A May Day mayday – and three men not in a boat
A balmy bank holiday weekend for sailing.
Despite the fact that my cousin Peter Snow has had a boat ever since I can remember, I don’t set sail with him enough.
This weekend reminded me of both the joys and perils of sailing. A thousand sails swept along the Solent in brisk winds. Within hours of being aboard I heard my first ever “May Day mayday” on channel 73 on the VHF radio.
An engine fire was clearly threatening to destroy a boat on the other side of the Isle of Wight, and a craft that had gone to the rescue and was urging the coastguard to move fast. Two lifeboats were converging on the catastrophe. I heard no more.
We overnighted off Shanklin, on the south side of the Isle of Wight. Never been there before, a charming little Victorian resort.
Upon landing we met an exuberant Asian family from Hayes. Their achieving daughter had just passed the 11+ into Slough grammar, her brother was already there.
We walked past the frustratingly closed Shanklin Chine – very green, with little eco systems that fill the canyons that spread inland from the cliffs. Who on earth thinks it a great idea to close them at 5pm? Even the ugly lift that carts you to the top of the cliff shuts at 6pm.
We met more Asian couples on the sea front. Ethiopians, too. I marvelled that what I had presumed to be the last redoubt of old England seemed to have become such a multicultural destination.
After a drink at a delightful depot at the bottom of the cliffs, we repaired to the boat. The breeze was rock-a-bye, and I slept one of the soundest eight-hour nights I can remember.
The next day, beetling along at seven knots in a good strong wind, your sense of disconnect from the world is complete. Somehow aboard a boat you lose all sense of time. Even the fine points of hygiene retreat.
We had to wait the tide at Cowes and moored for a walk. Coming down the gangway to the pontoon where our boat was anchored, we spotted three men in matching salmon pink pyjamas and slippers. Each had a white blanket about his shoulders. They were escorted by a policeman.
As prison is a major industry on the island, I assumed they were a prisoner transfer from Parkhurst to the mainland. I suggested as much to two cops waiting nonchalantly on the pontoon. They laughed at my suggestion. “No,” they said, “these guys sank in the winds yesterday – lost the boat.”
They had evidently nearly lost their lives with it. Poor chaps, they had been working at meticulously restoring the Tallulah, a 20-foot sailing boat with a small cabin, for the past 18 months.
On Saturday the skipper, Craig Ashall, a motor cycle workshop superviser from Porchester, and two mates, Mike Cameron, and Leroy Coxy, had put to sea in the now “all but new” craft.
Adorned with new paint, heating, full radio sets and state of the art equipment, they had left Porchester at dawn on Sunday. Ashall had insured the vessel online on Saturday.
Suddenly, just round the corner from Cowes, a gust of wind had caught the boat and capsized it, throwing them into the sea. Somehow they managed a mayday call before the boat sank.
A couple they only knew as Sue and Ben were there in minutes, but they were in the water 15 minutes before final rescue – and that water was COLD. When I caught up with them they had boarded a police launch and were enjoying a fag at the back (see photo above). They were in remarkable spirits after a night being “warmed up” in hospital – just happy to be alive.
The police were amazing. An extraordinary contrast to the G20 stories of violence and the rest. They were taking the guys all the way back to Porchester.
Divested of all their car keys, wallets, house keys and much else that now lay somewhere at the bottom of the Solent, the police had already made arrangements for getting them into their cars and homes and were going to see each of them safely back to their normal lives.
Cups of police tea were brewed even whilst I spoke to them. Lovely chaps. £15,000 of boat, 18 months of toil, and all that was left was a beautifully painted blue and white rudder (see photo below). And yet they were looking on the bright side. Will even the online insurance work?
