Christmas Reflections

Christmas Reflections

This year I spent Christmas alone on yacht 'Lady H', but dont feel sorry for me as I actually had the company of CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow. Christmas Day itself was spent modifying the dinette on 'Lady H' - and Christmas dinner was a delightful piza with fried eggs on top, chips and salad - and a slight sprinkling of sawdust!

This is the first Christmas on 'Lady H' that I have spent alone but it has given me a chance to do a fair few chores so I am NOT complaining. Christmas is La Maddalena (Sardinia) is an Italian Christmas which means that, although they celebrate, it does not have the commercialism of Christmas in the U.K. On Christmas Eve there were a number of bars that were virtually throbbing as work colleagues celebrated the holiday - without, it appears, the need for a photocopier! Or is that old hat and I am just shopwing my age? Christmas Day morning, the shops were open for last minute shopping then everything went quiet for the rest of the day. Boxing Day, being a Sunday, I woke to the sound of church bells which was rather nice - and as it was almost 11am I did not complain.

This is the fourth Christmas I have spent afloat and it got me thinking about my Christmas Pasts. Below is something I wrote for my daughter years ago.

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As a child I don't remember Christmas being so commercial. Perhaps because most homes did not have television, and those that did only had one commercial channel, people were not exposed to adverts of what we 'must have'. The commercialism has been insidious over the years to a point where one can hardly believe reports and statistics. 'The average family spends £1,400 on presents'. etc etc. Yet frequently shops report a lowering of takings early in December, yet the advertising goes on, and suddenly, days before Christmas, they report sales are up. Could the public simply be doing their Christmas shopping later when their December pay cheques have been cleared? Most people live on credit, and it makes sense to buy at the last minute to reduce interest charges. But I digress, for the purpose of this story is to tell you of some of your Dad's Christmas Past.

Nowadays it is almost the norom to 'publish; one's Christmas list and make sure family and friends aware of what you want. Note, I say, what you want, rather than what you would like. Gone are the days when the unexpectedness of a present was the norm.

When I was about ten I longed for a Mamod Steam Engine to power some of my Meccano creations. I really didn't think I would get one as I knew times were hard, but my parents knew that it was what I longed for.

About a week before Christmas I spied a cardboard box on a high cupboard shelf, and I tool a peek. In it was a sparkling polished brass, green and red Mamod Steam Engine. For days I recall being excited at the prospect, but come Christmas Day when I stripped the wrapping paper and opened the box I sensed disappointment. Not at the gift, I hasten to say, but at the lack of surprise. In this day and age, we have simply forgotten the joy and surprise of an unexpected Christmas gift.

For much of my working life I was in countries that did not celebrate the commercialism of Christmas. In Oman, for example, Christmas Day was technically yet another working day but we kept flying to a minimum and most people did have time to celebrate the day. To give my engineers even more time off, I would act as 'Duty Crew' to see in returning scheduled flights and cope with any unscheduled flights.

One Christmas Day, when all the aircraft were back and I had enjoyed Christmas Dinner with Brian and Pam Cox, my radio crackled into life. A pilot was asking for an aircraft to fly to Bombay to pick up an Indian dance Troupe who were performing at the Palace the following day.

Now I am not sure how many beers I had consumed with my dinner but it was enough for me to foolishly volunteer to accompany the pilot. The aircraft was a Sweringen Metro, a heap of an aircraft that held about 16 people, and sometimes had a toilet. I say 'sometimes' because the toilet was a pod that could be fitted or removed through the freight doors. This one did not have a toilet! The pilot was smart enough to realise this could be a problem, so armed with some large empty coffee jars we took to the skies for the 3 or 4 hour flight across the Indian Ocean.

Bombay is a strange place to fly into, and the authorities require you file a flight plan 24 hours in advance. We had not! When we eventually landed at Bombay, after first being told we could not land (we got round that one by telling them we were short of fuel) we were surrounded by armed troops who were immediately suspicious of someone emptying jars of 'coloured' water on their tarmac. No matter, a few phone calls and we were given the all clear.

