The Shipping Forecast

Thames - Part 4

For a while, neither Henry nor I mentioned the matter again. It was as if it had never happened, and with warm, sunny days that followed, the Bandit sailed west and then south as she made her way through the Frisians, interspersed with balmy, star-lit nights where we lay at anchor in the sheltered waters of the many islands that made up the Wadden Sea. The trip had begun to take on some of the adventure and magic that I had hoped for when I first received Henry's invitation to sail with him to England.

Henry and I settled into a kind of companionable silence, and while I still harboured deep anger at what he had done, I was resolved to ignore it and remain ignorant as to what might be secluded somewhere in the Bandit's lockers and bilges. We took turns at cooking and helming the trim little yacht as she cleaved through the water with the wind always abaft the beam, and the miles passed by under her keel with a pleasing grace that brought me to a sense of contented well being.

When Den Helder dropped away astern and the expanse of the southern North Sea lay before us, I happily took on the role of navigator, it being apparent that Henry was really quite useless at such a necessary task. I set us on a course that would see us enter the Thames Estuary in another day or two, and contented myself that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, I would be back in my flat with a glass of brandy in my hand, consigning Henry and his damn-silly schemes to history.

I can't recall who noticed it at first. It may have been Henry, who had spent a sunny afternoon lounging on the deck while I helmed, and certainly from his higher vantage point, he would have been able to see the dark shape of the trawler on the horizon astern before I did and made some remark, but I can recall that it was me who decided it wasn't friendly. For an hour or so, I had been keeping an eye on the trawler, an old, steam powered tub that bellowed an unusual amount of smoke compared to its fellow worn-out and hard worked pre-war sisters, of which a number had been in sight from time to time as we pushed further into the North Sea. This particular trawler was following exactly in our wake, and to all appearances seemed less interested in fishing, and more inclined to racing us to England.

Without saying anything to Henry, I turned the Bandit away from the westerly course we were following to something more like north west, and instantly saw the trawler turn such that if we continued on our new courses, it would intercept us in around three hours time. I put the Bandit back onto our original heading, and watched as the trawler made a similar course change to follow once more in our wake. With the wind blowing a fine breeze from the south, the Bandit was on what I felt was it's best point of sail - the wind from the side, filling our sails nicely and laying the yacht over twenty degrees - a nice, comfortable, easy sail. I reckoned on our speed being five knots, and that of the trawler something like six or seven, and if things remained as they were, the trawler would catch up with us in something like four or five hours, just before dusk.

"Henry, old chap. What have you got in the way of sails? Anything more we can send up?

"Well, yes as it happens. Chap who sold me the yacht persuaded me to purchase a full suit of racing canvas. He said if I'm going to invest in such a fine boat I should certainly make the most of its performance at weekend races - all to have credit in the sailing club afterwards, of course."

"Good, because if I'm not mistaken, our friend over there looks as though he means to come and say hello, but I for one don't feel that a visit all the way out here, out of sight of land and witnesses, would be very auspicious." I pointed back at the trawler and its column of black smoke, then watched Henry's expression change from perplexed confusion to dawning comprehension as he grasped the meaning of my words.

Half an hour later, we had set a main gaff top'sl, as well as an outer and even a flying gib - Henry was almost lost overboard while attaching the tack to the end of the bowsprit. Bandit now heeled over almost thirty degrees in the freshening breeze, and although it was somewhat more hectic than before, we were bowling along at seven or eight knots - faster, I suspected, than the asthmatic old trawler still some several miles behind us could maintain.

We concentrated on getting every last ounce of speed out of the little yacht, trimming the sails to take advantage of every gust and shift in the wind. If we could keep this up for another hour or two we would be in the estuary; it would be dark and we might just be able to slip away in any number of directions. With numerous channels, choices of harbours and the likelihood of other boats moving about to add to the confusion, I reckoned our chances of getting away from our pursuers was pretty high. Just as long as the breeze held, and nothing broke.