hellonewbrighton.com

The Black Pearl

A pirate ship built from whatever the tide brought in, by a town that would not let her sink. New Brighton, 2013 to 2020.

Scroll to build her

Nine bottles have washed up along the way, each holding photographs. Find them on the sand.

September 2012

Before the ship, there were dolphins

In the late summer of 2012 I kept stumbling across driftwood dolphins on the shore. Sea dragons. Mermaids. An octopus. They were the work of Frank Lund, a retired accountant who was on the beach most mornings, seeing what the tide had delivered overnight.

Mostly it's all plastic. Last week we found a plastic net, all tangled up in the rocks. I didn't see rubbish. I saw perfect mermaid hair.Frank Lund, talking to me for SevenStreets

People asked him if he was being paid. "I just smile," he said. "I tell them it's free."

January 2013

A keel on the sand

Frank's neighbour, Major Mace, started coming down with him. That Christmas the two of them built a nativity scene out of beach finds. In January 2013 they laid down something longer. A keel. Then ribs.

Frank knew better than anyone that nothing lasts very long on the beach. They built it anyway.

February 2013

Strangers with logs

Then people started stopping. A woman from Oregon helped Frank haul a quarter-ton log up the sand. Dog walkers came back with planks. Kids came back with their parents. Major dressed her with discarded flags gathered from Vale Park, and his wife Sue became part of the crew who kept her shipshape.

I've had some fantastic days with people I don't know at all.Frank Lund, Liverpool Echo, February 2013

Someone found a wetsuit on the tideline, stuffed it with straw and stood it on deck. They called him Johnny Depp.

Spring 2013

She gets a name

The masts went up, three of them, from the longest timber the river would give. Rope, netting, bunting. A hand-painted sign with a skull and crossbones.

By February the Liverpool Echo was already calling her New Brighton's Black Pearl, after the ship in the Pirates of the Caribbean films. The name stuck, and so did she.

Fire

At 8.07pm the fire brigade were called to the promenade. Someone had set her alight. Two hose reels had it out by 8.27, but the back of the ship was badly burned.

It's a shame, a lot of kids especially have come down to see it.Frank Lund

The call went out on Facebook and Twitter. Men, women and children turned up with tools, a barbecue and free pies, and rebuilt the back end in a single evening.

Two weeks after the fire

I filmed these loops on the beach that morning. The tide coming up the steps. The crew laying a new deck from pallets and driftwood. The odd things people hung from her masts.

The tide at the steps.
Laying the new deck.
Pallets, driftwood and many hands.
Pirates rule.
Star-spangled boots, hung from a mast.
Summer 2013

The summer she belonged to everyone

By July she was where everyone headed. Picnics in her shadow. Kids at the helm. Visitors from further and further away.

Frank turned down offers of funding. "He wanted it to be organic," one writer noted that summer. "He wanted it to bring the community together."

By August a sister ship had appeared at Hoylake, beside the new lifeboat station.

The surge

A tidal surge drove the Mersey higher than it had been since 1987. The promenade flooded. The Black Pearl went over the rocks and out into the river.

The Black Pearl went out to sea and sailed off in pieces. We must have watched her for half an hour.Frank Lund

On 3 January 2014 the waves came back for what was left. A news agency photograph of them breaking over her went round the world.

That winter

The letter

Photographs of the wreck travelled. One of them reached Johnny Depp, who had sailed a ship called the Black Pearl on screen. He sent Frank a short letter. It ended with five words, a nod to the last line of the first film.

Go and retrieve that horizon.

January to April 2014

We can't not have her

We can't not have her, it's that kind of situation.Frank Lund, the day after the surge

So they went back to the tideline and started again with whatever the river returned. That January I started the official Black Pearl Facebook page, so the people who loved her could find each other. By April she was standing.

Someone wrote on her page: "So long as there are people and driftwood and spirit it will always come back."