          The pilot left to go to the hotel as it was already going dark leaving me to organise fuel and food for our return flight. It was then that my problems really started. The refuelling company would not accept our fuel cards (a sort of international credit card for aviation fuel) and the catering company were suspicious of our credentials despite the aircraft having Royal Oman Police emblazoned on the side.

           Airfields are big, and by the time I had walked to and from Gulf Air's hangar to 'borrow' a few hundred gallons of fuel and food for 16 passengers I had probably covered about six miles, and each mile was fraught with armed guards and security staff. Well, to cut a long sad story short, It was an hour before dawn before I got to the hotel - and take off was scheduled for dawn.

           The dance troupe consisted of 12 women and one precocious boy of about 10. Within minutes of taking off  the women were demanding toilet facilities and were quite indignant, in an Indian sub continent sort of way, when I suggested they use the now empty coffee jars. Women! How will there ever be equality of the sexes when they can't pee into a jar?

Christmas afloat was always special. I recall your Mum serving up Christmas dinner, complete with Christmas Pud and sprig of (plastic) holly, on 'Rahala' in the Creek just north of Jeddah. And to add to the festive occasion our boat was bedecked (dressed overall) with signal flags announcing 'Merry Xmas to All'. Amazingly, a passing Arab in a small fishing boat wished us Merry Christmas. When I asked him if he could read the flags he replied. "Of course." and, tapping his chest proudly, he added. "Me ex-Merchant Navy!"

Christmas in a marina in the sun is always special. It is a coming together of people from different countries, even of different faiths, from different backgrounds, but all with the common connection of the sea. Makes for good drinking buddies!
          Whilst in the Med I heard a tale of one woman quietly 'popping' corn in the middle of the night to fill her children's stockings in the Indian Ocean as they had been delayed by light winds and would not make the Maldives until the New Year. She told us that the children, and her husband, were delighted by the surprise and that simple gesture resulted in their best ever Christmas afloat..

          Another story was of a French couple who were pursued by a rusty coastal freighter, only to be caught and presented with fresh bread and wine simply because it was Christmas day.

Your first three Christmases, daughter, dear, were spent afloat on 'Rahala' in Cyprus. A small boat requires small decorations and even smaller presents. We had made a Christmas tree which stood no more than 9 inches tall, and we even bedecked it with miniature decorations made from cooking foil.
          For your second birthday you got some Lego. You were far too young for it, but your Dad loved to make things with it, and you laughed at his mock tears when you pulled his latest creation apart.

Perhaps what makes Christmas really special is not what you do, what you give, or what you receive. It is what you remember about it in years to come that makes it special.

May all your Christmases be special - and NEVER peek at your presents before hand! Oh, and NEVER volunteer to go to Bombay on Christmas day!

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Seasonal Greeting to one and all!

Tim Carrington - www.lets-go-sailing.co.uk

RAMBLINGS OF A RETIRED REPROBATE

What can I say about Bonifacio which hasn’t been said before in some tourist brochure or another? Probably nothing, so let me tell you about Bonifacio today, 11/11/11.

On board I have Miriam.  Have I told you about Mirian? 22 years old, an American who first sailed with me early last year as a member of an American/Canandian group of uni students who were quickly christened ‘The Happy Honkers’.  Miriam is a ‘dreaded’ rebel, her recent adventures include salmon fishing in Alaska, trips to South Korea and Mongolia, and a nightmare trip on the Trans-Siberian Railway. But will she ever grow up? I doubt it. She is a fellow Leo, and Leos don’t grow old gracefully by conforming. (Some even refuse to grow old!) For a month we sailed together. Mostly in harmony but sometimes verbally fighting to a point neither of us really wanted. What is it about many of us  (Leos) who say things to hurt, when all we want is the love that we long to give? It got me thinking about something I wrote some years ago when sailing the west coast of Corsica alone on ‘Nivram’

(Somewhere off the coast of Corsica, May 2005, and written for my daughter).
Nivram is nodding gently in a wind barely strong enough to keep 'Lizzie' my Monitor self steering working, but, no matter, I am heading in the right direction. To port and ahead the rugged coastline of Corsica with its towering mountains. I am surprised that even this far south and this late in Spring there is still snow lying in some valleys on the mountainside. It is not exactly warm and I have my sailing jacket on and jeans. Oh will I never get a sun tan?

