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    All at sea: One Sailor’s Journey
    All at sea: One Sailor’s Journey
    All at sea: One Sailor’s Journey
    Ebook166 pages1 hour

    All at sea: One Sailor’s Journey

    By Peter A. Morris

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    About this ebook

    I was five years of age when I first fell in love with the sea, which is the subject of the first story in my book All At Sea.

    I was a ‘natural’ at it, often performing a task on a boat before being told when or how to do it. I believe this knowledge came from a previous life spent on the water, and from the genes of two grandfathers who had been seafarers, and my father who had also spent some time at sea. Even my adventures in boatbuilding came without much formal training, but rather by ‘the seat of my pants’ and working with hunches. Having built a number of small runabouts and repaired larger boats including commercial fish boats, when my eye saw the problem my hands seemed to know what to do. When I ventured into the pleasure-boat market I designed a nineteen-foot fibreglass cruiser, one of the first of its kind on the market in the U.K. and Europe. Following a huge success, Fairline Boats was launched, and continues to this day to build hundred-foot luxury cruisers.

    Although I parted from the company some forty years ago, I still feel part of it. And though I no longer sail, the sea will always be a part of me.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPeter A. Morris
    Release dateJan 27, 2012
    ISBN9781466033504
    All at sea: One Sailor’s Journey
    Author

    Peter A. Morris

    I have been involved with the sea all my life, but an equal part of me has been involved with metaphysics, described in the dictionary as ‘beyond the normal.’ To most people, this means ghosts and spirits. It started with my being on a bus which was blown up in London, England during the second world war, where thirty of my schoolmates were killed instantly. I have taught on the subject for many years in England, Canada and the States, and it has been a happy and satisfying part of my life. Spirits make their appearance at the most surprising times – in hotel rooms or while driving a car or sailing a boat. Sometime when I have been quietly fishing on a secluded riverbank, my mind totally lost in my surroundings, I have been aware of a presence, seen a figure or heard a voice – these are constant companions. When my parents bought a hotel in the south of England after the war, I was ecstatic! I never wanted to be anywhere but by or on the sea, and for most of my life this has been the case. Today, following a lifetime of ocean adventures in various parts of the world, I live quietly with my partner, Jassandra in Victoria, BC, close to necessary medical facilities but with the Pacific on three sides. Writing is a major occupation these days, and it is wonderful to have my first book, All At Sea, published. The next one? In all probability it will have something to do with metaphysics!

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      Book preview

      All at sea - Peter A. Morris

      Section one. The Beginning

      The First Boat in my Life

      The first time I ever went to sea was in 1937, when I was five years old. Our family went on a seaside holiday to Newquay, a pretty harbour-side town in the south of England. I loved fishing, and the guest house in which we were staying was right across from the pier, one of those structures that most large seaside towns in England seem to have, reaching out into the sea. I was allowed most mornings to go onto the pier, and Mum and Dad always knew where I was, should they wish to take off somewhere.

      This day, however, was different. As I walked to the pier, I saw this boat. I don’t remember the name of it, but it was the most beautiful and exciting thing I had ever seen. Through my child’s eyes it was huge. It had a massive mast, and two men with great muscles were tending ropes that seemed to go every which way. I was captivated!

      Then I saw the sign, which said one could actually get aboard this thing of magnificence, for a mere few shillings. At that moment there was only one thought in my mind, one goal in my life, and that was to get on board. But then I wondered how I could do that – Mum and Dad would never allow it, and besides I had only three shillings. I walked round, looking at the boat in awe. I just had to get on it, and I had only fifteen minutes to do so! I ran back to the house, a plan already forming in my head. I was about to tell my first lie to my parents.

      Mum, Dad, I yelled, I’ve lost my money! putting on a grand show to go with the untruth. Clutching another three shillings, I ran to the boat as it was getting ready to leave, and thrust all my money at one of the crew, who asked:

      Do your parents know you are coming on the boat? Lie number two was blurted out.

      Oh, yes Sir.

      So there I was, off on my first real life adventure, and on my own. I was enthralled as the great engine thundered into life and we headed out of the harbour towards the open sea. I remember being hardly aware of the other six passengers on board, concentrating on everything that was taking place. As the great sail was hauled up the engine stopped, and we were sailing! Ecstatic, I followed the crew everywhere. They let me help haul up the ropes, then, joy of joys, they actually let me hold the tiller. It was the most remarkable day of my life, one that I wanted to go on forever, and only when it was time to head back did I feel a sense of impending doom.

