On July 8th 1901 when the Boer War was raging in South Africa, John Catbush Elliott the then Inspector of Waterguard, wrote to the Board of Customs 'Hon Sirs, we beg to bring under review the conditions under which the work of the department is conducted on that part of the River Thames called the Pool. Upwards of 3,600 vessels, mostly from Continental Ports, are dealt with annually . . . . . [and the] Officers to supervise them are stationed at various inconvenient places on the shore . . . . . To give better facilities for performing the work, we beg to suggest the establishment of a floating station . . . . .'

With these words began the story of the unusual 'object' floating just off Custom House Quay known as 'The Harpy.

The name 'Harpy' derives from the mythological monster, rapacious and filthy, with a woman's face and body, and the wing and claws of a bird. The name was first used by the Customs service in the early 19th century when a vessel of that name and 138 tones and armed with 8 guns was based at Ilfracombe. Other vessels served the Board of Customs bearing the name - at Cowes from 1815 and another on the Devon coast from 1837. This later vessel ended her days at East Lane Pier in the Port of London serving as a reception base for 'Officers employed on steam-packet duty'. In 1861 she was replaced by yet another 'Harpy', an ex-naval hulk, that was scrapped in 1894.

Few probably realise how the last 'Harpy' came to be where it was - it was not always destined for Custom House Quay. In 1901 most of the shipping activity was nearer to Tower Bridge and Mr Elliott wanted his 'floating station’ about 50 yards from the Bridge. But the Constable of the Tower objected and other sites had to be considered, one being on the south side of the river. This was ruled out because the approach to it would be through some of the worst slums of Bermondsey, most dangerous to traverse during the night watches. Eventually someone came up with the perhaps obvious idea of the Crown foreshore, opposite the London Custom House. Although this was considered inconvenient, necessitating more rowing, it was accepted and permission was sought from the Office of HM Woods, Forests and Land Revenues, which administered the foreshore, and the Thames Conservancy. One senior officer was very concerned about the project, urging that 'the floating station should be kept well to the middle of the Custom House 'so as not to obscure our view'. The estimated cost of the structure was £2,300.

The Conservancy granted permission, subject to 'the structure being lighted by two red lights placed vertically six feet apart' and payment of an annual rent of £2. A license was issued for 'a dummy 80 feet long and 20 feet wide, floating between two dolphins and connected with the shore by a gangway’. The 'dolphins’ were not the aquatic mammals, but the less exotic girded clusters of piles driven into the riverbed to keep the ‘pontoon’ in position. The year was now 1903 and the estimated cost had escalated to £3,300. At long last, tenders were invited from eight firms and Messrs. Edwards of Millwall, offering the lowest tender, were awarded the job, an award they lived to regret.

Built of wrought iron, the structure was designed to accommodate a Surveyor, Examining Officers, eleven Preventive Officers, thirty five Boatmen - soon to be called Preventive Men, and 32 Watchers. It had two decks and was supplied with telephones, mains water and a gas and electricity supply. Gas stoves provided heat for the officers, and the Boatmen and Watchers were given coal for stoves to warm food and boil water.

After the launch, a few problems remained, notably the question of payment and the dispute with Mr Fisher. The final cost turned out to be £5211.12s.3d which had to found from the Customs Vote by savings elsewhere. Mr Fisher and his friends, whose boats proved a big hindrance to Customs boats and launches, were eventually persuaded to move. As for Messrs. Edwards of Millwall, the Board of Customs tried to invoke a penalty clause for late completion of the job. Mr Riggs, Works Manager, sent a plaintive letter, saying how much the work had been hindered by 'dark mornings and afternoons, and wet days', and adding that 'we have used every endeavour and spared no expense to give you a good job. We took the job at a very low price so that we shall not really clear our expenses'. The Board showed compassion and the penalty clause was waived.

On June 1st 1905 the 'floating Custom House' was given the name ‘Harpy’.

By October 1913 she was seen to be in need of some repairs and a refit of the upper deck accomodation, which was considered be too small, so plans were drawn up to increase the size of the offices. Plans for the new upper deck are reproduced below.

During the next seventy years of her life, Harpy was to witness tremendous change, both in the world at large and in the organisation of Customs. For the ordinary Preventive Officers and Boatmen, and later Assistant Preventive Officers, ‘minuted’ for duty on the Harpy, the wider events were probably less significant than the day to day routine - the boarding of vessels, the rummaging of boiler rooms, the writing up of reports and the making of tea. Such routine would be relieved by unusual incidents or the personalities of colleagues. Everyone who served on Harpy will have his own memories and many can draw on a well of anecdotes. 'It was like a Chinese brothel', said one former officer, who remembers upwards of 50 men crowded into that confined space, some trying to play cards in spite of the crush and sweat. If Chinese brothels have leaking ceilings, then indeed Harpy was like one, because at low tide she would rest on the river bed, listing slightly. As the water tank was in the roof, it tended to list likewise, spilling its contents onto the upper deck and thence through the ceiling, perhaps drenching members of the card school below!

If it was dark, and you tried to dry out on the promenade deck above, perhaps inclining your gaze towards the lower Custom House stairs, you might observe, purely by chance, the various activities of lovers, dimly lit by the rays of the old gas lamp. Should you be shocked by such goings on, you could return inside to the warmth of the two gallon kettle 'always on the boil' - Harpy floated on tea leaves. Other floating material, such as driftwood, would also appear around Harpy. Since 1911, this was the legal property of the Port of London Authority and, by law, had to be sent to the nearby Burning Ground, or ‘condemned hole’ as it was affectionately called. Most of it was, but some mysteriously turned up later in rabbit hutches!

In 1950, a crowd of film cameramen, technicians and actors descended on Custom House Quay. Ealing Studios were making their 21st anniversary picture of London - a story of smuggling and other intrigue on the river. Customs officers provided technical advice and one of them, observing a long-haired actor in the role of Preventive Officer, was a little upset. 'Are you getting co-operation from the lads?' he asked the Unit Production Manager. 'Yes, thank you' came the reply. 'Well, you won’t much longer unless you tell that silly bastard to get his hair cut'. It was unheard of in those days for Waterguard staff to have long hair. In spite of this remark, Ealing Studios wrote to the Board, expressing their 'sincere appreciation of the magnificent cooperation shown us throughout by HM Customs and Excise . . . . . and by the officers and men of Harpy'. On the evening of 24 February 1951, in the presence of the Earl Mountbatten of Burma, ‘Pool of London’, directed by the late Basil Dearden, was shown publicly for the first time. Widely and generally favourably reviewed, the film starred Bonar Colleano, Susan Shaw, Renee Asherson, Moira Lister and Earl Cameron, with Alfie Bass and Leslie Phillips in minor roles.