links to this story are :
New boat project
www.waltonfrintonlifeboat.co.uk/
www.rnlimaldon.org.uk/
www.rnli.org.uk/
An old boats lament and true story
This is the story of an old boat. The story of an old boat that had a dream. An old boat staring at its 100th birthday. An old boat sat on a concrete slab, left blistering in the hot southern sun. Left dissolving in the acid rain. An old boat left to crack apart in the ice of winter. An old boat.

She was on the too difficult, or too late pile of the dreams of men. The dreams of men, the old boat knew about them, or would it be better to say the nightmares of men. Yes, the old boat knew of men’s nightmares. The howls of terror. The prayers to a hundred gods. Yes, yes, the old boat knew of these things and more.

The old boat had been built in 1909. Been built with no expense spared. She was created at the height of the British Empire and its might flowed into her. She was built in the very heart of that empire, the Thames Iron Works, or West Ham as we call it today. She was the pinnacle of British engineering. She was tough and strong. She was built to sail the roughest waters in the most treturous weather. She had been built with heart and soul, by the hands of men. Every timber shaped, every plank steamed. She was the fastest, lightest and strongest boat of her day. She was a mighty beast.

The old boat had needed all these talents as men had built her for the most dangerous job at sea. She had been built to sail out into the storms when all other boats were heading for shore. She had been built to hoist her sail when all others were stowing theirs away. She had been built to be a lifeboat. Rowed by men. Sailed by men. Out into the storms to save battered sailors from watery graves. She was built to save the lives of the good and the bad, the rich and the poor. Men, women, children. The old boat never judged, she just rescued them all.

For 30 years the old boat sailed the storms, plucking lives from the cruel sea. For thirty years she was a hero. A warrior who fought the tempest. Like Prospero she spirited the saved from the clutches of the raging torrents. Back to land, back to their homes. Back to the loving embrace of their families. For thirty years she had been a shining star, a beacon of hope sailing towards the luckless mariner. A hero worthy of ancient tales. But in 2009 here she sat. No song for this old warrior. An old boat without a song to tell of her mighty deeds.

And so, the sun came up and the sun set. The seasons came and went and the old boat knew the end was near. But the old boat had a dream. She dreamed of her youth and the open sea. She dreamed of hoisting her sail and making way. One last voyage across the waves.

But she had long since lost her mast and sails. Broken and perished in a fast moving uncaring world. Her oars and thwarts, all gone years passed. The old boat lamented. All the lives she had saved, now in her hour of need. Who would save her? The old boat had a dream. Just one last sail, one last chance to stretch her self out across the waves. No longer the lion she had been. Just a careful swim through calm waters and a chance to remember the might she had once been. Not much to ask, but how, and who? Her dream merged with the dreams of her owner Greck, and he was an educated man. Well read, sharp in mind, and with a kindness of heart rarely found in men today. He too began to dream of the old boat under sail and his dreams mixed with ancient tails. The ancient song of the black ships stuck on the Trojan shore drifted through their dreams. They saw them unable to move until the great city fell. The black ships burned on the sands of Troy. The black ships so bleached by the sun that few returned. Except for one. The ship that carried mighty Achilles and his Myrmidons. The ship Achilles sent home. The ship his Myrmidons pushed back into the sea. The ship saved by Myrmidons.

And so the old boat dreamed of salvation. She dreamed of myrmidons coming to set her free. She dreamed, and across the ether, a Myrmidon heard her call. It is said myrmidons reincarnate across the centuries, and missions always fall across there paths. And this mission fell to me.

So into the south I trekked and found the old boat beached up upon the hard. Bleaching in the hot sun. Greck entrusted the mission to me. Now it was the dream of three. It was clear there was no time to waste as before long it would be too late. So I paid for the old boat to be put back into the sea. Her planks soaked up the salt water. The cool sea breeze taking the heat from her blistered decks. And the question was, would she float or would she sink?

Crowds came and went over the next few days to see if the old boat was still afloat. Four days passed and the old boat still floated. All were agreed the hull was sound. I began building a new mast for the old boat. I bought sails, blocks and ropes. Blacksmiths in Essex and Orkney supplied new metal, and from the edge of the grave the old boat began to live again. Her new mast was raised with the strength of six men. Her rigging was strung. Shackles fixed, blocks spliced into ropes and a collection of old sailors knots not seen on a modern boat for many a year. Then out to a mooring she was taken. Once more a pretty boat back in the sea.

There she lay for two months or more. Rising up and down on the tide twice a day, and still the hull was sound. The old boat could feel her dream was about to come true. Then the day came to take the old boat for her shake down sail. And there were problems, and that was always expected. So for two days ballast was added and sails reset. The boom was found to be unnecessary and 101 other small points were adjusted.
As the old saying says, cometh the hour, cometh the man. And it was so. A fellow myrmidon who was in search of a mission worthy of his metal, met me and asked to join the mission. Jason, an appropriate name if ever there was one, signed on as crew. And as is often the way when old friends from passed lives meet, we two got on like a house on fire and moved as an effortless team from the moment we met.

