Chapter 15 Retirement. Freedom at Last

  February 1986 was disappointing in that the usual two fine weekends for fitting out Shoal Waters failed to materialise but this time there was no need to press the panic button. My employers over the last sixteen years, the Board of Inland Revenue, had agreed to my early retirement on the 26th of March, four months before my fifty-ninth birthday. With leave due to me, freedom day was Monday the 3rd of March. Spring weather started a day later. Painting and varnishing went ahead in the crowded boatyard behind the Blackwater S.C. Hurried meal breaks were taken in the clubhouse overlooking the ten enticing miles of river, which sent me back to work even harder. In perfect weather on Tuesday 11th, the returning tide lifted her off the trailer where she had waited at the bottom of the club ramp and the 1986 sailing season began. For many years, when discussing retirement, I had joked that I only had one problem, whether to turn north or south once I reached the river mouth. Alas life is never so simple. My wife did not retire until the end of the month, my evening classes went on until the 1st of May, three of the younger generation in the wider family were insisting on summer weddings plus a twentyfirst birthday and to crown it all, I received a summons to serve on the jury in early May. A further major complication was that in order to protect my state pension at the age of sixtyfive, I had to sign on at the labour exchange on alternate Thursdays to help boost the unemployment figures. After examining my conscience and seeing my fellow claimants, I duly claimed the £31 a week subject to tax. Thus the dream of endless carefree days afloat in our snug little floating home dominated only by the fickle winds and the predictable ebb and flow of the ever-reliable tides, died an early death.

Nevertheless, all was not gloom. Shoal Waters with her traditional generous gaff cutter rig and shallow draft, was designed to sail far and wide across the Thames Estuary within the confines of the normal two day weekend, often covering over eighty miles, sometimes completing the `ton`, with the best trip of 125 miles; a performance beyond the wildest dreams of most boat owners. Furthermore, no engine is used and tows are not normally accepted. The restrictions listed in the previous paragraph are small beer compared with the despotism of spending five days each week at the office desk.

Money was tight. There would be few meals ashore in restaurants or even fast food, and fee charging marina moorings would have to be avoided in preference to muddy beaches and winding rills and guts among lonely saltings. It is expensive to leave the boat away from home and this had to be avoided as far as possible. Our only luxury would be colourslide film but this had already been bought in bulk over the winter. Most years bring an interesting crop of maritime events that set the pattern of sailing for the year. Every five years the Inland Waterways National Rally comes south and in 1986 it was to take place over the August Bank Holiday at Brentford where the Grand Union Canal joins the Thames. This is also the start of Burnham Week and we should be able to get back for the last few days. The great nostalgia event is the river Colne Smack and Barge Match a week or two later. Evening class enrolment takes place in mid September and I find it essential to meet students to see that they know what they are taking on, particularly now that charges so high. For many years now, we have been on the Norfolk Broads to watch the Three Rivers Race, the only yacht race in which over a hundred yachts race overnight and lower their masts four times to pass under the bridges including the famous one at Potter Heigham. At the same time we can enjoy the prolific wild life and watch the delightful young chicks as they hatch out. We have a particular interest in Coots and Great Crested Grebes for no reason other than the sight of them continues to please us. My son and his wife were due to hire a yacht on the Broads for one week from the eighteenth of May and we planned to sail in company with them. A friend is pleased for us to leave either our boat in his dyke or our car in his yard at Womack Water. There was a water carnival at Norwich on the sixth of July organised in part by the I.W.A. Thus our plan was to explore the Thames Estuary until the end of April, sail to the Broads as early in May as weather permits, leave after the Norwich Water Festival for a leisurely cruise to the I.W.R. at Brentford exploring all ports to starboard with an eye on the prize for the best unpowered trip to the rally. The March weather turned cold and overcast with light winds. Joy prefers to stay at home until things warm up. Shoal Waters made a shakedown trip to the rivermouth and then enjoyed a run round to the river Crouch exploring as far as Battlesbridge and Rochford on the river Roach, the normal first trips of the season.

