as ever they were, made of extremely stern stuff.