So now we come to the last day of the old boats dream. The day when the dream met realty. The sails were raised and the anchor hauled. The old boat sailed gracefully across the water. The Shetland loose footed gaff mainsail filled in the force 3 wind. The red jib balanced the effort and the rudder was weightless. The old boat glided across the waters of the River Roch. She sailed like a dream and both men realized they were part of something very special. How many get the chance to sail a 100 year old boat. A hull built to sail before the corruption of shape that engines demand. She was a thoroughbred of the sea, and I have never sailed such a wonderful design before.

The old boat picked up speed and the shore flew passed. Out of the Roch we sailed and into the River Crouch. With sails set and a crew of two we passed fiberglass yachts with crews of six with sails still in their holds and engines replacing nautical skill. And on we sailed. On towards the open sea. The old boats dream would soon come true.

And so at last we passed into the North Sea, the old boats dream became reality. It is a special place in time and space, that moment when dreams are realized. It’s wonderful for those first few moments when you know you are living in a dream that has come true. But it is also the end of the dream and the beginning of reality. And so we sailed out of the dream and into the real world of 2009.

We sailed north east and were trapped between two sand banks at the lowest ebb of the tide. We decided to drop anchor and wait for the tide to flood before sailing across the sand banks. So we lowered the sails and dropped anchor. The old boats dream ended.
It was while sitting at anchor that we started taking in water. There we sat. We watched the clock and watched the water coming in. The plan was to wait for two hours before crossing the sand banks. But it was not long before we realized two hours was going to be too long. Waiting was no longer an option. The wind was now uncertain. Gusts of force 6 then dead calm, caught between sandbanks on port and starboard. Our place on the chart dotted with a thousand wrecks. And still the water came in. We decided to head deeper out to sea and then take a long tack back to shore and head for Clacton. It was not with out risk, but that is the path of a myrmidon. With our new plan in mind we decided to radio the coast guard and make our plan and condition known to them. My good friend Andrew Appleby (neolithic pottery expert) had the for sight to buy me a new VHS radio only a week before I left home. He said "Just in case". A wize man he was seen to be. We radioed our call and waited for a reply. None came. We radioed again, but again silence met our call.

This changed things. It is one thing to take a calculated risk when people on shore know your movements. It is another to head into the deep, unknown and unlooked for. And still the water came in. So a decision had to be made. We talked for a time. It seemed our only radio option was a mayday call in the hope it would be picked up by some vessel in the area. But this would mean the end of our voyage as, once sent, we would be obliged to just sit and wait. You have to maintain your position and wait to be found. The other option was sailing a sinking ship into deep water and a long dark night at sea. In the end it was the wind that made the decision for us. The wind died away to a near flat calm. So with no chance of sailing our way out of trouble the mayday call was made. “Mayday Mayday Maday, this is the old lifeboat. We are taking on water.”
Then out of the squelch came a reply, Yacht Piranha Yacht Piranha Yacht Piranha, we hear your call. The good Yacht Piranha became our link to the coast guard and the RNLI. Two lifeboats were dispatched to our rescue. The first to arrive was the fast inflatable Malden lifeboat who ensured our safety if not the survival of the old boat. We were heartened that if the worst came to the worst we would not be swimming for long. It was around this time that the water started coming in faster and faster. We took turns with the bucket and it’s quite hard work. We also prized parts of the deck up and were throwing the old boat’s ballast over board. For about two hours we bailed and jettisoned ballast then finally the Frinton & Walton lifeboat reached us. Two crew came aboard with a petrol pump and we were relived. The crew took us aboard the new lifeboat and gave us coffee and biscuits which were most welcome. The Walton life boat put the old lifeboat under toe and we headed to Brightlingsea. The petrol pump ran flat out all the way back.
The new boats of the RNLI saved the day, and the brave crews of these boats are the heroes of our modern world. They are the heroes of this story. And ultimately it was the crew of the Walton life boat that saved the old lifeboat from the reality that lay at the end of its dream. It was too old for the sea.

Both Jason and I had come to this conclusion some days before. Our aim when we set off was to make for the Norfolk Boards as the old boat could have had many happy years sailing these calmer waters. Could we have made it? We both think we could, and indeed we wanted to make repairs and would have set sail again. But this option was denied us by the coast guard authorities. I do not hold this against them. They have a job to do and when it comes to risking other people’s lives they have to lean towards caution. In the end I was put into a position whereby I had to give the old lifeboat away to a small boat yard in Brightlingsea. A ten minute toe, then a strange wave good bye. The old boat and I parted company. No money changed hands just as when the boat had been given to me. My mission to make the old boat sail again had been completed. I had played my part in the dream of Greck, Jason and the old boat.
The Norfolk Boards was my dream and not the dream of the old boat. The old lifeboats dream had come true and the fates decided that was to be the conclusion. As this tale comes to an end I am sure you see the real hero’s of this story are the RNLI. The unpaid men and women who risk all to save the lives of strangers. It is they who are the real myrmidons of our day. The hero’s on our shores. So please support the RNLI as they need our support to insure they continue their courageous deads.
The crew of the Walton & Frinton lifeboat were : G Edwards, T Halls, K Bigwood, K Bruce & C Smith. The Burnham-on-Crouch Atlantic 75 RNLI lifeboat crew unknown at this time.

end 26-7-2009