STORY OF THE MONTH
Homecoming
by Vivienne Blake
Frigate Bird, my home from home for the past eight months, swung to her anchor, the sails flapping ready to be furled and stowed. She was at rest. And so at last was I.
Salcombe might seem an odd place to end a trip round the world. The harbour is a part of a long estuary, no river, just a drowned valley. The sunlit landscape of the South Hams – gently rounded hills with glimpses of water here and there – beckons homebound sailors inviting them to stay awhile.
In the beer garden before the Ferry Inn, a group of chattering friends were gazing at the colourful scene as I tidied the decks. At last they recognised Frigate Bird, and all hell started to break loose. After four months alone at sea I was ready to drop. My daydreams during the last few days had all been of food: fish and chips, roast beef, jacket potatoes with lashings of butter. The boring rations to which I had been restricted since the fresh food ran out may have kept body alive, but soul was severely malnourished.
Pride in my achievement took a poor second place to exhaustion and hunger. So with sinking heart I watched the dinghy detach itself from the Ferry steps and make straight for me, the passengers yelling and cheering and waving bottles of champagne.
Panic! What could I do? I could get the hell out of there, that’s what I could do. Feverishly I winched in the anchor, re-set the sails, started the engine, took the helm. So long alone with just the sound of sea and the wind in the sails. Peace. I couldn't face the onslaught of people, fuss, cameras, reporters and questions. Tant pis that I had little fuel for the engine, hardly any food or fresh water, and worse, no books I hadn’t read a hundred times.
I could sail to re-victual and refuel where I wouldn't be recognised. It would have to be somewhere that British media didn’t reach. Could I make it to Cap Verde? I’d blooming well have to – I wasn’t ready to lose my precious solitude.
Not much diesel left, but enough to take me over the bar. Open water between Frigate Bird and the pursuing dinghy. Radio crackling. “Salcombe Harbour Master calling Frigate Bird. Salcombe Harbour…” Not much wind. What the heck. Sails starting to fill. Ahhh! To quote my beloved James Joyce, “away a lone a last a loved a long the……….”
*
One wet Sunday afternoon recently I started to tell the old story to the grandchildren.
'I sailed round the world alone in 1973. You may not believe it but it's true. London life had gone sour on me. I hated the noise, the dirt, the traffic. The people I met bored me silly. In the aftermath of the so-called swinging 60's everything seemed stale. Strikes were never-ending. It used to take two hours to get to work. I kid you not. If I left Wood Green at 6.30 am I was lucky to be in the City by nine. Nose to tail, fumes and bad temper. You can't imagine how boring, how irritating it all was.
‘The planning of my trip seemed to take for ever. I had to sell my flat, and I was lucky that there was just as much of a property boom then as there is now. I got a cracking price for it. So I was able to buy the Frigate Bird and kit her out for a long voyage. Oh well, yes, she was second hand and needed a bit doing to her, but I knew she was up for the job – she'd done it before.
‘I think I found my true self on that voyage: independent, capable – Okay, kids, you can laugh, but I wasn't always a fragile old lady. You haven't seen me haul a heavy sail up the mast, or repair broken rigging. Eight months at sea in all weathers is a fantastic training in DIY. If something breaks there's only you to fix it. If you go off course it's you who has to sort out what to do next. [ ... ] No dears, I didn't do it non-stop. The whole point of the trip was to see the world – Brazil, Sydney Harbour, Hong Kong. You name it I've been there. But the populated places started to pall and I made for inaccessible deserted places, or tiny islands rather than cities.
‘I loved being alone, despite being at the mercy of wind and sea. So when I got back to England I suddenly realised that I was not ready to plunge back into that frenetic lifestyle which had provoked my flight in the first place. So I just set off without landing and went round again.’
'Oh no you didn't Mum.' Sandy had come in and caught the fag end of the story. 'Dad told me. You just sailed round to Plymouth and tamely gave in. Greed was your undoing. You just couldn't bear to pass up on fish and chips and tea.'
Vivienne Blake is a 71 -year-old grandmother living in rural Normandy. She started writing three years ago, with Open University creative writing courses. She has written a great deal of silly poetry, a few short stories, and a novella, all of which are pining for the light of day. Contact Vivienne.
viviblake@orange.fr
Vivienne, congratulations! We loved your story - now tell us a little about yourself.
I have an aversion to all those FACEBOOK, TWITTER –type things, and have no website (I wouldn’t know how), as they seem to me to be displacement activities rather than ‘proper’ writing. That doesn’t mean I don’t read other people’s!
Q. What would you want our readers to know about you? I am a 71-year-old grandmother of 5, living in rural Normandy in France with my retired-dentist husband.
My time is divided between family and friends, study, writing and quilting.
Apart from two years living and working in Seychelles immediately prior to retirement, I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary.
I am a debutante writer, having started 3 years ago with the first of three wonderful Open University creative writing courses. Having left school at 16, I am immensely proud of the fact (fingers crossed) that I will graduate by the end of the year.
Q. Do you write in a particular genre? If so, what genre is it? I am unable to classify my writing. Most of it is silly poetry, and semi-humorous and rom-com short stories.
The first of my stories to be published was also only the second that I had ever written, and was called The Quilt – a story of a poor Indian outworker, the quilt she made and what happened to it. Since then I have had a few stories and poems published.
Q. What, in your opinion, are the most important elements of good writing?
A compelling beginning, good story, and satisfying ending, with impeccable grammar and spelling and an interesting vocabulary.
Q. How do you develop your plots and characters? Do you use any set formula?
No set formula – sometimes the story just emerges of its own volition, other times I work from prompts. For longer work, I like to give my characters a timeline, history, setting and description - most of which will never find their way into the actual writing, but serve to prevent inconsistencies. I do seem to be able to get inside the skin of imaginary characters.
Q. What do you do to unwind and relax?
Sleep, write poetry, read, quilt, watch TV - nothing out of the ordinary.
Q. What inspires you? Who inspires you?
I have a great deal of friendship and support from ‘virtual friends’ in writing forums which did inspire a story about online relationships. And a husband who keeps me supplied with tea and coffee, doesn’t grumble when the ironing isn’t done and is an excellent proofreader.
He says that writing keeps me off the streets and out of mischief!
Q. Are you working on any projects right now?
I am intent on finishing my degree, but never stop writing poetry. I have written a novella which is too short to be publishable, so I need to think about expanding it into a novel.
Q. What is most frustrating about writing?
A poem that comes in the middle of the night only to have disappeared by morning:
A poet's nightmare
Can't sleep.
Words swirling
round my brain
in disarray:
I abhor it.
Procrastination is
my middle name,
so when a poem
arrives at my door
What do I do?
Ignore it.
Get up.
No.
Need sleep.
Pull pillow
over head,
much as I deplore it.
I give in,
sit up in bed with specs on.
pen poised,
notebook open.
I am ready,
explore it.
Words, where are you
now that I'm ready?
all words have flown.
Where once were words galore
there aren't any more.
Come back, I implore you
Silence.
The moral of this poem is:
get down to it
at once.
Go on,
you'll adore it.
Most rewarding? Finishing something I'm reasonably happy with. Seeing my work in print.
Q. If I were sitting down to write my very first story, what would your advice be?
Start at the beginning and go on until the end. Avoid: very long sentences, adverbs, and strings of adjectives.
Dialogue is a great way to show rather than tell a story. People abhor clichés and received phrases, but I’m not so sure – they get to be clichés because they are apt.
Q. What advice would you give to writers just starting out?
Never be without a pen and notebook.
With kind regards,
ViV Blake