2014 to 2019

The Black Pearl Pirates

The crew got a name and a routine. Every day the ship and the sand around her were cleaned. Carvings came and went. In June 2015 a Wirral couple married on her deck in front of 40 guests. In October 2016 lights went up on her masts in memory of a local dad, paid for by his family.

Sue was stringing them up when she heard a child shout: "Look mummy! The pirates have started."

On 19 September 2018, Talk Like a Pirate Day, she was the picture on Bing's homepage around the world.

I ran her Facebook page. It still has 25,000 followers, and its posts reached tens of millions of people.

What the papers said

She kept making the news, from a Liverpool magazine in 2012 to the Bing homepage in 2018.

SevenStreetsSeptember 2012

Driftwood and Dolphins

Rory Wilmer

Liverpool Echo2 February 2013

Artist's driftwood pirate ship makes waves on Mersey beach

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Liverpool Echo23 May 2013

New Brighton's driftwood pirate ship set on fire by arsonists

Joe Thomas

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Liverpool Echo5 December 2013

Black Pearl pirate ship will be rebuilt after being sunk by storms

Liam Murphy

Read the original
AFP, via NBC News3 January 2014

'Pirate Ship' Battered by Storm

Photograph by Paul Ellis

Read the original
FacebookJanuary 2014

The Black Pearl New Brighton: the official page goes live

Started by Rory Wilmer

Visit the page
Liverpool Echo12 January 2014

In pictures: The Black Pearl at New Brighton one year on

Sean Bradbury

Read the original
Liverpool Echo27 June 2015

A Wirral couple tied the knot on board driftwood pirate ship the Black Pearl

Eleanor Barlow

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Liverpool Echo21 October 2016

Black Pearl pirate ship to light up in memory of tragic dad

Lorna Hughes

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Bing homepage, worldwide19 September 2018

Driftwood ship on New Brighton Beach near Wallasey, England, for Talk Like a Pirate Day

Photograph by Phil Noble, Reuters

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La Vida Liverpool29 November 2019

Johnny Depp and the latest New Brighton street art!

Justin Hopper

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Wirral View6 March 2025

Wirral Award presented to 11 recipients for their exceptional contribution to the borough

Among them Major and Sue Mace, for the Black Pearl Pirates

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The wall

On the night of the River of Light festival, a mural of the Black Pearl was unveiled in the Victoria Quarter. Alex Marra of Art by Alexander painted it with Ultra Kolor, with a seascape by Samuel Miller. Across the top, Depp's five words.

Go and retrieve that horizon! painted in black handwritten capitals across the top of the Black Pearl mural
Across the top of the wall.

Nobody knew it then, but the wall would outlast the ship. It is part of our OpenAIR Gallery today.

A flag for Clarky

The Black Pearl became the place New Brighton came to remember. My brother Liam Clark, Clarky to everyone, died in a car accident on 10 September 2019. He was 21, a young dad, a goalkeeper for North Wirral Saints and a huge Liverpool fan.

Our brother Zachary started Clap for Clarky to keep his memory alive. On 2 October 2019, in the 21st minute of Liverpool's Champions League game against Salzburg, thousands of fans at Anfield stood and applauded him. Zachary said it felt like "Liam's family had extended by more than 50,000 people."

On what would have been his birthday, family and friends gathered on the beach, and Pirate King Noddy unfurled a flag in his memory.

Clarky. You've got to have courage, because courage is the ability to get up when things are getting you down. You get up and fight back.The flag the pirates raised for Liam
March 2020

The last voyage

She rode out Storm Ciara in February. In the second week of March, heavy winds and a spring tide broke her apart. On 14 March volunteers were on the beach gathering every piece of wood they could find and stacking it up. The crew wrote: "We are busy making plans for a rebuild."

Days later, the country went into lockdown.

The people who had built her again and again were getting older. And a ship on a public beach comes with questions: who checks her every day, who insures her, who gives permission. They were never answered in her favour. What was left of her was still on the sand in January 2023.

