A TWO-YEAR salvage operation on the wrecked Costa Concordia cruise liner ended yesterday as the ship was refloated before bring towed back to its home port of Genoa. The refloating of this huge vessel brings to an end one of the biggest marine salvage operations in history.

The 114,000-ton Italian cruise  ship, twice the length of the Titanic, struck a rock on Friday January 13 2012 and capsized in shallow waters off the Italian island of Giglio, killing 32 people.

The ship’s captain Francesco Schettino was arrested and charged with manslaughter and abandoning the passengers to their fate. 

It was left to the Giglio’s tiny population to rescue 4,200 passengers and crew as they scrambled to shore in freezing January weather. 

John McLeod is a salvage diver and was one of the 450 engineers and divers — nearly all men — who carried out the salvage work on the wrecked vessel. “The ship went down in January 2012. I arrived in September and I got off last week. The sheer size of it is incredible.”

He has no kind words for the actions of the captain but salutes the way islanders did everything they could to rescue the passengers. “They were standing at their windows emptying their houses to keep these people warm. They jumped in any boats they could to drag anyone they could get to land. One guy I met rescued 124 people.”

The wreck remains a crime scene and Mcleod says all divers were under instructions not to take anything out. “Police divers were coming on all the time. When they found bones the Italian navy and army would come on board. There was a constant police presence. Everything was monitored. You would find luggage, handbags and shoes but we weren’t allowed to take anything off. I was throwing suitcase after suitcase into skips just to clear it. There are still suits hanging in cupboards and towels on racks two years after it sank. It’s really quite strange.”

During the two-year operation, two divers died — one of natural causes and another, Spaniard Israel Franco, due to an accident earlier this year. “It was right at the end of the day,” recalls McLeod. “The guy was cutting the lifeboat davit under water. Because of the way the ship was leaning there was quite a bit of tension on the steel. It cut straight through his femoral artery in his leg. He bled out really quickly and he was gone.”

McLeod believes it is surprising there weren’t more deaths and serious injuries during the salvage. “There were quite a few near misses, like cranes breaking, and on other jobs the whole thing would have been shut down.

“We had quite a few bends cases because we are operating under US Navy tables. They tell you how long you can spend at depth without having to do decompression. 

“The only problem is the US navy divers are super-fit, super strong, early 20s divers — then you’ve got a bunch of middle aged, drink-too-much, smoke-too-much divers on the ship.

“Salvage diving is the most dangerous. All your safety regulations tend to fall by the wayside. But because of the situation you’ve got to do it. We’re using explosives out there, we’re burning things under water. In the oil industry everything is cold cut, but not here.

“It’s an interesting game. Everything in diving is designed to bite you. The fire hazards, the pressure injuries — everything in that industry is designed to hurt.

“I’ve never had bends. I hope to never have it. It’s quite a painful thing. It’s when the bubble works it way through to your head — a cerebral bubble — or your heart, your spine, then you’re done for.”

McLeod, like most divers on the Costa Concordia salvage, is freelance and non-unionised. “Every diver was on a different rate. They offer you a rate and if you don’t like it, you don’t take it. There’s no negotiation. The Dutch are unionised and on €550-600 (£435-474) a day but not the rest of us.”

The basic rate for many divers is just $50 (£29) a day, but this rises considerably with allowances. “You get about $300 (£175) for a dive but we were pushing the limit with what our dive tickets allowed us to do.” Dive tickets prescribe the depth and duration of dives. “We were going beyond 50 metres below, which means we should have been in saturation.

“We are employed as salvage workers not divers. Everything you do on land we do underwater. Rakes, shovels, picks, welders, burners, wheelbarrows. All we really are is glorified labourers.” 

McLeod describes an atmosphere of rivalry and competition between the US company Titan Salvage and the Italian company Micoperi. 

The cost of the salvage and refloat operation rose over time, eventually coming in at €1.5 billion (£1.2bn).

The salvage contract was agreed with insurers under a day rate system, rather than for a fixed fee. This, says McLeod, creates incentives for all companies and contractors involved to stretch the work until the last day. 

“For nine months we were building a concrete wall underneath it to get it ready to turn it upright. I used to spend days and days sitting around. We had Facebook, movies, videos. Books. Fuck-all work. 

“We got a team of 10 divers for six or seven days doing nothing. As long as there are bubbles getting blown in the water, or we’re there on the vessel on standby, it’s all good. Everybody makes money.” 

For months at a time McLeod, like other divers and engineers, was living on an accommodation work barge off the island of Giglio. “I was on from 12 midday to midnight. You can go to shore but there's only one pub. There's nothing there. 

“When we arrived there were 450 guys and only 200 people on the island, just the really old and really young. As soon as they’re old enough they leave. We were there for six months before the coffee shop served sandwiches. Eight months to get a bacon and egg butty.”

Mcleod said conditions on the barge were brilliant. “The food is amazing — all English and Italian chefs. We don't cook anything, we don’t wash anything. The toilets have heated floors.”

However the relative luxury of the accommodation could not make up for being stuck on board for so long. “The next island along is the one where Napoleon was locked up. Poor bastard, I know how he feels. I was on the barge for a year doing 87-day stints. I had to get out.”

Then there was the casual racism among the salvage crews. “From an American I finally heard the words: ‘There’s a nigger in the White House.’ Then you got the South Africans. They’re not allowed to use the K word any more, but ‘lesser spotted baboons’ doesn’t make it any better.”

Across the global salvage industry a deregulated market has encouraged a race to the bottom among divers. “The white divers don't like the Indians and Filipinos, because they only pay them $20-30 a day as deck hands or $75 as divers. It’s the companies undercutting everybody.”

The lowest paid workers in the industry are Indian and Filipino divers who are often sponsored by their employers to be trained in the US, Holland or Britain. “They are paying that back for years,” says Walker. “You are getting paid $400 a day and he is on $75 a day even though he’s got the same training and experience. 

“We are our own worst enemies because none of us stick together. Basically we’ve cut our own throats. There’s no real divers’ unions except in the North Sea and Australia — and that’s if they will let you join. 

“Bob Crow got a 50 per cent increase for offshore oil and gas divers in the North Sea. But for the really dangerous construction and salvage divers, we’ve got no-one to back us up. 

“I can’t afford to get injured or hurt. Which insurer is going to touch a salvage diver?”

The name John McLeod is not his real name.