Tag: Sailing The Dart

Red Jewel Excerpt (2)

Another excerpt from my latest book Red Jewel. Almost finished:

 

We spent a lot of time together in the summer of 1951. One Saturday in August Mr Sommers had a surprise for us. We were going to sail to Dartmouth Castle for a picnic and adventure. It would be fantastic as the weather was brilliant, or brilly as Ruth would say.

Getting into “Lilly” with our rucksack of food and drink we were off. We were to head over to the Dartmouth side first and hug the shoreline as the tide would not be as strong there, although the tidal stream was never really strong in the harbour “but in a small sailing dinghy like “Lilley” you cannot be too careful” – so says our skipper.

The wind was just right for us. A close reach down and a run back.

It was a glorious day. Sunshine, warm, a blue cloudless sky, no need for a jumper or jacket except our life jackets which Mr Sommers demanded that we wear at all time. We did so as the sailing was fun. The town of Dartmouth lay off our starboard beam as we headed south. The town’s main quay was alive and busy. The townsfolk were out doing or minding their business. The streets and houses still bore the scars of the war but slowly they were coming out of that hellish coma to a vibrant rebirth, bright and colourful. Some of the vestiges of the pre-war slipways, dockyards wharves and coal houses could still be seen as was the odd gun or torpedo boats that were waylaid across a tidal flat or secured to a buoy. Soon they would be gone. The odd man or woman waved to us from ashore causing Ruth to energetically and enthusiastically wave back. “Oh look…look father…look at that” she would say at almost everything she saw.

The water of the Dart had a slight chop to it. It was the colour of a rich and deep indigo blue. Its contrast to the sky’s blueness was striking especially when measured against the rich green textures and hues of the surrounding deep foliage of trees and flowers. God’s natural palette, I thought. Thousands it seemed of trees and flora, of many colours and descriptions. They graced the hills above the harbour from the beaches, rocks and crevices of the shoreline, very lush. Looking north up the river this landscape of trees and foliage that hugged the shoreline and hung over parts of the Dart presented an aura of peace, tranquility and contentment. It was heaven, sleepingly so. To the south you could see how the Dart narrowed at the mouth of the estuary before spilling out and into the English sea or channel, with its entranceway guarded on both sides by rocky crags and cliffs as well as the artillery forts of Dartmouth Castle on the west bank of the narrows, with Kingswear Tower on the east side. Both of these castles were built hundreds of years ago as protection from foreign invasion, primarily from the French.

We sailed south and then altered slightly to the southeast following the contour and lines of the course of the Dart. It was interesting for me to look out to the east at Kingswear. I could make out my house on Church Hill just to the right of and up from the lower ferry slipway that connected Kingswear to Dartmouth. I could just detect the small window of my bedroom where I spent many an hour looking out at the very scene from which I now enjoyed this landscape. There, looking out of my bedroom window, idling my time away and dreaming of a better life from the cruel existence of living with my father.

Before long we were abreast of Warfleet Creek Road. We altered to starboard and made our way to a small landing on the south side of the little bay that was fed by Warfleet Creek. With our help Mr Sommers had Lilly secured along a small wharf. We disembarked, secured our belongings and made our way up to Castle Road. From there it would be a short half mile walk to Dartmouth Castle.

Check out my books via the links at the top of the page. They would make great Christmas gifts and you would be supporting a struggling Canadian author. Thanks.

The 80s were great for music. Videos thought were something else though. Great song by a lesser known Canadian band.

SJ…Out

 

 

The Dart

Another excerpt from a new story I am working on:

Classic sailing yacht

 

Ruth and I grew closer and closer as the months turned into years. Often times we would go out on the Dart in “Lilly” and explore the area stopping from time to time on a bank of cool grass upriver a way. We talked…erm…she talked of many things.  She was a young woman now. Gone were the boyish locks. Her hair now fell to her shoulders, fashionably coifed with natural curls that were interspersed and intertwined within wave upon wave of strawberry blond tresses that were particularly radiant in the afterglow of a late afternoon sun. Her complexion was flawless and was all the more exotic and welcoming by just a hint of makeup. She was naturally beautiful. Well proportioned, athletic, strong. Her breasts were mature and full, not large, just perfect for her physical size.  She had her mother’s eyes I was told. Hazel green for the most part with the slightest touch of grey and an intimation of violet if the sunlight graced her features just so. You could almost detect the coloured hint of violet in a surprise reflective measure of sunlight only to lose sight of it on closer inspection.

“Whaaaat” she would say, teasingly, as my gaze burrowed into her eyes.

“Your eyes Ruth.” I thought they to be green, hazel perhaps, but just then I could detect some violet. Violet, for heaven’s sake?”

“My eyes are green Nigel Filtness.” she laughed as if she needed to scold me, turn me straight. “Maybe a tad hazel but green predominantly.”

Predominantly…predominantly? She had a better way with words than I will ever have. Her diction and enunciation were precise, flawless really, unlike the guttural slang that came out of my mouth. I was intimidated by her yet she never belittled me.

“I like you Nigel Filtness.” she would announce, as if she was my queen and I her peon…jester. “King….Nigel”, never the Queen. I may be female but I would be KING of all of England, and Wales, maybe Scotland, Ireland perhaps. No, no never Scotland as I can never understand the brogue there.” She giggled. “But Ireland? Ah, the land of song, poetry, romance and tragedy. Oh forlorn and suffering, tragic Ireland be: the Emerald Isle.

“Ireland?” I would ask of her as I lay on my back, my eyes closed, the sun high in the sky but on with its western slide.

“Yes Ireland Nigel” she sat there, smiling, as if pleased with her own insight, sitting as she was with her legs flat out across the grass in front of her with her arms back and to her sides holding her up. “Yes Ireland Nigel, the land of Yeats, of Shaw, of Oscar Wilde…”

“Oh the “poofter” I interjected.

Not saying a word she looked down at me with a scorn that could mortally wound.

“Of Oscar Wilde, Joyce, Michael Collins…” she paused and sighed a long passionate sounding sigh…of the revolutionaries, 1916 Ireland with Padraigh Pearse…”

“Who?” I countered.

“Padraigh Pearse Nigel. Padraigh was an Irish romantic: a poet, scholar, barrister, revolutionary of the 1916 Irish Rebellion. He was a tragic figure – a naive Irish ideologue hero. He was executed as one of the Irish rebels of the Easter Riots.”

“Oh, you don’t say” was about all I could say. I felt extremely low intellectually whenever I was with Ruth.

Nevertheless Ruth and I became inseparable. “Lilly” and “Lillian” were our common thread; our common bond; and our common love for sailing. Soon, the intricacies of Lillian’s unique gaff rig configuration became second nature to both of us. We knew “Lillian’s” quirks like the backs of our palms. It was not long before Mr Sommers had full confidence in both of us. And before long it was not an unusual sight for the Dartmouth and Kingswear sailing community to recognize us both for what we were: respected local seafarers. “Lillian,” and us, became synonymous with the regulars of the sailing community, particularly those members of the Royal Dartmouth Yacht Club, of which Mr Sommers was a lifetime member, as an icon of the Dart maritime environment. Even the Royal Naval College took note of us, particularly Petty Officer Brand.

A nice song:

SJ…Out