National Service took many young men to exotic locations long before tourism draped the best beaches in the world with a backdrop of multi-storey hotels. And so I found myself in a paradise of endless sunshine, warm clean sea and sole use of a Forces’ Sailing Club Firefly dinghy; all for 10 shillings (50p) a year subscription.

Racing was the only club activity I was aware of; Albacores for the officers, Fireflies for the other ranks. But I wanted to sail all of my free time; having self-taught myself earlier that season, I planned a longer trip.

We were all so green. My crew for that day, when asked by another friend who had walked with us to the sailing club what the centreplate was for, replied innocently that it was the brake!

The wind was force 2 easterly, and our little ship chortled along beautifully on a glass-flat sea that was, as yet, totally unruffled by the breeze. Outside the reef that shelters Famagusta, the waters turned the deepest shade of blue, and for the first time in those pre-lifejacket days I felt apprehension at the thought of how far it was to both the bottom and the shore, and to the possibility of sharks. Suddenly, a large green mass appeared in the water ahead, and my immediate reaction was ‘rock’, whilst being baffled as to how a rock could be there in such deep water. The giant turtle continued to swim purposefully as we sailed 10 feet above, its every detail now visible in the crystal clear water.

A long low smooth swell started to build up from the south, the direction in which we were sailing. The sun was blisteringly hot, so we were wearing hats and shirts for protection from it, but no sunglasses. Diamonds started to sparkle in the wavelets ahead as the wind reached the sea between us and the sun. Fairies! Fairies? There they were again, dancing on the waves in the dazzling light ahead. My city-bred friend had heard of fairies but, having no seafaring connections, was even less inclined to believe in fish that fly. One landed aboard. We filled the bucket — carried for bailing — with water and, dropping the fish in, extended its gossamer-clear ‘wings’ and marvelled at creation.

Time for lunch found us entering a natural harbour, just deep enough for our half-raised plate, to beach on the gritty, white, hot sand. Drinks that we had tried to keep cool within a wrap of wet towel were eagerly consumed. Scorching heat and lack of any shade quickly convinced us that life was more comfortable at sea, and we soon left the bemused gaze of the lone, uncomprehending sheep-herd and his flock, who were the only living things in sight in this desolate spot.

Two exhilarating but otherwise uneventful hours later, we were back at the sailing club, after a short but unforgettable first ‘cruise’.