George is the last of the river heroes

He’s saved hundreds of lives and even found his wife in the Clyde

Despite his diminutive stature, George Parsonage has big slabs of meat for hands. His face is red and weather-beaten, thanks to a lifetime spent by the river, and his overalls have become a second skin.

These days he moves faster on water than he does on land but that’s OK, because it’s on the wet stuff he comes alive.

George lives in a house on Glasgow Green, just metres from the banks of the Clyde. He was born in the house 70 years ago and he’ll die in the house. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

His official title is Chief Officer of the Glasgow Humane Society, an organisation established in 1790 dedicated to saving the lives of those who fell into the city’s waterways. In reality, George IS the Glasgow Humane Society.

Following in the rowing strokes of his dad, Ben, who carried out his first rescue while still a schoolboy, George has patrolled the Clyde and rescued more than 1,500 people. The safety work he’s suggested and lobbied for along the banks and on the bridges has saved countless more.

“I’m a lucky man,” George says as he unties a rowing boat on his pontoon, ready to make his daily patrol. “Everything I’ve ever had has come from the river.”

He’s right. His career, his dedication, his sense of humanity even his family is down to his relationship with the Clyde.

He explains: “Marriage happened long after I thought it wasn’t going to. Stephanie was a rower and she fell into the river about 20 years ago and I rescued her. We fell in love and had two sons, Ben and Christopher.”

Looking back to the Society’s early days, he says: “There were lots of Humane Societies established around the world at that time, but Glasgow was the first to set up a full-time life officer.

“My dad would go down to the Glasgow Humane Society after school every day to help out. He was a better rower than the men, despite being only 5ft 1in.”

Ben eventually took over and for the next 61 years he refused to even go on holiday in order to be on call, 24/7.

“As a wee boy I used to sit at the hall window and look over the boats, waiting for the ambulance or Rolls-Royce hearse to arrive, and tell my mum when she could start putting my dad’s dinner on. By 14 I was a good rower and I’d go out to help him.”

At first, George pursued his own career. He was a talented artist who went to art school. He trained as a sculptor and later became a teacher at his old school, Whitehill in Dennistoun.

“I was close by, so I could come and help Dad if needed. Quite often I’d rush from the classroom to rescue people.

“The pupils loved it and respected the situation even the troublemakers would behave when I left them alone in the class.”

When his dad died in 1979, George realised his destiny was on the river rather than in the classroom.

But in 2005, George was told rescues would now be the responsibility of the fire service. He was devastated.

While the emergency services can still call on George for assistance, he says they rarely do. That doesn’t stop him reacting to someone in need of help when he sees them in danger.

Since going off call he’s recovered more than 200 people.

This year, he’s made 18 acute rescues, 16 other rescues and prevented 15 people from entering the water. It’s a record he’s proud of.

He’s still out in the water every day and is busier than ever

“We’ve introduced a GPS system along the river so people can be located easier and we make sure all the lifebelts are in place,” he says.

They’re often thrown away or displaced to the unlikeliest of places.

“One of the concierges down at the flats by the water called me and said he’d gone round the apartments and found 24 lifebelts hanging on people’s walls. One had even been painted with the words ‘HMS Penthouse’,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Despite celebrating his 70th birthday in October his wife took him to Venice, so even on holiday he’s close to the water George starts work around 6.30am and often sits at his computer until nearly midnight. It’s all-consuming.

On his PC he has countless documents and more than 200,000 images relating to the river types of fences along the banks, safety measures at the many bridges, and so on.

Glasgow Humane Society is currently the official water safety advisor for Glasgow City Council, which provides funding. It’s also water safety consultant for Scottish Water and is in partnership with Clydeport.

“I’ve trained the security guards at the casinos along the river and I’d like to teach staff at the BBC as well,” says George, who doesn’t take a wage. “A lot of the bridges have been done to our specifications.

“You know, an awful lot of people that are in the water, it’s not because they are trying to end it. Rather, it’s a cry for help. If they do end up in the water it’s because they feel people aren’t listening.”

As he looks to the future, he vows to continue doing what he’s always done for as long as he’s physically able. And when he no longer is, he hopes to still be mentally fit to pass on his expertise.

At the moment, it looks unlikely that anyone would be willing to devote their life to the city’s waterway in the way that George and his dad before him have done.

Son Ben is at university and helps as much as he can, while younger son Christopher is still at school.

“Everything I’ve ever had has come from the river,” George says.

With that, he smiles one of his huge grins and rows off into the distance to begin another day.