Marconi Sailing Club
Membership open to all
2009 LONDON CRUISE
CREWED FLEET 21st JULY to 2nd August 2009 - By Sue Arnold
The London Trip
(or We Didn’t Mean to go to Chatham)
It all started in the bar on Friday evening with the ten past ten forecast predicting fives possibly sixes. “That’s it,” I declared, “we won’t be going.” Truth to tell we weren’t keen to start with. However the smooth talking Roy (who clearly missed his true vocation as a salesman) was adamant that the seven ten forecast in the morning would be entirely different, quite how he had this seemingly psychic knowledge was not clear. Thus it was agreed that seven thirty would be kick off time. So there we were the next morning happily sailing round the Thames estuary in what was after all good sailing weather.
However for Nimrod, the morning brought something of a shock as they awoke to find that their naughty dinghy, despite having been securely attached to their transom the night before, had somehow mysteriously undone itself and gone walkabout. Thus bereft they set off but were in for a delightful surprise as they discovered that, obviously full of remorse, their dinghy had then decided that a life alone on the ocean waves was not for it and so accordingly had attached itself to a Mersea racing mark in order to await reunion with it’s owners. So thus, encumbered by a dinghy half as big as themselves, Nimrod eventually sailed into Queenborough and rafted alongside Southern Hey as there were no empty bouys left.
This is where Roger showed himself to be as eerily prophetic as Roy. He declared that he was now safe from allcomers with his new big fender. Four o’clock in the morning my phone rang. “Sue there is a boat adrift between you and us and Roger reckons that if you reached out you could touch it,” announced an apologetic Jackie. Donning our white and much mocked dressing gowns we raced on deck to find a large and very heavy Belgium boat drifting gently off our port bow. Apparently it had bumped alongside Nimrod, the fender, thereby waking them all. So don’t ever mess with Rog folks. He has powers! “Pagan you are adrift” I shouted wherupon a sleepy and very bleary, bare chested man emerged, proved himself profficient in olde English declaring “Sh**” and having started his engine rushed forward to retrieve his useless anchor. He was last seen, in the dark and still, somewhat worryingly, barechested heading out into the estuary. Heaven only knows what became of him. You haven’t seen him have you?
Well what fun the trip up the river was. The forecast was six, on the nose and that is exactly what we got. Most of us managed some sort of sail the first part past Southend although Peter Cullin in Shell Seeker seemed set on sailing the whole way. I did think that tacking between the barrier piers was taking it a bit too far though.
Then there was the delight of locking in. We were being directed by a man on the wall who kept saying “come in, no back up, now forward, no back again,” whilst the tide was running and the wind was howling. Does he not understand that boats are not like cars? Eventually we moored alongside a Bavaria and Shadowfax came alongside us. I have to say I have never witnessed gratitude like Cheryl’s when I took her line. She looked at me and said, “ooh I feel I am being craddled.” When the lock opened the boat at the front decided to stay put as their berth was not empty. This was not entirely helpful and caused Roy to pirouette beautifully around the lock. Then when we started forward I was a little surprised to notice that our dinghy, on davits, decided not to come with us, until it was discovered that the towing eye had caught round a cleat on the Bavaria’s deck. This caused some delightful pirouetting of our own and resulted in us having to power our way out of the lock at one point heading straight towards the boat who had elected to stay put. It was quite interesting to observe the expression of sheer panic on their faces.
We packed much into our couple of days, the men did some male bonding by visiting the Belfast whilst we women were dispatched to bargain hunt for theatre tickets. We did well managing to book a whole row of thirteen seats for We Will Rock You, which was unanimously voted as fantastic. It was however a little embarrassing when Margaret Yeoman leapt onto her seat and shouted “Freddie we miss you” while Malcolm, next to her, crawled under his. We visited the Maritime museum and the observatory and if you are in the least interested in any aspect of it then please consult Peter Cullin who refused to leave until he had inwardly digested and of course discussed every exhibit. We travelled at bargain basement prices on a group ticket as there were fifteen of us although there was one person, who shall remain nameless, who, when told that the train was about to go under the river rushed up anxiously to shut the windows.
Coming out on Wednesday we were quite adamant that there was no way on earth that we would be going to Chatham so we powered off down the river, in the inevitable rain, until we got the ten ten forecast during which, not content with mere sixes, an actual eight was mentioned. So it was that we found ourselves motoring up the Medway in company with Serapin and Shell Seeker who was obviously tacking wildly through moored boats and around the odd tanker all the while immensely proud of his clean bottom, which he insisted on displaying. It was a little interesting to observe the terrified face of Robin, his long suffering crew, When we finally moored up in Chatham Robin appeared by our cockpit declaring that Peter was now sleeping it off but that his legs were decidedly wobbly so he came aboard for a beer.
In Chatham again the men went off to the dockyard while the ladies did the outlet centre and then we had an interesting barbeque in a howling gale, carefully protecting our salads lest they disappear to the other side of the river and wearing our warmest clothes. We do know how to have fun us marconi folks.
However Friday proved totally different dawning sunny and still and giving most of us a motor sail as far as the Swin where the wind did fill in for the last part of the voyage. Obviously Peter Cullin sailed (as did Nimrod which does seem to be a remarkable sailing boat ... or maybe just has a remarkable crew?) It was feared at one time that Peter would not appear until Saturday as he was last seen by us drifting in a very leisurely manner, however he managed to arrive in time to join us for a booking for eighteen in Winkies which signalled, for us at least, the end of the trip.
Did we enjoy it? Well yes we enjoyed the company and the actual time in London, however nothing would induce us to sail up the Thames again. It has also confirmed for us Kentish folk ,that our decision to cross the water each week and sail on the Blackwater is entirely logical. Special thanks should go to Roger and Jackie for organising it all so well and for twisting so many arms.
Page last updated: 31/08/2009 17:56:51