I was still fitting out during that glorious Easter of 1949. Although such weather is rare at that time of the year I decided to fit out early for the 1950 season, just in case. Accordingly I set to work with the paint and varnish during the early days of February and actually sailed for the first time on the last Sunday of that month. During the following week I collected my cruising gear aboard ready for a weekend cruise. Zephyr is only 16’ long but I manage to rig a permanent bunk starboard side of the mast and have a couple of large steel boxes in which I stow most of my gear. A large sheet of balloon fabric acts as a tent and although many people seem to doubt my word for it, I do manage to eat, and sleep dry and warm. What more can one ask of life.

Soon after lunch on Saturday I slipped out of the Decoy broad, where I had wintered her with the kind permission of Colonel Cator, and set off down the Bure. Progress was steady at first as the trees take most of the wind, but once in the open, the bow-wave began to cockle eagerly and St. Bennets and then Thurne Mouth soon came into view. The ebb still had several hours to run in the Thurne but I reached the bridge and then began the performance of taking down the mast. This was my first season on the broads and as it is stepped in the orthodox fashion, a definite method had to be evolved. The breeze began to die as I turned up the Cabdle dyke and I was too late to see the sun set over Hickling, much to my regret. There were literally hundreds of birds on the broad as I glided across, at the junction of the Cadfield channel.

I dumped the anchor over the side and snuggled down. The Primus soon produced a cup of tea and I settled down to cook a suitable meal for the first cruise of the year. Next morning dawned bright and sunny and I eased down to Potter in the lightest of breezes. It clouded over in the afternoon and as there was no chance of beating over the tide to Horning, I snugged down for a few hours by the abbey. It was 8 o’clock when I looked out and the moon was smiling softly over the misty reed beds. There was not a vestige of wind but the tide was going my way now so I paddled steadily with one oar, steering with the calf of my leg against the tiller. This fashion of progress makes it unnecessary to take down the tent. The warm flow from inside made a cheering contrast to the chill of the night. Every twig and branch was reflected in the still water and somehow I felt that I could go on paddling steadily for ever. It was nearly midnight when I reached the Decoy broad. The water was boiling for tea so I dumped the hook for the night. A perfect end to a perfect weekend.

The following Friday afternoon we started a three and a half day, half term holiday. It was dull and overcast and the wind was from the NE so progress to Thurne Mouth was slow. This time I turned down towards Acle. Once again the wind died with the daylight but I continued to glide towards the lights of Yarmouth, past Stokesby and the Stracey Arms, and on among silent lonely windpumps that were occasionally illuminated by the headlights of passing cars on the main road.

Once again I moored to a single anchor for the night; there is little traffic on the Bure at night so early in the year. Next morning I awoke to find a grand westerly breeze calling me on to Yarmouth and the open sea. It seemed a long drag down to the harbour entrance but once through those tall indifferent wharves and out into the open, the little boat began to dance along. The sea was very light but the wind was strong and soon gleaming fingers of crystal clear water began to reach up over the weather bow. Although she sails well on the inland rivers, Zephyr rarely seems to hurry along in that strangely animated fashion as she does in open water, for which, of course, she was built. We took just ninety minutes to pass into the spacious harbour at Lowestoft. Here my problems really began. It was out of the question for them to open the bridge especially for me. It was equally out of the question for me to lower the mast and then paddle her through the bridge against the wind, although the tide was with me.

Eventually a steamer had to pass through and I was able to get tow from the chaps on the bank. The wind was very strong now and she laid over well as I beat up Lake Loahsome. Down mast again for the lock bridges and then my first glimpse of Oulton Broad. It is a grand place of its type but I am afraid that that type of place does not appeal to me anyway. I sailed on up the dyke and eventually moored under some trees a few miles up the Waveney as the sun began to sink. For the first time that day the clouds parted and the reeds turned to gold. It was blowing at least force six by this time and the river certainly looked wild and hostile.

Next morning dawned clear and the sun appeared as I got under way. The wind hardened rapidly from the NW by W and I had to beat most of the way to St Olaves. There is a grand tide in the Waveney and progress was good. I reefed here and pressed on hard as I wished to get across Breydon Water that day. The wind was free most of the way now and those tall posts on the Breydon Flats flew past in about three quarters of an hour. The rail bridge was open and I was soon into the Bure. Luckily the wind had just enough north in it to enable me to point along the westerly stretches of the Bure and I reached Upton Dyke as the sun went down again. A fine day’s sailing, by any standards! On Monday I went up to Potter and then had a very cold beat back to Horning in the afternoon. Such was the pattern of my weekends for most of the summer.

