Chapter 5 Cold cruising at Easter 1949
Just before eleven o’clock I looked across the crowded dance floor where the students at Woodbastwick Agricultural Institute were finishing off the winter term before dispersing next day for a couple of weeks holiday and nodded to `Texas` Ted. Together we slipped out into the darkness and a few minutes later had changed into sailing gear preparatory to hurrying down the lane to Horning Ferry where Zephyr lay ready to go. It was just ten minutes to midnight as we glided out from the little dyke where I kept her onto the smooth water of the River Bure. Ted was bubbling over with enthusiasm for this was his first trip. He had learnt to sail in a prisoner of war camp where they spent days and days sitting in an imaginary boat pulling halyards, sheets etc and steering with a make believe tiller. It was a glorious night with a fine moon but there was little wind, so we were unable to get out of Yarmouth on the morning tide as planned. (I have since realised that this trip is nearly impossible anyway due to the three hours time lag between high water at Yarmouth and Horning). Rather than waste the day, we decided to go to Lowestoft through the inland waterways, largely on the promise that Ted, an ex R.A.F. type had had from some of his meteorological pals that the wind would come in from the northwest.
It was an interesting trip in those days with three rail bridges to negotiate. The flood gave us a good start but the wind headed us and when it eased at sunset we were barely able to stem the young ebb tide in the River Waveney. A splatter of rain a few miles short of Oulton Broad drove us to moor up quickly and rig the boom tent before the inside of the boat got wet. Thus we settled down to sleep early. I looked out at 0230 hrs next morning to find brilliant moonlight with a fine breeze from the northwest. I made two cups of cocoa and woke Ted with the news that we had to get underway at once. We made short work of the last miles to Oulton Broad and arrived outside the lock gates at 0400 hrs where we put up the tent for some more sleep. We had breakfast while waiting for the lock keeper to arrive at 0700 hrs. The wind was now westerly and plenty of it. At the Lowestoft bridge we lowered the mast and Ted steered while I stood on the foredeck with my gas cape open which gave us plenty of steerage-way. We left the harbour soon after 0800 hrs after a careful check on all the gear and set off down the coast. Much of the flood tide had already been wasted but we carried it to Orfordness, covering the twenty-seven miles in four and a quarter hours. My! It was cold and the spray seemed like solid ice. We put Vaseline on the starboard side of our faces to prevent chapping, and kept fairly close inshore to find smoother water.
As we rounded the Ness my heart rose as the pylons at Bawdseyhaven came into view but to our dismay the wind backed and dropped off, leaving us steering south in very irregular waves. Ted began to feel sick and worried as the ebb tide swept us eastward and gradually the whole coastline up to Aldeburgh came into view again. I stood on starboard tack until 1800 hrs when I came about and stood in towards the coast. The only relief to the tedium of the long, lonely afternoon was the sight of the barge Alaric of London running north. As the light faded the last of the ebb swept us north again, so that after six hours sailing we ended up about three miles nearer the River Deben. Then the tide just had to turn in our favour and we crept into the haven to anchor south of the Horse Sand at 2215 hrs. Ted went straight to sleep without waiting for food or drink but I had a good meal.
The weather repented on Thursday and gave us a perfect spring morning. Ted was in high spirits and had bailed out by the time I stirred. We dropped out of the river on the last of the ebb at about 0700 hrs. There was no wind at all but the tumble of water on the bar threw us about so much that we both had to hang onto the boat for all we were worth. In the faintest of airs from the north we drifted out towards the Cork light vessel where a breeze grew out of the southeast. After a couple of boards to take us round Walton pier it was all plain sailing, I dropped Ted off at Holland where he lived. As he waded ashore he declared that it was the best bit of sport that he had ever experienced although he admitted next term that he spent the rest of the Easter holiday in bed. Now it was just a question of squaring away for the River Blackwater as the coast swung westerly. The tide turned against me off the Bench Head but with a fine breeze, I made steady progress up the river to run onto the mud at Heybridge at 1900 hrs. After snuggling down and a good meal, I put on my water boots and had a walk round the boat as she lay on the mud, looking large and cosy in the frosty starlight. My feet left a luminous trail in the black mud, ashore a few lights twinkled and a dog barked somewhere out in the night. Zephyr was home again. When the tide came in on Good Friday the traditional Easter gales set in from the southwest and I spent the holiday helping the crew of Corrie to fit out in the Basin of the Chelmer and Blackwater Canal which enters the sea at Heybridge.