  Now I am the first to agree that anyone fool enough to sail at Easter deserves to freeze to death but every year since 1964 this little ship has left the Blackwater S.C. under the full moon in the early hours of Good Friday and found the effort well worth while (Note. high water at Maldon on the day of the full moon is 1215 hrs G.M.T. and Easter is normally the first Sunday after the full moon). Prospects looked grim as I tramped out over the mud in heavy rain and gales from the southwest. The rain eased just before the tide left and I tried to run down the river under jib only but it was just too rough so I sailed onto the mud to windward opposite Osea Island Pier and got back into my sleeping bags. When the tide returned just before noon, I tried to beat into Lawling Creek but was overwhelmed and gave up, returning to the shelter of the southern shore again. The river was a wild sight on the top of the tide when the sun came out between vicious squalls. As it left again I watched the waders invade the mud to feed. It was blowing so hard that they could only stand up head to wind and were blown over if they turned beam on. A small boat makes a superb bird hide complete with warmth and comfort, hot food and drink to hand together with a friendly radio. For warmth I use a Gaz radiant heater. The wind eased by 0310hrs on Saturday and I left for East Mersea. On the midday tide I sailed to the Strood, the causeway, which is the only way onto Mersea Island, to watch the Observer Round the Island Sailboard Race. A great crowd gathers to watch them carry their boards across the road while a policeman holds back the growing queues of traffic. Suddenly the tide laps over onto the road and in minutes there is not a soul to be seen except for one lonely policeman `faithful` even unto cold wet feet`.

On the ebb I dashed up to Harwich and anchored off Stone Heaps at 1930 hrs thinking back to that day in 1949, when I watched five barges sail in from London ready to go onto Ipswich next day. On Sunday I visited Ipswich and ran back to a rarely used snug berth in Walton Backwaters called the Dardanells for the night. On Monday I visited Ipswich again and on Tuesday sailed round to Manningtree in welcome warm sunshine as the squalls died out. A perfect sunset so I decided on a night passage down the coast to East Mersea, arriving at 0340 hrs. When I lifted out the top washboard next morning (I rarely put up the tent when I am on my own in fine weather), I was greeted with warm sunshine and the restored trading ketch Susannah Sylvanna drying on the shingle for a scrub preparatory to a trip round England. A glorious sight by any standards! I donned my waterboots and gave him a hand with a scrubber before leaving for home. 279 miles to date.

April came in cold with strong winds from the northeast, but I made two trips across the Thames later in the month, one up the River Medway past Rochester and the other round the Isle of Sheppy, finding time to explore the wide marshes as far as the old brickworks jetty at Lower Halstow. One passage was made though Havengore Creek under the old lifting bridge between the mainland and Foulness Island and out over the three mile wide Maplin Sands where the watershed, the Broomway, was once the only road to the island. The River Colne was explored to Colchester.

  My evening classes ended at 2130 hrs on Thursday 1st of May. Within a few minutes my son was driving Joy and me down to the boat, which we joined over the mud in the dark (he was thus able to bring the car home). We left next morning, ready to slip into the Broads via Yarmouth as soon as conditions permitted. In 1985 we had left the clubhouse at dawn and reached the Broads by nightfall but this year was very different. Within the estuary between Orfordness and Ramsgate, there is always somewhere to run into if things get tricky. Once past Orfordness, the twentyfour miles of barren Suffolk coast only offers the delightful but dangerously dilapidated harbour at Southwold before Lowestoft six miles south of Yarmouth. Lowestoft is the obvious safe harbour through which to enter the Broads and in my younger days I used it regularly but there is a sea lock to pass through. Thanks to the disgraceful attitude of certain authorities, it only opens at 1400hrs on Wednesday afternoons and the charge for my little boat would be nearly ten pounds. At any other time, including weekends when many people are likely to want to use the lock; they require fortyeight hours` notice and there is a surcharge over and above the lock fee of eighty pounds. Bearing in mind the danger of coastal passages to and from Lowestoft in all but the best weather, this is ridiculous. Furthermore, waiting in Lowestoft either for the lock or better weather outside is very expensive. Thus the small boat is driven to use the busy tide race of Yarmouth harbour, which is very difficult without an engine. (Sanity has won, it is now run by the Broads Authority and back in use at a reasonable charge.)