At ten minutes to midnight on Monday the third of April, Zephyr slipped quietly past the Ferry at Horning, bound this time for her home port of Maldon. I had a companion with me, Ted, an ex-RAF type with an interest in sailing. This was his first actual trip and he was bubbling over with enthusiasm. It was a glorious moonlit night but there was little wind so we were unable to get out of Yarmouth on the morning tide as we had planned. Rather than waste the day we decided to go via the inland waterways to Lowestoft. It was a fine trip but the wind headed us and as it eased in the evening we were unable to stem the tide so we snugged down to sleep early. I looked out at about two thirty next morning to see how she was settling on the ebb and found brilliant moonlight and a fine breeze in our favour.

We had a quick cup of cocoa and then sailed to Oulton lock, arriving at four o’clock. Up tent and two more hours sleep. Then breakfast and through the lock at seven, Ted steered down the lake under the jib while I stowed everything for sea. Down mast on the run and I stood on the foredeck with an oilskin spreadeagled to give her steerage way under the bridge. We left the harbour soon after eight and then came some of the best sailing that I have ever experienced. Twenty seven miles or so to Orford Ness in four and a quarter hours! It blew very hard from the west so we kept within about a quarter of a mile of the coast to find smoother water. It was just about HW as we sighted the pylons overlooking Woodbridge haven. Then to my horror the wind eased. The boat was left at the mercy of the tide in very steep irregular seas. Ted was feeling rather green and I became rather worried as the tide swept us over the Bawdsey Bank and the land seemed to fade out of sight. This was accentuated by the sky that had clouded over and visibility dropped rapidly. I stood on the starboard tack that carried us about due south whilst the tide, sweeping out from Hollesly Bay, carried us to the east. At six o’clock in the evening I came about and stood in towards the coast. As the light began to fade the tide swept us to the north again, so that the six hours sailing on the ebb tide put us about three miles down the coast. Then it had to turn and we crept into Woodbridge haven, anchoring to the north of the Horse Sands at ten fifteen. Food and sleep.

Next morning was as perfect as a morning can be. We dropped out of the harbour on the last of the ebb and drifted out to the Cork light vessel. The breeze grew out of the south-east and after another board to take us round the pier at Walton it was all plain sailing. I dropped Ted on the beach at New Holland and then squared off for the Blackwater. The tide turned against me as I passed the Beach Head buoys but the wind was blowing hard and I made steady progress up the river, gradually easing the sheets until the last run up to Heybridge. It was seven o’clock as I ran onto the mud opposite the ballast hole. I snugged down and had a good meal and then put on my water boots and jumped over into the mud. To me it is always the logical conclusion of a voyage to be able to walk round the boat. Next day I sailed up to Maldon and then spent the rest of Easter helping some friends to fit out their boat ready for the Hook race at Whitsun.

Tuesday was cold and it blew as hard as ever from the west. I ran up the coast under jib most of the way and moored at Pin Mill for the night. In the evening the wind died, the first time for several days, and Wednesday was largely calm with a few heavy squalls. I left as soon as I floated, about an hour before HW, and on to Orford Ness. Here to my amazement I met the barge Alaric of London, the very same barge that I had met in that same spot as we came down the coast a week earlier. Southwold, my mooring for Wednesday night, was a quiet little spot but I rather liked it and must explore it again some day right up to Blythburgh. On Thursday I drifted to Lowestoft and reached Oulton in time to shelter from a really torrential rain storm. Apparently there was snow in some parts of the county. There was little wind afterwards but I paddled on with the tide through the rail bridge a few miles below Beccles.

There was thick frost on the tent next morning and although the day started fine, it soon came on to rain. I visited the town and planned to leave on the ebb but there was no wind until late in the afternoon by which time the tide was on the flood, so I made little progress that day. Saturday started badly with heavy rain but I pressed on and it cleared as the tide began to ebb about noon. On to St Olaves and up the New Cut to Reedham with a fine breeze from the east. I went up the little river Chet to Loddon but found the town rather dull. It was out of the question to tack back, so I towed her from the bank. It was hard work but very enjoyable and I was amazed to notice suddenly that it was nearly dark. That night I moored a few hundred yards from Hartley Cross. There was little wind on Sunday until noon but it was the best day of the year so far and I drifted up to Cantley and returned with the ebb. It was a close shave to beat the tide across Breydon but I made it. Then a grand run to Stokesby. The wind dropped so I let her drift with the tide while I put up the tent, brewed a cup of tea and then peeled the potatoes etc. for dinner. An occasional touch of the oar to keep her in mid stream was all that was needed. By the time that I glided up to the bank at Stokesby there was a fine roast dinner ready. The Mother worries in case I starve to death!? On Monday the wind came out of the west again and I beat up to Horning. To my delight I met Mr & Mrs Saunders on the Butterfly and we had a fine chat. And so back to the weekend routine.

