‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was born in the Seaboard town of Portsmouth. Although both my parents were English, my grandfather, Robert, came from Nantes as a boy of eight. As far as my memory goes back, my dream was to one day own a sail like Gramps. A twenty-one footer it is, with a gleaming white deck, a brown, wood-grained hull, a cabin for two and an eighteen horse-power engine.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The two of us would go sailing on week-ends to see, as Gramps would say with a twinkle in his eye, just to see what was over the horizon.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Of course at the age of fourteen I was already pretty expert at sailing though handling The Queen alone in heavy weather was a bit much for me yet. In the summer we would adventure through the Irish sea to the north. I loved shouting and laughing into the spray, challenging the waves. We would alternate on the boom and take turns at the wheel.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  At these times I would feel truly alive, my blood coursing, my feet braced against the wheel-housing. I never tired of the thrill. ‘œGramps,’ I shouted one day into the-wind, ‘œwhen will you let me take her out on my own?’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  When you are less headstrong and as unpredictable as the sea, my dear boy. When you’™re a little older, my dear, dear boy.’ His slap on my back could encourage me to take on even the greatest challenge.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The Atlantic has its moods, and there are times when The Queen snapped along at a wondrous pace racing the white horses around us. Returning, I never knew whether to be happy or sad seeing the familiar coastline – the harbour loom out of the drifting mist.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The year I turned fifteen, when the summer holidays began, Gramps said to me with a wink: ‘œNext weekend, my boy we’™ll have real treat. We’™ve got a date at Nantes in Normandy. You’™lI have a whale of time Roly, I promise you. I’™d never go on my own – the Bay is far too unpredictable for that but I think you’™re now old enough to be second mate. You’™d like that – eh?’™’ His smile sent a thrill of expectancy down my spine.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œBiscay! That’™ll be great Gramps! A great way to start the summer.’ I had heard many tales of The Bay. Biscay is notorious for its wild seas and even in July it can surprise. Villagers around the coast say that it is home to wild spirits that come in the night to haunt and taunt lost sailor’™s lovers and wives. Its coast is littered with the washed up remains of small boats.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  But I was not one to be deterred. Stories of courage always stirred me. I too would be an adventurer one day – would make my family proud – especially Gramps.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œThere’™s a very good Frenchie in Nantes,’ continued Gramps. ‘œI owe him a visit and he owes me a bottle of Pedigree Champagne. Won it in a bet during the war. It’™s time I collected that bottle. We’™ll have a wonderful time.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  My heart beat stronger as I thought of the crossing. This was not Portsmouth to Calais. This was the Bay!
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  In spite of it being now early summer, visibility was not very good the day we set sail. The wind, westerly and brisk was unstable. I glanced at the sky. The clouds were mackerel and moving fast. ‘œNot bad,’ I thought, ‘œunsteady but not’  bad.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  A mile from the shore and-Portsmouth was fading into the misty sea air. Our first tack, due south we kept up for four hours. This placed us in mid-channel. Then Gramps changed direction to due west We both ducked as the boom swung over our heads. Eight hours later, I at the wheel, I could just make out a light.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Gramps looked-at me: ‘œHeadland. Western-most point of Brittany, entrance to the Bay, boy, Steady as she goes, lad.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was exhilarated and happy. The sea was too choppy to allow us to lash the wheel.’  Sailing sometimes on a steady sea and course we would tie the wheel to the housing which would leave us free to do as we wished. Gramps would read on a bunk or fish while I never tired of watching the ever changing face of-the sea.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Fifteen hours out of Portsmouth and we swung the prow East into the bay the Loire dead-ahead. We now were running before the wind at a good twelve knots. I suppose I was a little disappointed. The sea of the Bay was only mildly tougher than the channel.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œGramps. How much longer?’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘˜Take a reading of our position,, boy, then check the chart. You should be able to do that by now.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Enjoying the responsibility, I took up the sextant then measured the chart under glass in the cabin.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œA hundred and thirty four nautical miles,’ 1 said.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘˜Bout right,’ said Gramps with a knowing wink that made me feel proud. All night we held the course, sailing calmly the next morning into the mouth of the Loire, Some ten miles up river was Nantes. Philipes was expecting us and as we arrived at the port Gramps at once made out his form, smiling broadly and making rude gestures.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Bien venue – bien venue, Robert’ – His voice reached us faintly. Gramps returned Philipes’™ gestures with even more vehemence, shouting back: ‘˜Bon jour! Bon jour mon ami.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Philipes made us feel not only very much at home but treated us as royalty. Qf course he pronounced Robert as the French do, without the ‘˜t’™, Robere.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Philipes, in the French underground in 1942, had been Gramps’™ contact man – Gramps liasoning to a secret rendezvous on the north Normandy coast for some two years.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The following morning, after fond farewells, we set off again, the bottle of Champagne swinging at the mast-head under a fluttering flag.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Again the shouting, fading as we glided down the river between the marker buoys. Motoring towards the mouth of the Loire, the wind due west, blew hard into our faces. Rain began to stream down as we rounded the breaker at the point and entered the Bay. I had a feeling that on this trip the Bay would live up to its name.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  We set the sail and headed southwest. I went below and cut the motor. It soon became clear that the Bay was in one of its moods. I was thrilled. ‘œPull in the jib, boy – we don’™t want too much cloth in this wind,’ Gramps shouted.