Dinghy disasters

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to sail. When I was five years old my father bought me a Star pond yacht. It captured my imagination. I sailed it on a flooded gravel pit until the sails were worn out. It was put on a shelf in the garage and forgotten about for many years until I re-discovered it at the age of 10 or 11 during one long school summer holiday. It was in a poor state, but my mother made a new set of sails. I painted it, re-rigged it then took it down to Milford beach at Milford Haven for a test sail.

I launched it from the Hot Water slip tied to the end of a fishing line. It sailed beautifully, bobbing over the rippling water as it headed out into the Haven. To my surprise it didn’t stop when it came to the end of the fishing line. My knot had come undone. When I realised it was sailing free, I ran up to the Rath where there was a public telescope. I was able to follow the yacht’s progress until I ran out of sixpences for the telescope, by which time it was well out towards the middle of the Haven.

Naturally I was disappointed at the loss of the model yacht we’d spent hours restoring, but that feeling was surpassed by the excitement of imagining the adventure on which the little yacht had embarked.

Sailing aspirations

In 1965 at the age of 11, I joined 3rd Milford Haven Sea Scouts. The troop had a number of canvas canoes and several old, wooden ship’s lifeboats moored off Milford beach. We also had a naval whaler fully equipped for sailing, which I was never lucky enough to crew in. I can