At Whitsun I forsook Zephyr for the Corrie, a lovely converted Clyde Thirty by Fife. The North Sea race is no Fastnet but there was plenty of spray about this year and many of us, four out of five in our crew, paid tribute to Neptune at some time during the 278 mile trip. We were late getting back and this left me little time to prepare for my summer trip in Zephyr during which I planned to visit the Wash. On Saturday the third of June I meandered slowly down to Yarmouth, arrived too late for the tide out, and moored for the night a few yards above the yacht station. Broadland, I love you, but oh! what a horrible term is that word station! Harbour, creek, bay, staith, jetty etc. what lovely visions they conjure up in one’s mind; but yacht station!

Sunday was a perfect June day. I was late out of the harbour but there was enough ebb left to carry me past Caister. There I had to anchor while the flood poured south as the light SE breeze was not sufficient to carry me over it. With the ebb I made fine progress on past Winterton, Sea Palling and on to Cromer, where the wind left me at the mercy of the young flood so I anchored. I had five hours sleep. The ebb from here seems to grow into the flood at Blakeney as there was no wind at all and I seemed to be drifting in the right direction all the time. The sun scorched down on an oily smooth sea and there was a haze over the land. Blakeney church tower seemed to be floating low in the sky. Off the point I paddled inshore and jumped over the side. Taking the old hooker by the nose, I led her round the low sand hills and then came the breeze from the east, enabling me to sail into the lovely little harbour in fine style arriving at 10.45. It is a grand little place but unfortunately it is silting up rapidly now that sailing coasters no longer take the sand as ballast.

I planned to sail out on the night tide but overslept. The tide came back for me twelve hours later so little was lost. Such is the carefree joy of the singlehanded cruiser. A fine breeze came out of the east again and took me past Wells and on to the Wash where I looked in vain for the roaring middle light vessel. Later I found it having a coat of paint in Kings Lynn. The wind took off as darkness fell and I found my way as the buoys began to twinkle. It is far easier to get about by night than by day in the busier shipping lanes. When I woke up in the morning the end of the breakwater was no more than twenty yards away. Spot on! The tide took me up the Ouse to Downham Market but the banks are high to keep back the winter floods so sailing is poor, to put it mildly. At one bridge I made a serious mistake and came as near to loosing the boat as I have ever been. There looked to be enough headroom but events proved otherwise. Each side of the bridge was a heavy girder and I jammed underneath. The tide was rising rapidly and she threatened to fill. I loosed the shrouds in order to break the mast rather than sink the boat but it just bent horribly. There is something mildly heroic and thrilling about loosing a boat at sea but the thought of going to the bottom of the Ouse left me sick with sheer self reproach. After some five or ten minutes she swung over at a dizzy angle and dragged the mast clear. It took several minutes to clear up the mess at the mast head.

As we drifted downstream with the ebb, heavy clouds began to appear and when the first heavy drops fell, I changed into my bathing trunks and felt cool and fresh for the first time that day. As there was no wind to speak of I had the sails down and the tent up before it started, thus keeping my living quarters dry.

On Thursday I visited Kings Lynn and bought a few stores, then left with the tide soon after noon. There was little wind at first but it eventually came out of the west and I glided steadily past the buoys and on round the cliffs by Hunstanton. As I squared off for Brancaster it began to pipe up and I realised that it would be a job to find the tricky entrance on a lee shore. An hour or so before LW I sounded into the channel and after touching bottom managed to walk her into the shelter of the first shingle banks in order that she would refloat in calm water. I strode along the shingle noted the position of the buoys in relation to the channel and found that there was deep water at the junction of the channels to Brancaster and Burnham Overy. After building a little heap of stones to give me a check on the tide level, I had a walk to the old wreck on the outer shingle bank. As I drew near the crimson sun glowed through the ports and shrapnel holes giving it a rather terrifying appearance. The wind howled keenly and there was a heavy swell out there in the open now. As I stood there in the fading light letting my thoughts run amok, the water around my feet began to rise so I hurried back to the boat. Here I put up a bit of canvas for shelter and brewed up some strong tea. Then I completed the log up to date and spent the rest of the time gazing out on the returning tide. Gradually the banks and channels became one rippling mass of cold dark water and I realised that it was time to be off.

