I was born in 1920 in Marlborough, Wilts. When I was nearly 13, my father died and my mother moved us to Bournemouth to be near her parents. Our house was about 5 minutes walk from Tuckton Bridge and the River Stour and within easy cycling distance from Hengistbury Headland, the sandspit at the mouth of Christchurch Harbour. We often went on motor boat trips up and down the Harbour. I now started to hanker after a sailing dinghy, but my mother said I had to save up for one!

I left school in 1937 and started work. Early in 1938, I bought an old sailing dinghy for £6 10s from a man who lived in a shack down Wick Lane. There were no launching trolleys or road trailers in those days, but I managed to borrow a handcart to get it home for a cleaning and painting. It was 10' long and clinker built. I borrowed books from the Public Library in order to get an idea of how to sail. When I launched it, I was able to keep it at Tuckton Bridge for 10s a year. One day, I rowed it to below Christchurch Town Quay. Then I got up sail and after some drifting, I found I could get it to do what I wanted! Now various friends started coming with me and we regularly went up and down the Harbour, having studied the Tidal Information in the Bournemouth Daily Echo.

Although the boat was acquired "fully equipped" it soon became apparent that it had the wrong sailplan, because it had such heavy weather helm that it was necessary to attach extra wood to the rudder. Somehow I obtained an old jib, which I believe some sailing acquaintances gave me. I made a bowsprit out of a garden tool handle. A length of clothesline was used for mast and bowsprit stays. A salad cream bottle top was attached to the mast to form a socket for the bowsprit. The rig was a "lug" of some sort. I attached a jaw to the boom and a cord "perral" to the yard and thereby converted the rig to "Gunter". I used a pulley block for the jib halyard, which was more clothesline, as were the jib sheets. I wound a strap round the mast where the jaw rubbed. In spite of the Heath Robinson nature of this modification, the boat sailed very well. It was so well balanced, that I could remove the wood attached to the rudder. I now felt confident enough to venture outside the Harbour, but had to be very careful to be back inside before the tide started to ebb. I was once caught and had to "walk" my boat up the "Salmon Run" and then some way before the current was slow enough to sail against it.

In those days, few boats seemed to have any buoyancy tanks or bags and no-one wore lifejackets. Therefore, a capsize had to be avoided at all costs. Most boats had iron centreboards, which further reduced buoyancy. Anyone accompanying me had to be able to swim. I did observe other boats. There were several 15' half-deckers built in Christchurch. They were £45 new! But in those days, that was right out of my financial reach. In 1939, a Jewish family escaped from Berlin as victims of the Nazis.

The parents were lent a house in Barton-on-Sea, but we gave a temporary home to one of their sons (a boy of my age) so that he could study at Bournemouth Municipal College. I soon got him interested in sailing. We often cycled to Barton to visit his parents. Then we conceived the brilliant idea of sailing there one Sunday when the tides were right. We got to the Harbour mouth by midmorning with hardly any wind. We ghosted along towards Highcliffe and then the wind got up. When we got out of the lee of Hengistbury Head it got quite rough. By now we were opposite Barton. We turned head to wind and sea in order to get the sails down. A wave broke over us and a quarter filled the boat. We had the oars out and turned the boat shorewards in a lull. Another wave picked us up and took us in surfboard fashion.

The boat hit the beach with a thud! I jumped out in order to grab the painter, but before I got to it, the backwash slewed the boat round and completely filled it. Some people on the beach helped us drag it clear of the breakers. The boy's parents had watched the whole incident and came upon us frantically bailing. They were not pleased at this mad English boy endangering their son, after all they had been through in Nazi Germany. When we got all the water out, we were able to drag the boat clear of the high tide mark. The boy's parents simmered down and we became very friendly. They allowed us to stow all the gear at their house.

It was another fortnight before tides and weather allowed us to sail the boat back home. When we were about a mile from the Harbour entrance, we crossed a line of foam stretching as far as the eye could see on either side of the boat. The seaward side was clear blue water. The landward side was green and dirty. I suddenly realised it was water that had come out of the Harbour on the ebb tide. It was certainly a curious sight. There used to be a landing stage on the "Sandspit" near Mudeford, used by the passenger-carrying motorboats that plied up and down the Harbour. Nearby, there was a houseboat that was used as a cafe. During that summer, I anchored near to it, heaving already learned the wisdom of anchoring in tidal waters.

Our usual routine was to meet up with other members of the family or friends, who had cycled down with the picnic necessities. If I anchored, I had no fear of the boat drifting away on a rising tide, or being left high and dry on a falling one. On this particular weekend, I found the anchor fouled on one of the houseboat's mooring chains. I tied on a piece of wood to act as a marker float and then left anchor and cable. The next weekend, I was there at low tide and slack water. I was prepared to pull myself down the cable, but actually found I was in my depth, so I was able to disentangle the anchor with my feet. Luckily it was a warm day. After that, I used a tripping line.

On 3 September 1939 we listened to Mr Chamberlain's speech, declaring war. Then we set off for sailing down to Mudeford. Even in pre-war days, there were usually a lot of boats on the Harbour and people about on the "Sandspit". On this day, there was not a soul about anywhere. It was almost uncanny! On subsequent weekends for the rest of the 1939 season, the Harbour was crowded as indeed it was during the first weeks of the 1940 season. On 10 May 1940, Hitler's forces invaded Holland and Belgium. I expected them to be "bounced" back when they eventually met the French army and the BEF.

On that day, I bought a larger boat for £12, having already found a buyer for my smaller boat. My new acquisition was another very old boat. I was told it was a "Blackwater” dinghy and that it had won cups and other prizes prior to 1914. Its mast was right up in the bows and it had bamboo spars. It was a "lug" of some sort. It was clinker built and had the builder's plate "Morgan Giles, Hammersmith". It was, I believe, 13' long. It was a joy to sail, being faster and roomier than my previous boat. We now ventured round into Bournemouth Bay.

Unfortunately Hitler's forces were not bounced back off the Maginot Line. The BEF and a larger part of the French Army were pushed back to Dunkirk, where they were evacuated. The French soldiers who came off the beaches were sent to Bournemouth before repatriation. There were thousands of them and Bournemouth seemed to be alive with them. On Sunday, 2 June, while this was going on, two of us sailed round to Fisherman's Walk, Southbourne to visit some friends in their beach hut. We could hear gunfire across the Channel and when we got to our destination, there were lots of French soldiers on the Promenade. I was so horrified at what I heard from them and from the news that I decided to volunteer for military service as soon as possible. Anyway, a few days later, all boats had to be off the water as a defence measure, so my boat was put in our garage for the duration of the war.

On 5 June 1940, I "hitch hiked" to Salisbury to volunteer for service with the RAF. What followed is another story!