Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (18 page)

The last days of our voyage were insistently cold as we beat up the Channel into wind, rain and fog, tacking back and forth through heavy shipping. At last I heard a faint RDF signal from St Catherine's Point on the Isle of Wight, which grew louder and louder as I turned towards it, the gloom and mist pushed aside. Here at last were England's white cliffs and green fields to welcome home two weary travellers.

Then fate played its last dirty trick. Tacking past the Needles in company with other yachts, we looked into the peaceful Solent anchorage, at which point the wind dropped and the tide turned. The rest of the boats took down their sails and started their engines, leaving
Solitaire
to be swept back to sea. Enviously I watched them leave us for hot meals and baths, soft beds and warm arms. Rejected, we turned away and headed for Christchurch Bay, there to spend another watchful night at anchor.

Although lacking tide tables, I had noted the time the current had turned the night before and I knew that an early start would see us safely home, so we swept past the Needles that Sunday morning, April 30th, on a fast tide. Then the wind dropped again, although the current bore us past Hurst Castle. Lymington River came up to port and I tried to edge over into its mouth but still the tide carried us. After a frantic dash to drop an anchor, a long wait ensued until a zephyr came up in the afternoon, allowing us to start for home. Again it died and left us helpless, drifting towards the mud banks as a motor cruiser closed on us.

‘Could you give us a tow into the marina? The motor's packed up.'

‘Sure,' they said. ‘We'll put down fenders and tie you alongside.' Then: ‘You're flying a yellow flag. Where have you come from? France?'

‘Ascension Island in the South Atlantic,' I replied proudly. ‘I've just sailed around the world.'

The cameras came out. Wine, chicken, chocolates and cups of coffee showered on
Solitaire
. It was the Easter holiday and the marina was full, but we were allowed to tie alongside the wall,
Solitaire
still secured to the cruiser. The Customs launch that had followed us downriver soon cleared us. Standing on top of the wall was John the rigger, the first person to steer
Solitaire
three years before.

‘Nice to see you back, Les,' he shouted. ‘What kept you?'

Lymington

1980

The first circumnavigation, leaving Lymington on Monday, August 18th, 1975, and arriving back on Sunday, April 30th, 1978, had taken 12 days under two years and eight months. The east to west voyage had been made far too quickly and I had missed out many of the countries I would have liked to visit. Such an exploration, of self as well as the world, should take a minimum of ten years and anything up to a lifetime. Now my main driving force was to make a fresh start to round Cape Horn.

The distance
Solitaire
covered on that first voyage was roughly 34,000 miles, with a best day's run of around 149 miles. The longest time spent alone at sea was 69 days, with a best non-stop distance of about 6,000 miles. Not that any of this was important.
Solitaire
and I were neither equipped for nor desired to set records. It's what is in your head and heart that's important, not what Joe Soap, who has never stepped on a boat, thinks. Was it a good sail, a warm day, did the sun set in a blaze of colour, did the dolphins visit, were we contented? Those are the questions whose answers matter.

I shall never forget or forgive my first navigation blunders. After the Brazilian disaster I made yet more mistakes but thenceforward I kept a mental note of
Solitaire
's position, the weather conditions she was in and the dangers she might face. When laying out a
course, I would draw lines from point to point, trying to skirt around areas of calms, storms and shelving seabeds, using such charts as I possessed. Sometimes things go wrong and three or four problems are thrown at you together. Then there is no time to think and you must react instinctively, preferably having the cure ready before you catch the disease.

For me the time taken on a voyage was important only as far as food, water and the boat's condition were concerned. If I could make 100 miles a day, I would be content. Had I the funds I would have worked out the stores required, then doubled them, but I was in no position to do this until towards the end of the voyage. The second circumnavigation, this time west to east, broadly speaking depended on three things.

First, my family's reaction. Both parents were now in their 70s. My mother had been in poor health for some time and brother Royston had spent much of his time caring for her and Father while I was gallivanting. If Roy wanted to alter his way of life or the voyage distressed my parents, then it would have to be delayed.

Second, my friends had an influence. Hitherto they had only encouraged me but if they tried to dissuade me I would sail for Cape Horn no matter, although I would be apprehensive, and really alone for the first time on any voyage.

Third, finance. I had to find work quickly. I left England in 1975 with £300 and returned with the same sum, which I had saved in Australia. But to carry out modifications, equip
Solitaire
with new gear and stores would cost at least £2,000. My best way to make this money (and quickly) would be to try for an overseas contract in electronics.

I spent my first night in England with Group Captain Rex Wardman and his wife, Edith, who welcomed me warmly with a hot bath, sizzling steak and a bed, full of sleep. Later that week Rex drove me home to Birmingham, where the news was good.

If my family, who had moved into a small, semi-detached house, did not exactly encourage, they certainly made no attempt to discourage me, their attitude being that the sea was my life and
I would be off again. On my arrival I found a couple of reporters. In writing to my family I had omitted or glossed over the bad times but when talking to the press, I forgot this and mentioned some of the sailing's gorier aspects, which caused the newspapermen and my family to blanch. My photograph duly appeared in the papers, not that that means anything, but parents like this sort of thing, provided it's not just before they hang you!

