Upon his arrival at The Oddfellows, old George grasped the doorknob and eased the door open. A wave of friendly voices and aromatic cigarette smoke wafted out. George entered and approached the bar, acknowledging friends and neighbours seated around the room.
His walk along the cliff from his home in Wilson Road had been a little windswept but well worth the effort. The Jolly Sailors was the alternative watering hole, and much closer, but these days too noisy and crowded with loud music and people eating at every table. Often there was standing room only. The Oddfellows was more like the local that George was accustomed to.
He sat down at his usual table and took a long draught of his beer. He couldn’t remember, but thought this one was called “Trawlerboys”. Gone were the days when it was sufficient to order “A pint of bitter”. So much was changing. Even a visit to the bank was a trial these days. You often found only one cash desk manned – if the Bank was even open that day. What had happened to personal contact?
The door to the pub opened and George could not believe his eyes. There stood his old mate Jim and his wife Joyce. He hadn’t seen them in 15 years, since he had retired and left Essex.
“Your neighbours told us you’d be in here, tonight being Thursday,” said Jim. “How’re you doing?”
“Not so bad. How about you, and Joyce?”
“Can’t complain; although after that journey I should have the right. Train was late and no porter to help us with our luggage. The only drinks were from a machine and we didn’t have the right change – who uses money these days? Anyway, enough of that. I expect that you’re wondering why we’re here.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see your two faces,” George replied. “Here, let me get you a drink.”
The drinks purchased and the newcomers seated with George at a new table, it was time for their revelation. Jim bent forward and, in a low voice, explained the reason for their visit.
Some ten years previously, Jim had been on an extended visit to Lowestoft and he and George had thought it would be a good idea to borrow a dinghy and go for a little jaunt on the sea. Both had sailed years earlier on the Blackshore Estuary and were confident that they could cope.
They launched the little Mirror Dinghy from the beach near the Claremont Pier and headed south towards Pakefield with a gentle wind on the bows. All was going well when a sudden gust of wind caught them unawares. The boat swung around and involuntary gybe took place. The boom shot across and caught George, who was crewing, on the shoulder and knocked him clean overboard. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to pull the cord to pump air into his self-inflating buoyancy aid and within seconds he was safely floating on his back.
However, Jim, at the helm, had lost control of the boat as the mainsheet had been wrenched from his grip and the sail was flapping wildly while the craft was carried rapidly away by the wind, which had now started to pick up.
Fortunately this whole sorry escapade had been observed by two members of Pakefield Coastwatch team who were on duty at their lookout station in the Old Lighthouse on the cliffs at the edge of Pontin’s Holiday Village. They noted the exact position of the incident and immediately informed the coastguard who in turn alerted the lifeboat. Within minutes the RNLI boat was on the scene. George was taken on board and the dinghy with Jim at the helm taken in tow.
Thanks to the speedy actions of the emergency services what could have been a tragedy was averted. When safely ashore and wrapped in warm blankets, George and Jim were able to thank their rescuers, and their lucky stars! George vowed then never to set foot on a small boat again.
“Ah, yes. The reason for this unexpected visit: Since my last visit here, a friend occasionally sends me a copy of The Journal and I saw an advert in there for trips to go and see the seals at Scooby Sands on board the jet propelled RIB ‘Shearwater’. I thought it was about time that you got over this daft phobia of yours about boats. So I’ve booked us a place each for tomorrow.
Next morning George awoke with a feeling of nausea. How had he allowed himself to be talked into this. Still, there’s no harm in trying. He set off along the promenade to the hotel where his friends were staying and after a quick coffee the three began their walk to the Harbour. The closer they got to their goal, the more George was regretting his decision. His feet felt like lead. But, no, he said he’d do it and he would.
The climb down to the boat was a little tricky but they were soon all seated and securely belted in. Then the adventure began. As the dirigible emerged from the harbour-mouth it rapidly picked up speed. It skimmed the water, the spray creating colourful rainbows. All that George could feel was a great sense of exhilaration, so glad to have exorcised his demons.
“Now I’m about ready for a pint of that there Trawler Boys,” he thought.