After all the farewells on Easter Monday, my friends disappeared to their homes and work on the morrow. I strolled slowly along the seawall from the Basin to the Ballast Hole where Zephyr lay on the mud under a blaze of stars. The roar of the primus stove drowned the howls of the westerly winds that had been blowing over the holiday and I was alone with my little ship once more. Tuesday dawned cold and bleak. I left on the morning tide for Harwich, reefing off Osea and later dropped the mainsail completely. Off Bradwell I wondered if it was wise to carry on but at least it was a run and Zephyr runs very well indeed. Off the Naze I dropped the jib and ran up the mainsail for the reach across Dovercourt Bay. Now the spray began to come over the bow and it was icy cold as I raced through Harwich harbour and into the welcome shelter of the wooded slopes of the River Orwell. Off Colimer Point I put up the jib and at Buttermans Bay the sun came out to welcome me, the prelude to a fine evening. The wind died for the first time for several days.
Wednesday was all that a spring morning should be when I left at 0700hrs. In the lee of Harwich I took down a reef but it proved over cautious and I shook it out again off Bawdsey. There was plenty of ebb left so I pressed on for Southwold. The wind fell away as I rounded Orefordness at 1115 hrs and to my amazement along came the barge Alaric of London that I had met in the same spot a week earlier bound north. I noted that she carried no topsail. There were squally patches about in the sky and I had to reef before reaching Aldeburgh. What a lovely little fairy tale town it looks from seaward! The storm passed over and the sun dried things out again. Progress was slow but I managed to get into Southwold just after1545 hrs. This was my first visit and there didn’t seem to be much flood tide left between the piers but then I noticed that the tide was pouring in through a gap halfway along the southern wall which produced some very confusing currents so that I had to hand off the hard concrete of the northern wall. Southwold is an interesting place and I noted it for further exploration.
Thursday brought flukey winds with storms and I was told later that they had snow at Beccles. Zephyr made a steady trip into Lowestoft and onto Oulton Broad where I met a torrential thunderstorm. In the local shop I found a fine supply of condensed milk in which I invested most of my remaining cash (the weekly grant for students at this time was thirty eight shillings a week). Then I sailed slowly on towards Beccles to moor for the night near Boaters Hill. Next morning the tent was frozen stiff and I made a late start into Beccles from where I dropped back as far as Oulton Dyke for the night, there being little wind and plenty of rain. A very dull day was enlivened by the sight of a survey party below Beccles who were walking along the bank sounding every few yards. As I passed them they found a cruiser under the water, apparently not the first.
With time running out I set off back down the River Waveney on Saturday and was about to go through the New Cut when I noticed that it cost two shillings to have the bridge raised so I soon whipped my mast down for there was only three shillings and eight pence left in the ship’s kitty. This, like most `New Cuts` is nearly two hundred years old and enables craft with fixed masts to pass from the River Waveney to the River Yare and reach Norwich without passing through Yarmouth. Passage for such craft down the River Waveney to the junction of the rivers is blocked by the fixed bridge at St Olaves. Once into the River Yare, I sailed up as far as Hartley Cross, ancient boundary between the ports authorities of Yarmouth and Norwich, where I was tempted into the four winding miles of the river Chet to which wherries once traded. At that time it had not been dredged for navigation by hire boats. It was a dead run in and Zephyr found enough water unlike true Broads boats most of which draw two and a half to three feet. Once there I was faced with the problem of getting out again. I did not fancy the row and it was too narrow to beat so I started to tow from the bank by tying the tiller towards the shore to set her out into the stream and walking along the bank with as long a line as possible. Once she is moving, the rudder keeps her away from the towing bank while the line to the Sampson post prevents her going into the far bank. So far so good, but there were many bushes in the way to prevent a steady tow. On reaching an obstruction, I stood still and coiled up the line as the boat came up to me, pulling her near enough so that I could jump on board without stopping her. I dropped the line onto the foredeck while the rudder carried her away from the obstruction until I rushed aft and grabbed the tiller to steer her back into the shore beyond the bushes or trees. Then I jumped ashore again, pushed the boat out and ran forward to take up the tow once more. (Many years later I did the thirty miles of London` canals from Brentford to Bow in this manner in two days). Once that I had worked out the right amount of helm to lash on the tiller it all went smoothly. Of course if there is someone to steer while you tow from the bank, it makes it much easier to tow from the mast, needing less rudder and thus less power to pull her along. Some people even advocate towing from the shrouds but mine are not made for this purpose and I am far too fussy about my chainplates on which so much depends to consider this sort of thing.
Sunday was warm and sunny. Zephyr beat slowly up the wide river Yare past the sugar beet factory at Cantley, which of course was sited there to enable waterside farms to deliver their crop by sailing wherry. As the flood died and a heron dealt with a large eel completely oblivious to my presence, I turned back to take the ebb across Breydon Water to the North Broads. The wind died beyond Stokesby so I dropped the sails and erected the tent, keeping the boat in mid-stream with one oar to drift with the flood tide, while a roast dinner cooked in the patent roaster on the wick stove. The essential item was an asbestos mat between the stove and the roaster. It could also be used to make toast but alas they are no longer obtainable. When the meal was ready, I moored up for the night. Small boat life was becoming organised. Now the hire boats were getting about on the Broads Rivers and my solitude was vanishing as a bright green flush of new growth began to climb up through the reed beds.