      Of course, in my excitement to go on the boat, the length of the cruise had not entered my head, and the hours had just flown by. Nevertheless, time had passed. A lot of time as it turned out. It was now five in the afternoon, and we had left at ten in the morning.

      Looks like some trouble, one of the crew said as we entered the harbour. There were crowds of people on the quayside, police and boats fussing around the pier, a lot of shouting. As we came alongside in the midst of all this mayhem, I glanced up and my Mum and Dad were standing there.

      Hello Mum! I yelled excitedly, waving and jumping up and down. Mum looked at me and screamed my name, and then collapsed on the ground.

      Is that him? asked a policeman.

      Yes, said my father, That’s him.

      Lots of words, and possibly actions, must have taken place after my dramatic return from the sea, but thankfully the joy of that first dose of ‘sea fever’ seems to have eradicated them from my mind. And so began my lifelong love of everything nautical, still as strong as ever after seventy-five years.

      In Uniform

      In 1950 I was conscripted into the Royal Air Force. I wanted to go into the Navy, but at that time I would have had to sign on for twelve years, with no assurance that I would get to sea. So, at the promise of more pay and travel, I signed on for three years with the RAF and became a ‘regular.’

      As I had been training gun and guard dogs in civilian life, it seemed to make sense to do that in the service, so I was assigned to the dog section of the Military Police. After about fourteen weeks of training, square bashing, police school and dog school, my German shepherd Chico and I got our first posting. This was to Camp Bawdsey, a radar station situated on the east coast of England, right on the estuary of the River Deben. It was popularly known as a ‘holiday camp,’ and my billet was about eighty yards from the beach! One of the first things I did was to call home and ask Mum to send up my fishing tackle.

      I don’t recall how long I was there, but this time was a bonus, a respite before being sent to Germany and Holland, where the life and work would be very different. After the relaxed atmosphere of Bawdsey, our job overseas was quite tough. We were to patrol ‘Class A’ stations, which were either airfields, or top secret or high risk situations such as ammunition storage facilities. The latter consisted of leftover bombs, shells and other items of destruction from World War II, and there were a surprising number of them! Allied and enemy, every facility scattered across Europe was a prime target for those individuals who refused to admit that the war had finished five years earlier. The Cold War was in full swing, and Berlin was already split between Communist East Germany and European West Germany, although the Berlin Wall would not be erected for almost another decade.

      So Chico and I, and the many teams like us were there to protect against sneak attacks in the shape of small groups of people trying to destroy these units. The areas we patrolled covered several square miles, with a variety of roads and buildings separating the different types of explosives.

      Whenever we started a patrol, we would check the wind direction, for that was the dog’s best tool. Just like a hunting dog uses the wind to detect prey, so the military dog used it to detect human intruders. Chico’s sense of smell was amazing; depending on the wind strength, he would let me know if someone was there, even at half a mile away. I would then ‘send him on’ and he would lead me toward the intruders, at which point decisions had to be made, depending on the location.

      We were equipped with some pretty good weapons, such as Chico’s teeth and strength, which were often all that was needed. But I carried a handgun and a wooden club, which were effective backups! Often the problem was a bunch of curious teenagers from the local towns, out for adventure and trying to figure out a way to get through the heavy barbed wire fence to see what was inside. In those cases, Chico’s vicious bark and growl was enough to send them on their way. At other times, when the intruders had gained the inside and were intent on setting explosives to destroy the facility, we resorted to stronger methods. I would sound the alarm to bring reinforcements, release the dog from the leash, and bring my weapons to bear.

      If you have never seen a large German shepherd in full aggressive mode and ready to charge, you have never seen angry! The psychological effect alone is enough to disable the victim; once the force of the flying dog hits and the teeth make contact, that individual is not getting up for a while. The dog immediately goes to the next target; meanwhile, a few well-placed shots together with good use of the club, have the intruders in retreat or surrendering.

      Anyway, back to Camp Bawdsey. When not on duty, a lot of my time was spent fishing the big eddy formed by the river as it met the sea, and pulling out some big sea bass. They were fighters like salmon, and tasted even better! It was a warm summer, and I guess I was getting a bit lax in my dress code – bare feet, cut-off pants and T-shirt in no way met the dress standard of a sergeant, who one day charged me with being improperly dressed, at the same time eyeing the six and seven-pound fish and demanding to know where I’d got them!

      En route to my quarters to adjust my appearance, I was stopped twice more, this time by officers, one of whom was no less than The Commanding Officer. Both were concerned, not with my state of undress, but with how and where I had caught the fish! I had a minor disciplinary action

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