Easterly - A Coastal Sailing Adventure

Easterly
A Coastal Sailing Adventure
Brian L Bennett

ISBN 978-09562335-0-9
Copyright © by Brian L Bennett.
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Forward.
During the early post-war era, many small
timber built yachts frequented our shores.
The East Coast rivers played host to many
of these craft, thus providing a rich and
rewarding pastime for the part-time
seafarer.
Sadly, the number of these craft have
declined, due to age and neglect. A timber
built yacht requires many hours to be
spent during the winter months, on
maintenance and general loving care.
“Many like to sail, not so many like to
scrub” as the saying goes.
I had the privilege of sailing a small
sample of such craft in the period 1959 –

1975, and I am left with fond memories of
those times.
Brian L Bennett
21 December 2012.

Chapter 1.
The waters, fleets and marshes of the
Blackwater Estuary, extending Easterly
toward the North Sea, looked strange and
unreal in the early morning light. John
Francis had known the area from early
childhood and now surveyed the scene
with mixed feelings of familiarity and
excitement at the prospect of his
homecoming. He banked the Cessna to
port, steadying on a bearing of 30 degrees
magnetic, Just ahead he could see the
outline of Osea Island, his final
destination. There was just two miles now
to his objective. This would not be an easy

landing. A steep descent, full flaps, flaring-
out just above the sea wall that bordered
the Southern end of the small grass field.
It had been ten years now since he had
sailed these waters with his wife Beth.
Long, lonely years that he still bitterly
regretted. They had met as students and
married in the Spring of the following
year, 1975. Both were in their late teens
and perhaps somewhat over optimistic in
their endeavours. The summer of that year
had been idyllic. They had rented living
space in an old sail loft close to the river,
and sailed regularly in the evenings and at
week ends throughout the season. In the
August Beth had fallen for his child, but as
summer turned to winter the loft no longer

offered the haven of comfort that it had
previously afforded them. Then in the
Christmas week Beth had slipped on the
loft stairs, fallen badly and miscarried.
An angry obsessive mother had insisted
that her daughter should return to the
family home, and he was hardly in a
position to argue, having realised that his
prospects were at the very least non
existent. After that they had somehow
drifted apart and he had not contested the
divorce that followed. A ten year flying
commission in the Royal Air Force had
helped to alleviate the deep feelings of lose
and failure after the event. Having
completed his flying training he was
appointed to transport command. There

had been a point when feeling more
complete and secure with his situation, he
had tried to contact Beth, only to find that
the family had moved abroad.
His attention was drawn to a small
flashing light on the island. This was his
landing beacon as promised. He set his
fuel mixture to rich, fully extended the
flaps and started to let-down towards this
point in the half-light. This landing was to
be one of so many that he had experience,
but still difficult in these conditions. He
remembered Harry his instructor saying
“They are all easy when your feet are on
the ground.” This advise had stood him in
good stead through out his career.

Harry Tenant, Aitch to his friends, had
really put him through the mill during his
in-flight training, For which he was
eternally grateful. It had eradicated many
of the mistakes and bad habits that young
pilots could succumb to, and allowed him
to gain the wealth of experience that he
now had under his belt, so to speak. They
had become firm friends over the years,
and were always please to see each other
when their paths crossed as they often did.
In fact their last meeting had occurred in
the City only a month earlier. “Hello
chum!” he had always called him chum.
“Didn’t fly the desk then?” Aitch
continued, “not likely!” he replied. His
involvement with transport command had

ended after an ear infection had landed
him in doc for a while. They had offered
the desk job, but he decided to resign his
commission and try his luck elsewhere.
“Got just the thing for you,” said Aitch,
handing him a small neatly printed
business card. “Chap I know, out on this
island in the Essex marshes. God knows
what he is doing there. Wants a pilot!
urgent! Give you a start! got to rush! good
luck!” and he was gone, lost in the evening
commuter rush.
The meeting with the agent in his
Holborne offices had been brief, perhaps a
little too brief. Upon inspection of his CV,
documentation and logs he had been
commissioned to collect the Cessna from