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I do it, fighting the wind as the wet, flapping cloth slapped my face and arms. Gramps changed course and we began a tack toward tine English Channel and home. Huge waves rolled at us from the Atlantic, as well as from the North. This clash made the sea rage. It seemed to be becoming more menacing by the minute. The sea became more terrible than anything I had ever met with before. .A little worry clutched at me.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œThe waves from the Atlantic hit the Brittany coast and bounce back,’ shouted Gramps. The wind muffling the sound, made it difficult for me to hear his words. ‘œLash yourself.’ The order came as Gramps lashed himself with a five yard cord to the wheel housing. ‘œStart the auxiliary engine,’ came another shouted order and I raced below securing the cabin door behind me. Suddenly I felt the Queen begin to heave and behave like a wild thing. I was flung this way and that, finally striking my head on-the bulkhead. I cursed but managed to get the motor started. I set It to half speed.’ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The heaving and rocking of the boat made me wonder if something had happened to Gramps. I raced up the few steps.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Horrified, I saw Gramps sprawled on a wildly heaving deck-obviously unconscious, sliding and rolling about held only by his safety line.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Without a man at the wheel, the Queen behaved like a drunk. It was a wonder we were still upright. I was now solely in charge of a crazy ship in a wild sea and I became truly scared. I pulled my way to the wheel by the rail lashing myself to its housing. I turned The Queen sharply to head into the wind and waves as best I could. There was no way I could get to Gramps to help. It took everything I had just to keep The Queen on course. I wanted desperately to return to Nantes but with the main sail still in place I dared not make a turn on my own. Panic began to mount and my throat tightened. It took all I had to keep the prow into the wind. I was dying to help Gramps but that was impossible. Frustrated as never before,’  I cried out, ‘œDear God – help!’™ I wondered if God heard. I never had called on Him before. I kept glancing at Gramps for some sign of life then back to the raging sea.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  An enormous wave ‘” lifted the Queen high and at a horrible angle set her down with a smack that went right through her-hull and my bones. I suddenly realised that she might actually break up if she had another fall like that. Other seas rushed over the deck washing over Gramps and roiling him in all directions. This was not the exciting wild weather I had hoped for but a challenge for me keep my head.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I began to understand well the baymen’™s talk of demons. The waves were coming at us from all directions. Another wave washed over Gramps swinging him close to where I stood. Perhaps it was the shock of striking the wheel-house but Gramps moved. He shot out an arm to grab instinctively at anything to stabilise himself. His clutching hand found and grabbed my ankle.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Although overjoyed at his coming to, I also now had the added worry of keeping myself from falling. Gramps heaved at my leg as though it was a stanchion.’  Another monster wave loomed up and over. I gripped the wheel – my knuckles white. The heaving water disengaged Gramps hand from my ankle. Finally he grasped his lifeline and pulled himself to the wheel housing and heaved himself erect. Elation flooded over me.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œLower main sail,’ he shouted over the gale as he grabbed the wheel from my hands. But already I knew what I bad to do. I struggled with an obstinate wet knot finally untying it. Then I strained to lower the wet sail. This was no simple task it being whipped every which way by a powerful, fickle wind. Desperation giving me added strength, the raging cloth finally came down. I lashed it to the boom. Gramps now waited for a lull between waves to turn and ride back with the wind to Nantes. He managed a weak half-smile.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  My confidence back, I said: ‘œGo to the cabin, Gramps, I’™ll take her from here.’ The gale now at our stern we began heading at a smacking pace towards a coast that was nowhere in sight. Visibility was down to a few hundred yards. I squinted into the rain and mist.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  It dawned on me only then with a shock that the Queen could easily be thrown onto the rocks long before we ever reached the river mouth! My courage ebbed, my knees became weak and I suddenly felt cold. We needed the best seamanship for this. I needed Gramps for sure. Under my feet I felt the motor vibrations change to full speed. Now we began flying before the wind. I was relieved when Gramps came out of the cabin. He pulled himself along the boom to the wheel tying his line as I untied mine. He changed direction immediately, setting it due North.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œMust counter drift,’ he said.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was ashamed that in my fear I had not realised that myself. I silently resolved never to allow panic to dictate to me again. Some lights appeared faintly. Again a change of direction to north-west. The waves, now came at us from the side rocking us violently but without her sail The Queen rode them well enough but the waves kept heaving us ever closer to the ever menacing shore line.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œA light,’ I shouted pointing ahead. ‘œA light! Dead ahead, Gramps’. I breathed a sigh of relief. The entrance to the Loire. We had made it!

*’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Philipes was waiting and not surprised to see us. I was expecting you – and very glad to see you,’ he said smilimg broadly, his French accent on the you to me was music. ‘œI listen to the weather forecast only after you go and I was worried. Too bad we not listen before you go, eh, mon frere?’ Now with a broader smile. ‘˜But all is well that ends well -eh!’™ He laughed as one who was used to danger.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Remembering suddenly, I turned to Gramps: ‘˜What made you lose consciousness like that?’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Gramps looked at me his eyes twinkling – and then at Philipes. Philipes looked up as if in thought, then down to look into Gramps’™ eyes. His eyes lit up slowly ‘“ knowingly – like good old friends who can understand each other so well without words. ‘œDon’™t tell me! Oh no! Surely no!’, his eyes widening with disbelief. But with each remark from Philipes, Gramps’™ eyes, too, light up in ever more apparent confirmation. ‘œIt cannot be! Mais oui! Mais oui! I cannot believe! You? You not know to tie a knot?!’ Now they both were laughing, enjoying immensely something I just could not fathom.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was furious that I could not understand their strange dialogue until I followed Philipes’™ gaze to the mast-head. The bottle of Champagne was no longer there! – the rope that had held it hung limp beneath the flag!
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œLuckily,’ Gramps manages through his tears of laughter, it was only a glancing blow. We really must get another bottle my dear, dear friend. This time we share it together ‘” oui?’