Steam, Steel & Salt — The Stories That Inspire My Models
Before dawn, the Mersey stirs to life. Even in darkness, the great river is never truly still — it sighs and swirls against stone walls worn smooth by a century of ships. Foghorns moan somewhere out in the haze, gulls shriek and circle above the vast sheds, and a hammer rings on metal somewhere far off. The air is damp and sharp with salt, coal smoke, and the sweet, tarry scent of rope.
In my mind’s eye, I’m there — Liverpool, 1953 — standing on the deck of the steam tug Rea. Her black hull shows every scrape and patch from years of hard pushing, but her brass nameplate gleams bright against the grey dawn. The funnel breathes a slow ribbon of steam skyward as the deck shivers under the beat of the triple-expansion engine below.
We are one of a proud family of workhorses: Rea, Rosegarth, Stormcock, Flying Spray, Swiftsure — each tug a little different, but all built to serve the city’s busy port. Together they keep commerce flowing in and out of Britain’s great Atlantic gateway. The docks behind us stretch for miles: vast brick warehouses, cranes that crawl like steel insects, cargo sheds brimming with timber, cotton, fruit, coal, tea. Ships from every corner of the globe — tramp steamers, liners, coasters — all find their way here, and it is the tugs of Rea Towing Co. Ltd. that muscle them safely to berth.
This morning’s job is a big one. A Canadian freighter, the Beaverford, is inbound with a heavy cargo of timber and iron. She’s deep in the water, sluggish to turn, and the Mersey is running fast after the night’s tide. The job is too much for one tug alone. Orders crackle over the radio: Rosegarth will take her stern, Stormcock will push midships, and we aboard Rea will control the bow.
Down below, our engineer, Billy, moves with calm precision. He’s worked this engine since it was new and knows its heartbeat better than his own. The triple-expansion plant breathes and hisses, pistons stroking in polished rhythm, steam whispering across brass and steel. Up in the wheelhouse, Skipper Tom scans the shifting water, reading each swirl and ripple like a chart. His cap is pulled low, eyes narrowed against the wind, but his hands on the wheel are steady.
The Beaverford looms out of the morning mist, a black cliff of riveted plates and towering decks. Her horn bellows once, deep and long. We answer with two short blasts. Heavy hawsers snake across the gap — rough, oil-dark, thick as a man’s thigh. Deckhands sweat and strain as the first line is made fast to our towing hook. Slowly, carefully, we ease ahead.
Rosegarth comes astern, her funnel belching black smoke, prop biting deep. Stormcock edges in amidships, nudging with quiet power. The river fights us, swirling, tugging at the freighter’s stern, but bit by bit she obeys. Ropes groan, water foams white, and the great ship swings, inch by inch, toward her berth. Dockside cranes loom so close we could almost brush them with an outstretched hand. Stevedores lean on railings to watch the dance.
There’s no cheering when the job is done — just nods and waves from the men ashore. The Beaverford is safe, her cargo soon to be unloaded and the port alive with work for another day. We let the strain off the hawsers, lines coiled down by practiced hands, and Rea eases back into the brown churn of the Mersey. The job took skill and trust, but it’s just another day for the tugs.
How These Scenes Shape My Models
It’s stories like this — quiet, unsung, but full of craft — that fuel what I do today at my bench in the Yorkshire Wolds. When I design and sculpt for Jager Hobby, I’m not just making “figures” or “accessories.” I’m capturing the life I imagine on these decks.
I create the men who worked in steam and salt: the bent-backed M32 older workman, slightly balding, leaning into a heavy coal shovel as he feeds the boilers that keep the tug alive; the M33 kneeling engineer adjusting a stubborn valve with a spanner; the TG36 classic tugboat captain, leaning casually on the rail, cap pulled low and scarf knotted against the wind, ready to read the river ahead.
Down on deck, the TG25E seated tug crewman waits, relaxed but watchful, perched low and ready to throw a line or tend the winch when the skipper calls. His dungarees and woolly bobble hat mark him as a man of the working waterfront — tough, weathered, and patient.
Other details build the scene around them: coils of hawser (SA12 rope stacks) shaped to look naturally thrown down, weathered tyres hung along the hull to fend steel off stone, and even the loyal ship dogs — my Border Collie or Winston the Bulldog, mascots and companions for long days afloat.
Each piece is built to scale but also built with a story. When you place them on a model — a Liverpool tug like Rea or Rosegarth, or any working boat — suddenly it’s not just a hull and a funnel. It’s alive. You can smell the coal smoke. You can almost hear the engineer’s shovel bite into the bunker or the sharp call of the skipper from the wheelhouse.
That’s why I make what I make. To give life back to the small, everyday heroes of maritime work — the crews who steered giants through narrow waters and the details that made their world feel real.
Bringing History to Your Deck
Whether you’re building a Mersey tug, a deep-sea trawler, or a modern workboat, these figures and details can transform your model. They turn it from a beautiful object into a working scene with depth and character — a tiny stage where the story of steam and salt plays on.
Every time I design a new figure or accessory, I think back to mornings on the Mersey that I’ve pieced together from photographs, records, and memories passed down. And I think of how, by setting one of these tiny crewmen — maybe an M32 workman shoveling coal, a TG25E deckhand crouched and waiting, and a TG36 captain watching the tide — someone else can feel that same river wind and coal smoke.
That’s the heart of Jager Hobby — keeping maritime history alive in miniature. Because the Rea, the Rosegarth, and all their sisters may have long since gone quiet, but on a well-built model, under the hand of a thoughtful builder, their stories steam on.
That's the heart of me
Richard