the dealership and deliver it to the island
at an allotted time, He had also been given
two thousand pounds for expenses and
offered a rather large monthly salary, for
which he promptly signed on the dotted
line. The next two weeks had passed
quickly, as he put his affairs in order,
transferred his bank accounts and
gathered the gear and resources that this
new endeavour would require.
His approach was almost complete, He
was down to 200ft and could clearly see
the extent of the landing field. The beacon
was still flashing at the far end, and he
estimated that the sea wall stood no more
than 5 to 6ft above the level of the field.
The waters of the estuary slid by beneath

him. He throttled back the engine, pulled
back on the control column, and the
Cessna crossed the sea wall boundary and
settled softly but firmly onto the grassland
beyond. He surveyed the field as he taxied
to a parking area which fronted a large
shed. He manoeuvred the aircraft onto this
hard-standing and switched off the engine.
He sat in the silence for a moment and
then opened the door and stepped to the
ground. He removed four large travel bags
from the rear of the aircraft, and stood
there surveying his surroundings. He was
a James Stuart look-alike, No wonder Beth
Holden had fallen so helplessly for him.
He was tall and slim with quite grey eyes
and a generous smile.

“Mr Francis?” A large figure of a man had
arrived at the field. “Hello Sir, my name is
Johnson. The Governor has asked me to
meet you and escort you to the house. I see
that you have luggage. Please allow me.”
He lifted the heavy bags placing one under
each arm, and one in each hand, as if they
were rag dolls. “This way please Sir! it’s
only a short distance.” They walked along
a narrow path that ran parallel to the side
of the shed and came to a small road
running to left and right of it. A golf trolley
was park by the end of the path. “Sorry
about about the transport, best we can do
I’m afraid.” “That’s OK !” he answered.
“I’ve had worst.” The bags were deposited
in the back and they turned right onto the

road which led them towards the river, at
which point the it turned left and ran
parallel to the frontage a large manor
house, before turning left again to give
access to the rear of the property. He had
noticed the building during his approach.
An elegant structure with a large dormer
window and twin towers topped by spires.
“Have to use the back entrance Sir, the
front is locked for security. This place is up
for sale. We only have it for a month, just
for this operation.” Having offered the
information he wrapped himself round the
bags again, like a crab carrying eggs and
proceeded to enter the building through
the back door, which gave access to a
kitchen and a small dinning area.

Three men sat at the table sharing the first
meal of the day, whilst a fourth, moved
silently around them attending to their
needs. The elder of the three stood up as
he entered the room, offering his hand in
welcome. “Hello! I’m Graham Spencer. For
my sins, I’m in charge of this little lot.
Have a seat.” He nodded to Johnson.
“Take the bags up will you. I’ll show Mr
Francis to his room later.” “Yes Sir! right
away,” came the reply and he withdrew to
attend to the request. There was no doubt
that this man commanded respect. He was
tall and slim, with dark hair combed back
from his temples and a pencil thin
moustache. “Let me introduce you. Tim
Western and David Cox.” he said,

referring to his two companions. “Tim is
your flight engineer and David will be
installing the camera and handling the
photo-graphical side of things.” They both
nodded and smiled in recognition. Tim
Weston arose from the table. “Please
excuse us for now, we have lots to do if we
are to be ready in time.” They took their
leave, and went about their business.
Graham Spencer looked at his watch.
“Good Lord is that the time?” He
beckoned to the house keeper. “See that
Mr Francis gets a good breakfast and then
show him to his room, will you?” “Of
course Sir, one breakfast coming up” the
man replied and busied himself at the
stove. His attention returned to his guest,

“I’ll see you back here for launch, at
12.30hrs. Do make yourself at home and
have a look around the grounds if you
wish,” and then he was gone. Moments
later a very large plate of bacon and eggs
appeared upon the table and John Francis
realised that he was ready for every scrap
of it.
It had been a very full day. His room on
the upper floor looked out across the river.
The furniture and decoration had seen
better days, but it was adequate and he
had spent an hour stowing his gear and
settling in. He had to admit that his
situation gave him some concern. They
had lunched together, and on the surface it
had been friendly enough and he was

pleased to be working in a team again.
After lunch, they had attended a briefing
at the large shed. A camera pod had been
attached to the underside of the Cessna. A
monitor screen in the cockpit displayed the
camera view, plus navigational
information to the operator. A small hand-
held unit enabled control of the camera.
They discuses the flight procedures and
camera operations in great detail. The level
of knowledge present at the meeting
impressed him. It was early evening before
they returned to the house, and he was
now sitting in his room by the window
considering the events of the day. The
project involved an aerial survey of the
island and surrounding area for the new

