Fight For Your Dream (7 page)

Mayday

On opening my eyes the following morning, my immediate thought was ‘Where am I?' Rubbing my eyes, I recalled it was the morning after the night before. Crazy!

Nigel was beginning to stir at the side of me, and he turned to face me, whispering, ‘Morning.' I kissed the end of his nose, and pulled back the covers to go to the bathroom. ‘Oh my god, bun, look at the state of the sheets, they're black,' I cried.

With complete consternation, Nigel looked back at me and said, ‘Well, how could I get totally clean in what was just a bucket of water?' I must admit, he did have a point. To evade further interrogation from Mary, we opted to skip breakfast and make a hasty retreat back to Ocean Breeze. It was a beautiful morning, and the garden that we had entered the previous evening took on a completely different feel in the warm sunshine. An abundance of colourful flowers was tucked into every nook and cranny. Pink cherry blossoms hung above the small gate, giving off a wonderful aroma. Honey bees were buzzing around busily collecting pollen and yeah, life felt good. Following Mary's precise directions, we soon had the harbour within sight. We'd overheard a conversation in the pub the night before. Forecasters were suggesting that a break in the weather was imminent. To be honest, the wine had been flowing rather well that night, so we dismissed the idea without much more thought. That was until now. The wind seemed to be strengthening somewhat, and I couldn't help but recall the conversation I'd heard several hours earlier. However, I tried to put that to that back of my mind, and think positive thoughts. Not that easy when you tend to be a pessimist!

When we reached the harbour jetty, it was comforting to see our little dinghy once again afloat. In no time at all we were clambering up the transom steps to board Ocean Breeze. It felt good to see our familiar surroundings and possessions on board again: our floating home comforts, as we often used to say. We were determined to make the most of our first full day's adventure. We shopped, chatted to locals, and even took a dip in the sea, before settling down with a cool beer in the cockpit. What a civilised way to spend a day.

During the night, I was awakened by the sound of masts clinking; the wind was definitely increasing. It occurred to me that it would be good seamanship if tomorrow we picked up a metfax from the harbour office, to take a closer look at the forecast. Snuggling back down in the quilt, I took a deep breath, and went back to the land of nod.

It wasn't looking good, I groaned, as the metfax gradually printed out. Low pressure was building from the northeast, which meant we would have northerly winds, as the wind blows anti-clockwise around low pressure.

We would definitely have to postpone our departure for home. It would neither be safe nor pleasant sailing in those conditions.

Four days later, and still the outlook didn't look great. We'd been obtaining a metfax daily to reassess the weather forecast. After much debate, Nigel suggested that he thought that we might have a small window of opportunity to sail the following day; it would be tight, but possible. In instances such as these I would always bow to Nigel's superior knowledge; if he thought we could do it, I trusted his judgement completely.

We prepared as best we could for an early departure the following day from Brancaster to Hull. Nigel made all the relevant engine checks, oil, fuel, coolant and fuel reserves, and all was in working order. I'd prepared cheese sandwiches the night before as, with such an early start the following morning, I didn't want the added bother of making sandwiches. I would have enough jobs to do.

When we turned into bed that night I wondered what tomorrow would bring. Calm seas and light winds would be welcome, but I knew that was not going to happen. Sleeping was difficult. We were both restless and we tossed and turned whilst listening to the wind blowing in the rigging. When I eventually did find sleep, I dreamed of the sail home. Phew, I was tired already!

We were both awake before the alarm clock started to ring. No doubt Nigel was as apprehensive as I was. However, we both kept our thoughts to ourselves, and got on with the job in hand. After pulling on our foul weather gear, we opened up the hatch, and stepped up to the cockpit. ‘Flipping heck, Bun, the wind's blowing hard. It must be 25 knots'. Actually, when Nigel took the cover off the instruments, the wind speed was showing 32 knots! It didn't really fill me with confidence, seeing the look of shock on Nigel's face. He was usually so calm: but not today! Shielding his face with his hand, he turned towards me and said, ‘We've just got to get home, love. I need to get back to work. We've been here ages, and we just need to get home.' So, with that, I resigned myself to the fact that we were going no matter what, and I would just have to get on with it. Nigel instructed me to clip my life line onto a jackstay, before heading up forward to slip the mooring lines attached to the buoy. I did so without hesitation, as I didn't fancy a man overboard drill today!

As we headed out into open water, I can remember feeling a sense of panic. If it was this bad now, here, what would it be like three miles offshore? I shuddered at the thought of it. Nigel asked me to take the helm, whilst he went up front to set the sail. In all our years of sailing we'd never had to set the storm jib before, but he did this day. This was another first, and one which unnerved me even more.