At times like this, with the boat doing a rather sedate rate I find my thoughts are equally sedate. At other times when she is positively flying my thoughts are equally rapid as if my brain is in tune to the speed of the boat. Then I want music that is loud and stirring. I haven't got 'Ride of the Valkyries' but that is the sort of music that fits Nivram when she is flying. I wonder if it is adrenalin induced thought?

Today I need something pastoral and I have hunted through my cassettes and found a Joan Baez tape. It is playing loud enough for me to hear it in the cockpit and I am sitting in the cockpit with a half finished mug of tea and my log book. There is rain in the air and parts of the mountains are covered by rain clouds blown in from the west. To starboard there is a rainbow and it got me thinking about a theory I formulated some years ago when I was running SheMailOLM.

Now a rainbow is a beautiful mixture of nature and science. Or is science simply man's inadequate explanation for nature’s wonders? Experts will tell you that a rainbow is caused by the refraction of light through raindrops in the air. The droplets act as prisms and the colours are created by white light passing through them at different speeds due to wave lengths and being refracted at different angles. Well, that is the scientific explanation, and pretty boring stuff it is. I much prefer to see a rainbow and wonder at its perfection and its shape. And when it comes to the legends and beliefs behind rainbow it can be a far more interesting read. It appears that the legends and beliefs surrounding rainbows are unique to one's cultural history but then migrate to other countries with time. The pots of gold that some believe can be found at the ends of a rainbow originated in Silesia in Eastern Europe. They believe that the angels put the gold there and that only a nude man can find them. Scientists tell you it is impossible to go under a rainbow's arch, yet there is an old European belief that anyone who does manage it will be transformed from man into woman or woman into man. Quite a few cultures believe the rainbow is a bridge between heaven and earth. Some cultures even give importance to the colours. To Iranian Moslems, a prominent green means abundance, red means war and yellow brings death. The Arawak Indians of South America recognise the rainbow as a sign of fortune if seen over the ocean, whereas the people of northeast Siberia see it as the tongue of the sun, while some North American Indians see it as a bridge between the living and the dead.

And now you can add to those beliefs and legends your old Dad's Rainbow Theory, but for this theory you have to remember one important scientific fact. No two people have ever seen the same rainbow, for even a person standing next to you will not be observing exactly the same rainbow. Oh, it will be a rainbow in the same area but not exactly the same, and to them some of the colours may be stronger or more delicate than they are to you. I believe that a rainbow is the symbolic link between two people, and should you stand side by side or even hand in hand with someone special in your life the rainbow represents the link between the two of you. This other person could be a friend, it could be a lover, or it could be that special person who is both your best friend and your only lover.

Each legendary pot of gold represent what each has to give to that relationship, but there are problems because not all pots of gold are the same shape or size. Some people have huge unlimitless pots with large necks from where the gold will flow through the rainbow replenishing the pot at the other side until it can either overflow or will have to grow in size to contain what it receives. But others have smaller pots with narrow necks from where the gold may flow in smaller or inadequate quantities. The important thing in any relationship is to keep the gold flowing and never to let either pot run empty, for when you have nothing left to give then the rainbow will fade and the relationship will end.

Oh, okay, lets be practical. A rainbow is not a tangible thing and there are no pots of gold. But there again, the link between two people is not a tangible thing, and if you substitute happiness and feelings for gold then maybe my theory is not so half  baked. Take two people who find there is a 'something' that attracts them to each other. The 'X' Factor, the Buzz, the Spark or simply REAL friendship. Call it what you will. People far cleverer than me have tried and failed to quantify or describe it, but you know what I mean. These two people are happy in each other's company. These two people are even happy when apart but thinking of each other. That is what this gold is, it is those feelings that each has for the other and represents what we have to give. And as the relationship grows so does the brightness of your own personal rainbow. The hardest thing is keeping that gold or happiness flowing. When together it can be by positive and unexpected word or gesture. But when apart thought is not enough. It is at such times that you need to make the effort to remind that other person of your thoughts, and in this day and age we have all the technology at our disposal. A text message, an email, even the dreaded FaceBook, a phone call or a letter, all give you connection with that other one, and the receipt of such will remind you of their feelings for you. So that is why I wrote this log entry, daughter, dear. It is just to remind you of my love for you, and next time you stand hand in hand with that someone special squeeze his hand and tell him of my theory. But next time you see a rainbow alone, think of it as the undying link between you and me.