owners. But why assemble such a
specialist team, when an aerial survey
company could have completed the task at
a fraction of the cost. He put the mater
from his mind and turned his attention to
the view from the window. A small sailing
cutter had anchored some distance from
the shore. The crew had been busy
attending to the rig and were now seated
in the cockpit enjoying a hot drink. The
scene evoked distant memories of happier
times, and he sat silently recalling them for
a while. When he looked again, the cutter
had hoisted tan colours sails, weighed
anchor and was dancing across the small
waves, her sails full in the breeze, heading
for open water and the sea beyond.

Chapter 2.
The Lad strolled along the path that
skirted the upper reaches of the
Blackwater Estuary, past the mud-births
that adorned the river bank, and on
towards Downs Road and the boatyard,
which was his intended destination. The
Essex riverside town of Maldon had been
his stomping ground now for the past
three years. Most of his young life had
been spent in Council care and he had little
recollection of family and friends prior to
that. Upon reaching his fifteenth year, Joe
Masters had offered him an apprenticeship
at the yard. He had been accepted by the
men and given a sense of purpose and

belonging. River life suited him, and he
was to be found most off-times crewing on
the Thames barges that lay-to at the town
quay. These few years had left him with a
strong sense of craft and seamanship, and
a physical ability belied by his small
stature.
He turned left and entered the yard. “The
governor wants you,” said Mac the rigger,
“he’s up top,”. “OK Mac, thanks,” he
replied and bounded up the wooden
staircase two steps at a time, and entered
the office which was in the loft above the
main workshop. “You come up them stairs
like that, you’ll have the whole bloody
building down round me ears.” Joe
Masters sat at his desk grinning, amused

by the younger man’s enthusiasm. “You
and me are delivering Easterly to
Wivenhoe this evening. She’s been
registered at Lloyd’s so you’ll need to
work this number into a deck beam just aft
of the mast. About two and a quarter
inches high should do. Then collect your
gear and meet me back here this evening
to catch the tide. Bring plenty of clothes as
you’ll be away for a bit.” He handed over a
slip of paper containing the number and
settled back to his own tasks. The lad
descended the steps more slowly. What
did he mean, ‘be away for a bit’. He
shrugged, collected a selection of small
chisels and a mallet from his toolbox, and
crossed the yard towards the slipway.

Easterly sat in her cradle awaiting the
return of the tide. She was a Seaway class
28 foot gaff cutter, built on the south coast
in 1930. The hull had been recovered from
a mud birth further down river and towed
to the yard to be restored for an owner in
the City. She sat there now complete in all
of her glory. Varnished bright-work, a
black shear-strake, light-grey topsides and
a dark-red anti-fouled bottom. She looked
a picture in the midday sun. He had been
involved in her reconstruction from the
start, and had an intimate knowledge of
every plank, beam and fastening of her.
“Hello there!” A young woman had
entered the yard, walked quietly to the
slipway and now stood beside him. She

was dressed in brown paint stained
dungaree overalls. She was his equal in
height and wore a bright cheerful blue-
eyed countenance under a mop of blond
curly hair. “Hello yourself!” he replied.
Patricia, or Pat, as she preferred to be
known, was the daughter of his land lady.
They had become close friends, some
would have said, inseparable. The men in
the yard pondered upon the mater.
“What’s up with the lad? Wish he’d get a
move on, the suspense is killing me.” He
had taken it all in good part, but was not
quite sure what was expected of him.
“You’ll be away for a bit then?”. “Yes!
sorry,” he replied, “I’ve only just heard
myself.” He looked across at her. Her eyes

were still smiling, but there was a slight
tremor in her voice. “You take care then.
See you when you get back.” She turned
and was gone as quickly as she had
arrived. He climbed the ladder, lent-to
against Easterly’s topsides, stepped onto
the deck, and stood there considering his
situation. Their friendship meant a lot to
him and he was worried that he should
hurt her feeling in some way that he did
not yet understand. He walked aft, along
the deck stepped into the cockpit and went
below to complete his task.
Easterly lay to her anchor in the Pyefleet
Channel on the mouth of the River Colne,
about four nautical miles from her final
destination. They had started their journey