Two hours into our journey, and we were committed. Even if we had decided to turn back to safety, because the tide was going out we wouldn't have had sufficient depth of water to do so. No, we had no option but to continue onwards to the mouth of the Humber. Both of us were feeling ill. Nigel had taken some anti-seasickness tablets, as sometimes he had the tendency to be sick. Fortunately for me, I didn't really suffer from sea sickness... that was until today. I had never experienced such foul weather before this trip: and not since, either. The seas were huge. Green water hurtled down our side decks with such incredible force. Our fixed windscreen did little to shield us from the relentless pounding of the waves, and both of us found ourselves gripping onto anything we could get hold of, to prevent being thrown around the cockpit. ‘Good God,' I thought, ‘it's more like white water rafting than sailing.' Poor Nigel: he was being horrendously sick but, to make matters worse, the anti-seasickness tablets he'd taken had a side effect of making one drowsy. I was horrified to find him falling asleep. ‘Please bun, Nigel,' I yelled, ‘please stay awake. Please don't leave me on my own. Please, bun, I need you to stay awake.'

His answer was simply, ‘I want to get off.' My reply was, simply, ‘So do I, but we can't. We've just got to hang on, and get through this together.'

For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I feared for my life!

I had to do something constructive: something worthwhile. I took the decision to radio through to the coastguard. Channel sixteen is the emergency channel that you listen to whilst out at sea, and the channel you make contact on. I had to know if the weather was due to improve or worsen. We'd been listening in on sixteen so we were already aware that other yachts and boats were in trouble. Maybe the coastguard could advise us. The news was not what I was hoping for. The extreme conditions had caught everybody out. This had not been forecast, and it was freak weather. After going down below, I shakily plotted our position on the chart, so I could give the coastguard a latitude and longitude of our position. My hand hovered above the radio set, whilst I rehearsed over and over again what I was about to say. As I gripped the handset, another call was coming through on channel sixteen. A man's voice said, ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is fishing vessel Lady Rose, Lady Rose, Lady Rose. I have eight persons on board and I am taking water on board rapidly. My position is two nautical miles southwest of the Humber river.' A man's voice gave a lat and long and then he was gone. Without a moment's hesitation, I grabbed the handset and spoke. My thoughts were that, if a fishing boat was taking water on board and in trouble, what flipping chance did we have?

It transpired that several other yachts in our vicinity were also struggling. I'll never forget that one of the other stricken yachts was called ‘Snowgoose'. The Coastguard's opinion was that all of us ‘yachties' should head towards each other, so that we could travel towards our destination with the confidence and safety of each other's company. In essence that seemed a good idea, until I plotted their positions. They were some distance downwind of us, and the thought of turning back to join them didn't fill me with much enthusiasm. We'd fought hard to get this far. Neither of us relished the idea of losing the distance we had travelled. After a brief discussion with Nigel, we made the decision to plough on regardless and go it alone. We'd come this far and we were not about to give up now. With gritted teeth I made my way back up the companion way steps to the cockpit, just in time to throw up over Nigel's wellies! What the hell, the sea would wash them off! On one occasion we tried to eat some of the sandwiches that I'd made the night before. Old seamen will tell you that you should never go to sea on an empty stomach, but it was just impossible to keep any food down. After chewing the cheese sandwich until it was mulch I spat it out and gave it up as a bad idea.

Between the peaks and troughs of the swell, we could occasionally see the tops of the other yachts' masts. When we were on the crest of a wave, and they were in a trough, their masts were just visible for a second; then once again we would be flung down into the abyss, not knowing what fate may have in store. Many times I thought about the layers and layers of fibreglass matting I had so painstakingly applied onto Ocean Breeze's hull. My motto had always been, ‘If in doubt, put another layer on,' and that's just what I did, every time, and boy was I relieved now! It's odd the sort of things you think about at times like these, but I can remember thinking that we'd never made a will, not that we had much money in those days, but I was saddened for our families that they would have the added stress and heartache of sorting out our small estate. I'd never really thought about death up until now, don't get me wrong. I wasn't terrified of dying, but neither was I inviting it. I can remember thinking that at least we would go together, but I hoped it would be quick!

The hours slipped by as we sat motionless in the cockpit, sitting opposite each other, with our feet on the cockpit seating. This was the safest position for bracing ourselves against the constant buffeting of the seas. Looking over the bow of the boat wasn't for the faint-hearted; it was terrifying. At least, opposite each other, we were facing the sides of the boat. Sitting out the storm was our only option. After what seemed like an eternity, Nigel thought he'd spotted Spurn lighthouse. To confirm this though, we needed the binoculars that were hung up by the chart table opposite the galley. Out of the two of us, I perceived that I would be the likelier candidate to go down below and fetch them. With Nigel's track record, I just couldn't face clearing up all the sick downstairs as well upstairs and so, reluctantly, it would make sense for me to go. Nigel was correct; waiting for a lull in the wind I peered through the ‘bins'. Thank God: Spurn lighthouse came into view. In fact, it was another hour and a half before we wearily entered the safety of Spurn Point. The lifeboat was still out on duty, no doubt rescuing some other poor souls.