28th November.

Miriam has left and returned to her family fold in the USA. Don’t forget, Miriam, count to ten occasionally, especially before replying to those who love you. (I will if you will.)

But this entry is not just for Miriam, even though she is egotistical enough to think it might be.
For you, Sarah. Hope you find more reasons to smile in the future.
For you, Perinne. Don’t worry about Simon and his crazy adventures. He will survive, for he is one of the world’s adventurers, another Bernard Moitessier but on a smaller boat.
For you, Ros. You were part of a perfect day that ended with deep drink distorted discussions in a deafening disco. I know you are happy with your life, but may you find that lover who is also your friend.
For you, Philippa. May you one day find a waiter who does not snore.
For you, Rebecca and Eulalia. You are both crazy and lovely! You made me smile so much. Will you both marry me?
For you, Mairi, for sharing that memorable night sail from Bonifacio. We made it! That passage still stands out in my memory as one of my finest. You were brilliant on the helm.
For you, Gaelle. I’m sorry we have made such a mess of this world, but if you have anything to do with putting wrongs right, then I know it is in good hands
For you, Ruth. Will you ever learn that there is more to life than the stress of a high pressure job, and that sea sickness can be dealt with for the sake of happiness? Do you remember that passage from Sicily?

Oh hell, this entry is for all of you who have sailed with me (well at least those of the fairer sex). Each and every one of you has made an impression on my life, and for that I thank you.

But finally, this is also for someone who has never sailed on ‘Lady H’. The lady whose name my boat carries with pride. You taught me so much about love and life.

INTRODUCING JACK

 

Extract from the Log of ‘Lady H’ - Karpathos - 15th June 2010

 Karpathos is the first large island you come to on the south westerly voyage from Rhodes to Crete. It is a Greek island that has been so far by passed by the tourists, although the optimistic building of high-rise apartments implies that such oversight by tourists will be short lived and that the Karpathans, too, will get on the foreign currency gravy train. The main town is Pighadi, a nothing special place, more large village than small town that overlooks a notoriously uncomfortable harbour when the meltemi blows. I had on board a man who wanted to extend his sailing experience but who had quickly found he did not feel comfortable out of sight of land. NOT a prerequisite that makes a good sailor. He was okay company but I craved conversation.

It was more from relief from monosyllabic conversations that made me go exploring the limited shops for supplies, and it was on the way back that I first set eyes on Jack, although that wasn't his name at the time. He was hairy, black, disheveled with a long, curly matted coat and extremely nondescript. His black eyes were hidden by the bushy hair around his face, and he was tied to a post on the quayside. I stopped to say hello, and his hang-dog expression and half hearted movement of his tail implied a total lack of interest.

 "Is he yours?" I heard a voice ask, and I looked up to see a woman coming towards me.

 "Er. No. I was just saying hello."

 "It is just that he was trying to swim after our dinghy. We are anchored out in the bay." She nodded towards a motor yacht in the bay. "We were afraid he might drown. Look. Would you give us half an hour and then let him go. I don't seem to be able to find anyone who claims him."

Half an hour later I returned to the dog, undid his makeshift lead and took him back to the boat. He could barely walk, his back end threatening to try and overtake his front as he staggered the few yards to my boat. I lifted him on board where he sat, forlorn, graciously accepting water but turning his nose up at a proffered biscuit.

That evening while he slept and twitched to some canine dream at the foot of my bed something made me write in my log.

 'My past is irrelevant to this story. What is our past? Just a jumble of experiences and memories, some bitter, some sweet. Yet, for better or worse, they make us what we are today, and today I am desperate. I am tired, weak, dehydrated and oh so scared of dying before I fulfill my allotted task or span. How I came to be here I do not know. But here I am, and in desperation I swam after a departing dinghy bound for a 'mother ship' and, to me possible freedom. But they turned me away, returning to land, where one of the two-legs tied me to a post and sought out my owner. Owner? I am one of God's creatures. Are we not all equal in the eye's of our maker, for why would he make some more equal than others? Do I need  an 'owner'? No! I need the care and sharing of a fellow creature as we all do. Are we not all fellow creatures in the eyes of God? And then along came a two-legs, burdened down with shopping, for they do not have the ability to forage as we. They need to barter and purchase for what is their equally God given right, of food and shelter and comfort.

