Little Red Knot was tied against the jetty. Off we went, waving goodbye to Tony. Our first stage was to the uninhabited island of Thilia. Typically the wind was dead against us, so we motored. We anchored in a sheltered bay.

Thilia was about a mile long and a third of a mile wide. It rose steeply from the sea and had an uneven craggy summit, with small level patches and a saddle in the middle. A lone chapel was the only standing building, though there were signs of past rude habitations. Circular walls and terraces surrounded the olive trees. Everywhere was overgrown with spiny vegetation.

Normally we had the arrangement that Joan made the breakfast, I made the lunch and we ate out at a tavern in the evening. We could not do this on uninhabited Thilia, so we just got something out of the bilge.

Red Knot is 18’ 6” long. She has a main mast with a gunter rig, a jib and a mizzen. There is a cockpit with a useful locker for ropes, lines, petrol cans, tools and Calor gas cylinder in the stern. The cabin has two side bunks about 18” wide and room under the foredeck for more stowage. A two ring cooker lets down from the wall. We keep clothes and bedding stowed forward in the day time. Along the sides were narrow wooden troughs for food, books, first aid and small articles that were in daily use. In the centre of the cabin was the plate or keel box. Non-perishable food was kept in a box under the cockpit seats. Things that needed to be kept coolish were put in a bowl in the bilge. Milk could survive for 24 hours before going solid. We tended to drink UHT milk in tea and coffee.

On the first night the gentle rocking of the boat was like being in a cradle. I slept well, but dreamed of school.

Meganisi to Abeliki Bay

In the morning we set out, under sail, for Abeliki Bay on Meganisi Island. As we rounded the headland, the wind was dead against us and quite strong. No sailor would call the sea rough, but there was enough movement for me to think, as I tried to get lunch of hard boiled eggs and bread, “Oh dear, I hope I am not going to be sick!”

We tacked backwards and forwards with our cherry red sails and seemed to be making very slow progress. In the end, we gave in and started the motor, slipping into Abeliki Bay in the afternoon.

We moored near the jetty. This bay was deserted except for a makeshift taverna, run by an English couple. Nearly every bay had one or two yachts anchored along their shores. Sometimes these would be part of a flotilla and sometimes they were probably privately owned or chartered. The taverna, in this idyllic setting, was on the point of closing down for some legal reason. They could not sell us drink or food, but they ‘gave’ us bottled water and wine and best of all, allowed us to use their showers. We sat and read our books in the shade.

We ate at Stephano’s Rose Garden. There was no Calor gas agent on the island. Joan was a bit fed up, as it would mean going back to Nidri. It was a good night at Abeliki. It was sad to leave such a perfect sheltered bay.

We used the engine back to Nidri. It took two hours. We slipped between the Onassis island and a smaller one.

At Nidri we got some Calor, changed some money, posted some cards and had a Greek salad for lunch at Nick’s.

We moved the boat over the water to Tranquil Bay. It may be tranquil, but all the detritus from Nidri swills that way and rots on the bottom and round the shore. It is slightly odorous.

At night I sat in the cockpit to cool off. Tiny sharp points of light glowed intermittently through the vegetation, along the boggy shore. Watching them carefully, I could see them moving from place to place, rising among the branches of overhanging trees. It appeared they were signalling to each other. Joan came on deck to have a look. This was the only place we saw them — fireflies.

It was difficult getting out among the boats, partly due to my inexperience with steering. At last out and away. The wind was dead against us as we motored nearly all the way, getting the sails up only to sail into Rouda. It was all good practise. Rouda on Levkas is quite a plain bay, with a beach and a harbour wall to one side. We anchored in front of the beach, but later moved Red Knot into the shelter of the harbour wall as the wind was blowing straight into the bay. Dropping anchor in just the right place was another task. Years of experience had taught Joan to choose how and where she wanted her boat to lie — avoiding other boats, their anchor lines, but close enough to the shore to get a stern line out. The stern rope or anchor had to be rowed ashore in the dinghy. Sometimes it was a matter of rowing really hard to swing the boat’s stern near enough for the ropes to reach.

We went through the strait between Levkas and Meganisi with the engine, passing Thilia on the narrow side. As we entered the Inland Sea we tried sailing, but it was the same story as before, so we relied on the engine. It still took us three hours.

Atheni is the fourth countable bay along that coast of Meganisi. Its roomy harbour serves the hilltop village of Katomeri. As I took the stern line to the shore to tie up to a stout tree, I stumbled getting out of the dinghy. Unfortunately, I had my camera on my belt. Though it was only submerged for a moment it refused to work for the next few days.

Next day we made an early start, upping anchor at 8.10. We were bound for Kastos. Half way across I called to Joan that there appeared to be a sea monster. Three black humps rose and fell. I supposed she was used to my nonsensical chatter by now. When she came on deck there were three dolphins making purposeful progress past us in the opposite direction. A great thrill.

Kastos is a wild and beautiful island. Most of its inhabitants migrate to the mainland in winter, leaving a skeleton population of elderly folk. There is a ruined windmill on the summit of the spine of hills that run down the whole length. Carefully cultivated blue-green olive groves are punctuated with tall dark cypress trees. There are other unidentified fruit trees. A sad donkey tethered in the heat.

That night, even in harbour, was quite rough; everything banging, boom against mizzen, plate against plate box. By morning all was calm. We sailed gaily down the cliffy flank of Kastos.

“We’ll sail between the main island and its little appendage.” I could see no clear water between the two. If there was, the idea of trusting the sail in the fickle wind seemed daunting. But Joan knew her way around, and there sure enough was the passage, open water beyond and Kalamos in sight.

These little harbours, with their stout walls, were presumably built for the local fishermen, but they served a dual purpose of giving shelter for the holiday fleets, which in their wake brought visitors and money to the islands.

Kalamos was a very lived-in village. I did not have time to explore further than the harbourside. Trees shaded the street. A convenient public water tap, of doubtful cleanliness, was useful for filling water containers.

There was a storm in the night with thunder and lightening. A bird from the mountains called “tchewoo”. It was mysterious. Probably it was a skops owl from southern Europe.

We used the engine to reach Mitikas, as the wind blows viciously and surprisingly down the corridors of islands. Journey 8.45 to 10.00.

Mitikas is a considerable town. The hills peter out into an extensive fertile plain. There does not seem to be any industry beyond agriculture, fishing and tourism.

A priest was coming down the street so I went and shook him warmly by the hand. He had a lovely face and cheerful smile but no English.

The frogs sang in the low ditches all night.

The sailing for Meganisi was into a strong headwind, but the engine sounded good. A long crossing.

Kapeli Bay was perhaps the prettiest that we anchored in. It was totally isolated and at its head was a grassy green patch shaded by old olive trees. As we entered, there was a rubber dinghy moored next to the shore. An enormously fat, very very bronzed German man was bathing in the altogether. His equally rounded wife was rapidly pulling on her bikini. It would only have taken me to join them and we could have made the Three Graces. Joan would not have approved.

In the morning we were woken to the tonking of sheep bells and the cry “Cmon brrr brrr,” echoing round the bay. Eventually a shepherd and his flock appeared under the olive trees.

There was an air of a lovely holiday drawing to an end as we motored back to Nidri. Distance makes the holiday world seem so far apart from real life. They have nothing to do with each other.