  Over the next week we jilled about, visiting Walton Backwaters, the River Deben, the rivers Ore and Alde and after an abortive attempt to round Orfordness on Wednesday, reached Southwold at teatime Thursday. The heavy southerly swell had made Joy sick and it seemed unlikely that we could reach Yarmouth before the tide began to run out which would mean five or six hours anchored or hove to outside after dark, dodging the procession of fishing, container and gas rig support vessels, so in we went. The southerly wind was suitable for the rest of the passage on Friday but the surf on the north wall of the harbour entrance deterred me from leaving as I had planned at noon. I spent the rest of the ebb tide studying the entrance and decided that the best time to leave was an hour or so before low water when the rough and tumble where the ebb from the river meets the ebb on the coast was well away from the crumbling pier heads and protected by a crescent of drying shingle.

  On Saturday morning I looked out at 0400hrs and found that the wind had eased. Joy readily agreed to `have a look at it`. This time we filled a hot water bottle and got a sleeping bag ready for her to crawl into as soon as she felt unwell. We cleared the harbour fifty minutes later and had an increasingly hectic sail to Yarmouth under a gloomy sky. The wind increased steadily. I should have reefed but knew that full sail would be useful inside the harbour walls at Yarmouth. Joy didn’t show the slightest sign of seasickness. She often doesn’t when it’s really exceptionally rough. I wonder how many of my fellow sailors have a wife who would accept such conditions uncomplainingly! At 0830hrs the harbour wall closed round us. I gave her a hug with the joyous words “We’ve done it!” She dived into the cabin to put the kettle on while I steered past the three busy miles that Daniel Defoe described as the longest quay in England. Once the mast was down at the bridge, we rigged the cockpit cover on the sounding pole and I stood on the cabin top holding it aloft with the lower corners hooked to cockpit cleats; probable the first `bridge sail` seen in Yarmouth for many a year. By the time we had cleared the conurbation, the wind had really piped up, and we had a very hard beat along the six miles that lay due west, but Acle Bridge, complete with a loo and a small shop for fresh milk, came into view at midday. While Joy was shopping, Shoal Waters was narrowly missed by a monster `floating tea tray` plastic cruiser which was driven sideways across the river into the jetty by the beam wind. Joy was keen to stop and rest but I pressed on for it was a fair wind all the way now to my target. After a short stop to duck the mast and buy fish and chips at Potter Heigham, we raced on into the best of Broadland, the Candle Dyke, Heigham Sound and Whiteslea, relishing the golden reeds on either hand, excitedly spotting our first Heron, first Coot and first Grebe. Just below Hickling Broad, the narrow channel has been dredged and the spoil piled on the western side. Trees are already growing there and today it provided the perfect shelter. The sun appeared and we moored alongside the piled bank at 1340hrs to spread the cockpit cover on the grass, complete with cushions on which to relax and drink in the delightful scene.

The following Wednesday we moored up at Womack Water and our son (the last remaining nestling of our four) drove up to take us home. I was due to `sign on` and, in practice, we found that 36 to 48 hours at home each fortnight to put the socks etc in the washing machine and deal with the mail seemed about right. This time we drove north and left the car at Womack for twelve or thirteen days.

  Most of our time over the next nine weeks was spent on the North Broads, sailing back and forth at the whim of the winds and tides, watching and photographing the wild life and other sailing craft. Perhaps the event of the year was the finding and photographing the rare swallowtail butterfly. It is always a thrill to meet the wherry Albion and the two remaining wherry yachts, (today in 2005, there are at least five in commission). We visited the wherry Maud which was undergoing an eighteen year private restoration at the end of Upton Dyke (in 2002 we sailed on her twice). One weekend we encountered some fifty steam powered craft who rallied at How Hill on the River Ant and puffed their way down to Thurne Dyke on Sunday. Just about every corner of the area was visited including a hidden and largely forgotten public staithe on the eastern side of Barton Broad, Catfield Staithe. We made one trip through Yarmouth onto the South Broads as far as Geldiston on the River Waveney and another in late June to the Norwich Festival when we explored right up through the old warehouses, factories, breweries and waterside pubs wrapped round the magnificent cathedral to New Mills

Continued