Three days later Rex drove me back to Lymington, whereafter I spent a week with Rome and his mother, catching up on my writing. I contacted Saab who told me to take my engine to Savage Engineering in Southampton, where the motor was stripped, cleaned and serviced and the fuel pump attended to for an all-in charge of £20! After that I had no further trouble, making up for all the problems I had experienced after leaving Australia.

Most of the remainder of my time was spent talking to Rome about the modifications I wanted. The major task was to change
Solitaire
from sloop to cutter rig and perhaps add a bowsprit, which would put her headsails further forward and thus prevent her broaching when on a run. Cutter rig would also give me a bigger choice of sails. When beating into storms I could get a better slot effect with the main by using a small staysail, which would also serve as a backup for self-steering. The one objection against the mod was that I might have to fit running backstays which did not appeal. When Rome sailed his transatlantic race, he fitted an unsupported inner forestay on his boat but agreed it was not worth the risk in the Southern Ocean. Having experienced the Roaring Forties on
Adventure
in the Whitbread race, he told me about the conditions, explaining the problems in his quiet, precise manner, never discouragingly. Later Brian Gibbons came to see me and designed a new mast support, then Rex Wardman joined in. I was no longer alone.

My stay in Lymington had been a good one. I had overcome the initial problems on my list and
Solitaire
's engine was in perfect condition. All that was left was finance, and that was tricky as the work situation boded ill. I had no luck with my old firms,
most of whom were cutting back on staff, and the Job Centre could offer nothing. The public moorings cost £10 a week and the £300 with which I'd arrived home was shrinking, so I decided to take
Solitaire
to Dartmouth and anchor in the river. Although an overnight stay was prohibitively expensive, it was possible to pay by the season, which was comparatively cheap, and the plus point was that I had friends there I wanted to see, and could spend the rest of my time writing.

Rome said he would sail as far as Poole with me whereupon I suggested we tack there.

‘What do you mean by a tack, Les?'

‘How about Cherbourg and back?'

The tack to France was 120 miles and so, for the first time in her life,
Solitaire
made a voyage with a crew of more than one. Since a boat can have only one skipper aboard, Rome got the job and I dropped a rank to first mate.

After anchoring at Dartmouth, I contacted Anne and her daughter, Susan, who had moved there soon after I had set off on my first trip. I stayed with them and Richard Hayworth, a quietly spoken man, forever throwing bones at me to growl over while he sat back with a twinkle in his eye. A fighter of lost causes with the tenacity of a bulldog but as gentle as a lamb, he was English to the core.

John and Diana Lock invited me to dinner at their beautiful home. John was a retired RN commander whose name had been given me by Caryll Holbrow in Cape Town. Later I helped crew his boat in a race but I'm afraid the round-the-world sailor impressed no one. When asked how to make the boat go faster, I said, ‘Start the engine.' One night when I was dining with the Locks I had opposite me a very young man whom I imagined was probably still at university. He produced some cheese, which he said he had bought in France that morning. I could not work out what form of transport he had used: the time he gave for the journey was too slow for an aircraft, too fast for a yacht. Allen turned out to be the captain of the warship that had escorted Naomi James home the
previous week. As a result of this fortuitous meeting, I was invited to a cocktail party aboard his ship, then the petty officers had me back next day for dinner.

In turn this led to an experience which, at the time, disturbed me. After my visit to Allen's ship, one of his officers invited me to spend the day at the Naval College with his sister, her husband and their three children, one a baby. Despite being embarrassed by their praise of
Solitaire
's voyages, I enjoyed my time with them and played a good deal with the baby whose tiny hands clung to my fingers. I started laughing.

‘She's a beautiful baby but if she doesn't let go of me you'll have to take me home with you.'

The mother's face glowed. ‘Do you really think she's beautiful?'

‘She's lovely,' I replied.

‘Oh, I'm so glad. You see, she's mongol.'

For a moment I could not take in what had been said by this young woman with a child she would care for for all its life, a woman with far more guts than those who get their names splashed in the papers.

Because I had no work, my financial situation was worsening daily. I was now pushing 53, an age which, in the electronics field, made me ancient. Many of the government contracts I tried for were of a secret nature and for a successful response you had to be British and able to prove your movements over the past three years. No employer could be expected to undertake that on my behalf.

I heard there were some mud berths at Cobbs Quay in Poole where, reputedly, the mooring fees were low, but my move there in August 1978 with £100 was to prove my biggest mistake since hitting the reef off Brazil. Not only were there no vacant berths, but those boats already there were being asked to leave because it was an ‘unscheduled development'.

Solitaire
could be lifted out, her mast dropped and put in a cradle for £60 and I could live on board for two weeks. The fortnight passed without my finding work, apart from a couple of private jobs in the yard. One paid £50 and the second should have
been £200 but the owner found it convenient to flit by moonlight without paying me.