Now

Go and retrieve that horizon

The Black Pearl was never only a ship. She was what happens when a town picks up what the sea leaves behind and decides to make something of it. Every log was carried by someone. Every rebuild was a decision.

We would love to build her again, with the daily checks, the insurance and the permissions in place from day one, so that this time she stays.

If you carried a log, hung a light, married on her deck or lifted your kids onto her rail, we want your photographs and your stories.

Write to the crew at info@hellonewbrighton.com

What the tide gave back

Every bottle you open lands here. The ones still sealed are waiting in the sand where the story left them.

Add your own bottle. Got a photograph of the Black Pearl, her crew or a day on board? Send it to info@hellonewbrighton.com and we will put it in a bottle for the next person to find.

Driftwood and Dolphins

Fanciful sea creatures are beached every day in New Brighton. But no emergency rescue is needed. These are the creations of an artist with an eye for bringing flotsam to life.

Along the sandbanks of the Mersey, strange and wonderful creatures have started appearing almost daily. Driftwood dolphins. Sea dragons. Mermaids. Octopuses. All pieced together from whatever the tide brings in. Welcome to the world of Frank, New Brighton's very own tide artist.

His work has been popping up along the shoreline from New Brighton to Seacombe, and most of it is the handiwork of one man. Frank is a retired accountant. Handy with tools. Obsessed with the beach. Deeply rooted in his community.

"I've built a lot of things at home," he tells me. "I've done a bit of wood carving too. Not professionally, just a hobby, really."

You'll find Frank on the beach most mornings. He arrives early to tidy up and see what the tide has delivered overnight.

"Mostly it's all plastic," he says, brushing sand off a triangular scrap of driftwood. "Last week we found a plastic net, all tangled up in the rocks. I didn't see rubbish. I saw perfect mermaid hair."

As we walk, we come across the corpse of a baby porpoise. Frank stops, starts digging a shallow grave.

"The council will collect them if reported," he explains, "but the smell gets awful and dogs tear into them. So I bury them myself. I mark the spot, in case the council do come later."

Some of Frank's sculptures, particularly the dolphins, have stayed in place for weeks, unmoved by wind or tide. Locals and dog walkers pass by and stop to admire them. They've become part of the scenery.

Frank's efforts haven't gone unnoticed. His little patch of beach has become something of a meeting point. One morning we meet Harry, a former apprentice at Cammell Laird. Back in the day, he was a chippy in the shipyard. These days, he collects driftwood for the fire and often lends Frank a hand.

"I help him move the bigger bits," says Harry, hefting a thick plank onto his shoulder. "He borrows my saw, now and then. One time we found a massive oak beam. It must've come off a timber ship. Me and my lad dragged it home, looked it up online. Worth twelve hundred quid, it was."

Frank's not in it for the money. His work is a gift to the place, and to the people who find joy in it.

"It's all about connection," he says. "Kids especially. They get curious, want to know more, want to help. It's a way of discovering their relationship with the sea. And it's good for me, too. There's a proper endorphin rush when you manage to pull something huge out of the rocks and drag it up here."

People often ask if he's being paid. "I just smile," he says. "I tell them it's free."

We talk about the "new" New Brighton: the Hungry Horse pub, the mega-Morrisons.

"I wasn't sure at first," he admits. "But it's better than what was here. Still, the architecture and public spaces could've been more ambitious. That's modern economics for you. What I'm trying to do is bring people back to the beach. Help them enjoy what's already here: our space, our tide, our environment."

As we speak, Frank is working on a huge tree root, hauled in by the Harvest Moon tide the night before.

"It took three of us to shift it," he grins. "I was trying on my own this morning, then a woman from Canada offered to help. She said they know their wood over there. Then another woman joined in. No men to be seen. It was exhilarating."

He stops and steps back, wiping his brow, admiring the twisted tangle of roots and branches.

"Just look at it," he says. "It's beautiful."