I remember he had callused hands yet a gentle voice as he stooped to say hello and to pet me. Lord, I was a mess, as only weeks of living rough can do to a creature, yet his voice was tender as if.....? As if he could see what I could be,  -  a true and loving companion. Or perhaps, in his dim and distant past, he had once been what I was now, desperate for love and for a new life.  For what are we? Fellow creatures of God in search of equality from a true friend, a companion.  -  Then he left me.            

But he returned soon after and took me to his vessel, a modest, aged craft, named, it transpires, after a former lover. And there he showed me kindness, for which I was truly thankful, although a decent hunk of meat would have been better than the paltry biscuit he first offered me.'

As I put down my pen and turned off the cabin light, I swear I heard him say, “I like you. Can I stay and be your friend?”  And that is how Jack became a part of me and my life, although he wasn't Jack then. He was simply some dehydrated and starving stray dog that I could not turn away, for I, too, believe we are all equal.

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

Many years ago I was working in Wrexham at a food cold storage facility, and I had a young apprentice to nurture. His name was Kevin, and every morning over a cup of tea we would religiously study our stars to see what the day held in store for us. We even took it to a point where we would determine our day’s work by what the stars had in store for us. ‘Today you will have trouble concentrating and be unable to achieve much.’
 “Well, hey, Kevin. Lets just have another cup of tea then!”

One day, back in 2002, my stars said, ‘Stop dreaming and start living your dreams. You will be surprised where you find a receptive ear.’ I could not equate to that but those words kept going round in my tiny mind as we tackled some trivial maintenance task.

‘Stop dreaming and start living your dreams.’ But what was my dream? Ah, that was easy. I wanted to get back to sailing and buy another boat. But a receptive ear? It took me all of 20 minutes to come up with a ‘plan’! The telephone conversation went something like this.

 “Mr Lloyd? (Yes, THE Mr Lloyd of the bank by the same name.) Tim Carrington here. - Yes, I’m fine, thank you. And you?” The pleasantries over I got down to business. “ - I read my horoscope this morning, and this is what it said. Stop dreaming and start living your dreams. You will be surprised where you find a receptive ear.” Pause for a comment from my business bank manager, but none was forthcoming.

“What I want is a business loan of £15,000 to buy a boat. You know my business will stand it. I want to start teaching people to sail and when it takes off I want to scale down on my engineering.” Where did that come from? An instant business plan?

The potentially receptive ear said he would call me back in half an hour, or rather the voice of the person WITH the potentially receptive ear said he would call back. Even I know that ears can only listen.

Half an hour later he rang back. “I can’t lend you £15,000 to buy a boat!” (Bugger, shit, arseholes. His was the wrong receptive ear!) I said, “not to worry, but with a horoscope like that I just had to try.” “Let me finish,” he added, “because I can lend you £10,000 to buy a car.”

A car? What did I want a car for? I was a white van driver. A scourge of the open road. I terrorised reps in company cars, gave way to ALL women and was the last of the late brakers at roundabouts.

“I can’t put down ‘boat’ as the reason for a business loan, but what you spend the money on is up to you,” he added by way of explanation.

So that’s how I got back into boating. Six years later I traded up from ‘Nivram’ a 27’ Cutlass, to ‘Lady H’ a 36’ Gib Sea, and here I am, some 30,000 miles later, teaching people to sail, helping others further their sailing skills and taking people on cruises around Corsica and Sardinia. If you want a moral to this entry, then perhaps it should be, don’t knock the tabloid horoscopes. One day it might just apply to you.

Of course, that was all years ago, as I have said. And it is not all blue skies and gentle winds. It has rained and blown then rained and blown again for the last four days! So why this blog, now? Blame Miriam the Go Mad Nomad! http://gomadnomad.blogspot.com/