Di Beach - The Ocean Voyager and Me: Blue water sailing story - building a boat on Lamu then sailing with timorous wife, two babies, untried crew, no engine, no money

Alderney

FANCY A DRINK?' LYN AND I turned from the sinkto stare at the grinning sun-browned face poking through the tiny dusty windowthat looked from the Alderney street into the hotel kitchen where we werewashing dishes.

My girlfriend and I had gone to Alderneyin the Channel Islands for the summer to work in a hotel. Working in the summerholidays was one of the few freedoms permitted nicely brought up English girlsbut only if it did not interfere with regulation bouts of ballet, piano, andelocution lessons. It was considered beneficial, providing as it did acautionary tale to prevent us falling into the dreaded pit of Manual Labourwherein we would flounder, unable to climb back up to the sunny fields ofCareer Opportunity and Material Success.

Lyn and I had been getting summer jobstogether since we were sixteen but this was the most adventurous year yet forwe were off to foreign parts, alone and unchaperoned, with no one to spoil ourfun. Golden sands, endless sunny days, and no parental interference. Ateighteen, we sought freedom of all sorts. Freedom from parents, from college,from convention, from penury. Working away from home allowed us to do what wewanted, when we wanted, and, most importantly, with whom we wanted.

This young man with his head through thewindow clearly entered into the last category our parents would certainly nothave approved of this charming man-boy dressed in faded jeans and a batteredcaptains cap.

The hotel employing us was close to boththe beach and the tiny island's only town, St. Anne. It was owned and operatedby an extraordinary woman, a person far outside our limited provincialexperience. The Honourable Mrs Jackson had a bevy of fast and famous Londonfriends who descended on the quiet island every weekend to revel in theirhedonism. She had a smoking habit that fascinated us. In the Protestantenvironment that had moulded us, addictions were not recognised, let alonetolerated.

This wicked sensualist prepared food thatwas a revelation, nurturing the senses, not just filling the belly. It was anexciting moment when I realised food could be fun. Accustomed as I was to mymother's disgustingly stodgy rice and watery spinach with a still-runny egg ontop, I was an eager apprentice. After a particularly delicious Kenyan curry, Iasked her for the secret of her success.

'It's the cigarette ash, dahling. Addsthat certain je ne sais quoi,' she said with a dramatic flourish of her long,green cigarette holder. I was anxious for more information but she was notabout to impart her culinary wisdom to a scrap of a temporary dogsbody.Initiation into the world of food would have to wait.

We did what we were told, from makingbeds to waiting on tables to helping in the kitchen. Washing dishes was ourleast favourite assignmentendless, futile and boring. The piles of dishesnever seemed to decrease. Greasy and disgusting, leftovers squashed in between,cabbage hanging, gravy dripping, they piled up faster than we could wash them.

So yes, we did fancy a drink. My talebegins that first moment when I saw the ocean voyager, the day he strolledunbidden into my life with no intention beyond chatting up a pretty, younggirl. Had I known how radically and irreversibly this chance encounter wouldalter me and the course of my life, I wonder whether I would have accepted hiscasual invitation. And would he have issued it?

They were a group of four architecturalstudents also seeking adventure. It was easier for them of course as theirfreedom was unlikely to render them pregnant. They had taken off for the summerto cruise the Channel waters and explore the French rivers in a small undeckedsailing boat which they had left drawn up on Alderney beach while they exploredthe islands attractions. Undoubtedly one of those attractions, we enjoyed anevening of traveller's tales in the pub.

And there it might have ended. But Fateconspired with the Honourable Hotel-keeper and I hold them jointly responsiblefor the joys and pains of my adult life. Without their intervention I wouldhave taken the path to which I was born. I would have endured a pampered andsecure life of boredom, a few years at university followed by a worthy careerfor a respectable period of time before marriage to a decent but tedious man ina tweed jacket with whom I would have had two children and two cars, ultimatelyno less pain but undoubtedly less joy than has been my lot.

In her dealings with her hired minionsour employer did not live up to the implications of her aristocratic title. Shepaid us with various types of currency: cash, luncheon vouchers, and bouncingcheques. Having decided to bail out, we packed our suitcases and headed off tothe beach to figure out what to do. The weekly plane to the mainland haddeparted that morning leaving us temporarily stranded. But the young Englishboys from the evening before might still be on the beach so we headed therefirst.

And there, lying on the sands at the highwater mark, we encountered Peggy. Eager to share our dilemma withcompatriots, we dropped our suitcases in the dunes and ran down the beach. Theywere busy and preoccupied.

'Hello! Remember us? From the hotel? Fromthe pub last night?'

'Hi! What's up?' Rod glanced at usbriefly, rearranging his faded blue captain's cap. Last night's twinkling facehad given way to absorbed concentration.

'You look busy.'

'Yeah, we're leaving on the tide.'

'Leaving? Where're you going?'

'Back to Southend.'

'You're sailing to England? Oh!' Iglanced at Lyn. 'We're in a bit of a fix. Well, nothing desperate really, butwe've left the hotel 'cos they weren't paying us and there isn't a plane for aweek. And we were going to live on the beach but...' Lyn was looking at mein horror.

'Could we hitch a lift?' Who said that?It would be crazy to go to sea in a small open boat, not much more than arowing boat, to cross the Channel, the busiest waterway in the world, tankersand container ships steaming along inexorably by day and night. Did I know? DidI care? The doors of the world were inching open and I was eager to get my footin and kick them down.

He turned his full attention to us. 'Thisis a democratic vessel. We'll have to put it to the vote. We hadn't reckoned onhaving a coupla' birds along.'

The four of them, wearing the blue andwhite striped fisherman sweaters they had picked up the week before inBrittany, drew together. They stood on the sands in a tight group and discussedthis momentous decision, glancing at us from time to time.

The tall thin one was shaking his headand didn't look pleased. The short dark Mediterranean one smiled, obviously infavour of adding a female element to the crew. The other two seemed ambivalent.We stood a little way off awaiting their verdict. Destiny held her breath forjust one moment.