Moving on

After eight happy years in our first marital home, that we had painstakingly built ourselves, we began to feel like it was time to spread our wings and move on to yet another building project. We had many fond and happy memories to take with us, but for some time now we had both felt the pull of the countryside. Both of us had fallen in love with the picturesque Mayfield Valley, which lay just five minutes up the road from where we then lived (Dobcroft Road). We wanted the freedom of the rolling countryside, yet still wanted to be within striking distance of the city below, and ultimately still be fairly close to where our parents lived. The search began in earnest, but just how long would it take us? Nine months to be exact. By Christmas 1995 the deal was signed and sealed. We'd done it: Bassett House, Bassett Lane, Mayfield Valley was to be our new address, and we were ecstatic! Just one little problem - well, quite a big problem as it turned out! The property required a very great deal of work and money spending on it to bring it back to its former glory. The work we could manage. It was the money that was lacking!

Bassett House dates back to the 16
th
century when, as a group of cottages, it was known as Far Bassett Houses. As the years went by the ‘Far' was dropped and Bassett Houses became the workers' cottages (four in total), that served the nearby Yarncliffe House Farm.

In 1967 the cottages and land had been purchased by Mr & Mrs Brooksbank, a well known family of Sheffield cutlers. The four cottages were partially demolished, and then extended to create Bassett House. The new Bassett House was designed and constructed as a modern 1960's open plan house. In the summer of 1969 the new occupants took up residence in the newly named ‘Bassett House'.

Wednesday 1
st
May 1996

So here we were again: familiar ground, another project, another chapter, only this time we had no comfortable parents home to go back to after a hard days work. We would have to live on a building site whilst we completed the refurbishment. We had left the comfort and cleanliness of our newly built home, and replaced it with a wreck of a home. We had expected it to be difficult, but even so I don't think we had anticipated just how difficult it would be, living in and refurbishing the property at the same time. The house was in a really bad state of repair. Nigel decided that, to do the job properly, we would have to take all the walls in the house back to bare plaster, and start off with newly plastered walls. At least that way we would have nice clean straight lines to build upon. The kitchen was the first room that we stripped out, demolished existing walls and rebuilt new ones. All the materials that had been used in the original rebuild in 1967 were proving to have been built very solidly, and so it was pretty hard going to progress the job at any sort of speed. The work was laborious and time consuming, but we were very fortunate that we had very good dads who worked alongside us, just like they had done when we built our first house ten years previously.

Although Nigel's dad was a headmaster and, as such was a professional teacher, he was also an excellent joiner. In his much younger days, dad had built all the furniture for their own home when mum and dad had become engaged to be married, and the furniture still performs the same tasks today as it is still in use. The four of us always worked well as a team so, as the project progressed, we allocated ourselves different tasks to work on, to see through to the end of completion. I've always been the type of person to take pride in a job, or in anything, for that matter, that is solely down to me. I don't really like relying on other people, because sometimes they can let you down. I guess that's why I was never very keen on team sports. I've always thought that if you are in total control of your own destiny, then you've only yourself to blame if it all goes wrong. Team sports are all about being a good team player and working together as a team, but I always found that I would get really frustrated if someone, say, dropped the baton in a relay race when we were in a strong position to win. Maybe that's where I get my competitive spirit from. My Dad is just the same though, so I suppose I get it from him. I can remember that as a child I was always a bad loser; I hated to lose at anything, regardless of it being sport, or even just a board game. I always wanted to win, and I suppose that's stayed with me throughout my life. If you're faced with a negative situation then you must always fight. Sometimes you are not given a choice when you find yourself in a bad place, but you do have one choice, and that choice is whether or not to fight, and in my opinion you have nothing to lose but everything to gain.

By Christmas 1996, the whole house was looking like a building site. Internally the dining room was adjacent to the kitchen, accessed through a glass door, and to the left of the door was a large serving hatch. The design of the interior and décor was all very typical of the 1960's style. It reminded me of something which you would imagine seeing on a set from the original TV adventure series of ‘The Avengers', starring Steed and Mrs Peel. However, in its day, it would have been the envy of many, with its ultra modern exterior and interior.

Mrs Brooksbank used to reminisce about the flamboyant parties they used to throw, and I can imagine what a terrific house Bassett would have been to entertain in. With it's open plan design it would certainly lend itself to partying. Unfortunately, I don't think those parties had taken place for quite a few years as, sadly, Mr Brooksbank had not been a well man for some time before his death. Mrs Brooksbank had spoken of him often, and had nursed him for quite some time before he died. Obviously, from the way she had spoken, she had loved him a great deal. In some ways I felt very sad that the house had been left to deteriorate. Its walls would have been silent for so many years since the voices of happy laughter and chatter had been heard. But now we had the chance to bring it back to life, to give it back the sound of happy voices, and to give it back its character and the respect it deserved. It was in our hands, we were the new custodians, and we relished the opportunity to take on that responsibility.