I used the close reefed main only and soon rounded up in the pool and lowered the hook. It was a long job fitting the tent up. I kept my clothes on and stretched out on the bunk while the tide lifted me above the shelter of the banks. My, how she rolled at HW! Then the tide turned and she laid more comfortable and I was able to got into some pyjamas and sleep in peace. When I awoke it was bright sunshine and the tide was well on the flood. After some shopping in the village I wormed my way round the inland channel to Burnham Overy and out through the surf to the open sea and into Wells. This is surely one of the loveliest resorts on the coast and I had a very pleasant stay here for twenty-four hours. The locals seemed to hold very varying opinions on the run of the tides on the coast so I decided to leave soon after HW in the early afternoon and carry on from there for Yarmouth. With the help of one of the local sea scouts as a pilot I explored the saltings as the waters rose and after dropping him, close reefed and set off round the point and on through the bar. Here to my amazement the wind took off rapidly and I had to shake out the reefs quickly in order to keep steerage way on the boat. Throughout the night the calm lasted and by dawn I had drifted as far as Blakeney Point. Then the breeze came out of the SW and I was soon enjoying the first windward work of the holiday. Off Sheringham it became obvious that I could no longer tack over the ebb tide so I anchored for a few hours. There was far more wind than I liked to see and a heavy swell was getting up. Still the sun was shining and I made full use of the opportunity to rest. It was fairly obvious that unless it veered quickly I would not reach Yarmouth that night. With the flood I made steady progress close reefed and had reached the open sandy part of the coast by the time the tide began to ebb again. The wind eased slightly and I shook out the reef, but it hardened again soon after nightfall and I had to pull them down again. Here I was seasick for the first time in my own craft. The sun dropped below the horizon but the light glow in her wake never disappeared all night. It gradually moved round to the east and then the sun came into view once more. Now with the tide in my favour I shook out the reef and after a couple of boards was able to point down the coast past Winterton and so on to Yarmouth. There were some heavy seas running now but she rode them magnificently. It was a dead run into the harbour and I lowered the peak to ease her in case she gybed, for there were some strange currents running in the harbour entrance, then all was quiet and I settled down to bail and dry out as I ran up to Stokesby. A meal and then sleep.

On Tuesday the wind from the west took me down to Yarmouth again and while I was passing down through the town it went NE to take me on to Lowestoft. I actually aimed to go as far as Southwold but the wind was light and the heavy seas left over from yesterday knocked all the wind out of the heavy tanned sails. It rained heavily overnight and a light drizzle accompanied me most of the way down the coast on Thursday. I left Lowestoft early and was off Southwold by LW. This gave me a fine run of favourable tide round the Ness. The wind was NE again. I picked up the Cork light vessel as the light began to fade. I sailed close in under her stern and a chap standing by the rail seemed rather surprised to see me loom up out of the darkness.

In view of the fair wind I decided to press on over the ebb to Maldon but as I peered into the night, looking for some indication of the Naze, it came on to blow very hard for a few minutes and when it moderated I realised that it was now blowing from the SW. I swung round and ran back to Harwich. I had some tense moments as I tore through the night for I wanted to keep clear of the main channels and at the same time avoid the breakwater which would be almost awash. It must have been well past midnight by the time that I had anchored and snugged down. Next day I took the last of the flood and anchored under the lee of Frinton while the tide ebbed all afternoon. Then I beat slowly down the coast in the evening breeze and eventually anchored off Mersey Flats for the night. On Friday I beat up the lovely Blackwater to my moorings at Heybridge where I said goodbye to the grand little vessel for a few weeks.

In July I cruised the area with Roy Pike in Dawn Wind and we had a run around the shallow channels in Zephyr. On Friday 11th of that month I had a very fine trip from Brightlingsea down through the Rays’n to the Crouch, through the maze of channels to the bridge at Havengore and after a visit to Paglesham Pool ran back to Wivenhoe for the night. Next day I beat up the Blackwater to Osea Island. Next morning I found myself on a dead lee shore and in trying to sail her off, went ashore and smashed the rudder pintle. Passing friends sent off a dinghy to help me put the kedge out and I had to leave her until the weather moderated on Tuesday when I sailed her over the Lawling Creek steering with an oar. At the end of the week I rejoined the Dawn Wind as far as Pin Mill and thence onto the Corrie for the Shipwash-Galloper race which turned out to be a rough trip this year, only five of about eighteen entries completing the course.

When next I visited Zephyr I found she had sat on a stake and this, together with the long drawn out harvest, limited me to a few day trips in the river and one weekend run to Bradwell from where I walked to the little chapel on the wall, which marks the site of Orthona, a great Roman stronghold similar to Burgh Castle. Yesterday I put the covers over her for the winter.

This, my third season as the owner of a boat, was certainly a fine one in spite of the generally bad weather. In all I covered well over a thousand miles, and she gave me many hours of grand sport for a modest maintenance cost of about fifteen pounds a year and of course the food which one has to eat anyway.