around 5pm that evening and with the
assistance of receding tide, had navigated
the upper reaches of the river and
preceded onward towards Osea Island and
the open waters that lay beyond. This first
journey was to be taken up by the tasks
necessary to ensure that Easterly was
properly prepared for the rigours that lay
ahead of her. The new marine diesel
engine propelled the little vessel at a very
satisfactory rate and also supplied the
electrical power required for her safe
navigation and comfort aboard. Gone were
the oil lamps that would have served this
purpose in the past and gone also was the
small coke stove that would have adorned
and heated the main cabin. In its place was

a modern heater fuelled by diesel from the
main tank. Joe was not sure that he
approved of the changes, but had to admit
to the comfort, extra space and
convenience that they bestowed.
They interrupted their passage and lay to
anchor off of the Osea Island foreshore to
make a brew of tea, do a final check of the
rigging and ground gear, before setting all
plain sail and proceeding under a warm
south westerly breeze towards the open
sea. The conditions were ideal. Easterly
set-to at a great pace, shouldering aside the
small seas with ease and leaving a smooth
straight wake in her path. This was what
she had been designed to do. She was well
fitted to her task and in her element. The

lad was grinning from ear to ear, and Joe
had to admit to a deep feeling of
satisfaction in a job well done. They
hugged the southern bank of the river,
where the deeper water was to be found
and let Easterly have her head
Mrs M had prepared one of her beef and
dumpling stews and this now stood
bubbling on the stove in Easterly’s galley.
The lad sat reclining in the main cabin
charged with great anticipation of the feast
to come. Things didn’t get any better than
this. They had arrived in the channel
around sunset and had secure the yacht
and washed and tidied themselves in
readiness for the evening meal. That final
passage in the soft light and warmth

balmy conditions, had been superb and
had left him feeling relaxed and mellow,
helped no doubt by the small glass of navy
rum stood on the table beside him. Joe
appeared from the galley bearing two
large bowls of steaming stew. “You quite
comfy there?” “Yes Joe!” “You’ll be doing
the washing up then?” “Yes Joe!” He
grinned and deposited the bowls to their
allotted places upon the table, sat, and
settle to his meal with great gusto. The lad
grinned in reply and did likewise.
Easterly tugged gently at her anchor cable
as she rode to the slight swell entering the
channel from the sea beyond. The breeze
had died and the banks of the surrounding
area were shrouded in a light mist. There

was a chill in the air and the two men
sitting in Easterly’s cockpit found comfort
in their steaming mugs of coffee. The
remains of the meal had been cleared away
and all gear stowed for the night. The
ridding light cast a soft beam across the
fore-deck and surrounding area as if upon
a stage. The lad stood up, stretched long
and hard and nodded. “That’s me for some
shut-eye, Night Joe!” The other nodded
back. “Just before you go, we will be
meeting a Miss Bethany Holden tomorrow.
She’s the new owner. I want you to stay
with her for a few days and teach her the
rudiments of handling Easterly.” The lad
grinned, “So that was what all of the
secrecy was about then.” “Yes I want you

to stay aboard. Move your gear into the
fore peek and leave her the main cabin.
She’ll be staying ashore at night of course.
Any way that’s for another day. Just
thought I’d let you know. I’ll just finish
this coffee. and I won’t be far behind you.”
The Lad nodded again, as he entered the
hatch and stepped below, leaving the older
man to savour the last remnants of the
day. Joseph Masters sat in the silence of
the evening, a very contented man.
Life had not always been so kind. The war
years had taken their toll. As a child of
four he had been evacuated from The City
and the security of home life, into the then
strange, but kindly world of the Masters
household; a Jewish family involved in the

tailoring of gentlemen’s attire, in the
county town of Ipswich, Suffolk. There as
a boy his interest in the sea had blossomed
with the close proximity of the river and
the many commercial and private vessels
that were to be found there. In the winter
of 1944 tragic news from home had left
him destitute at a very young age. In later
years he had taken the family name to
himself but not alas the faith. Having
completed his education to a proficient
standard, he had entered the Royal Navy
as an apprentice shipwright. Rowing,
sailing and maintaining the Navy Whalers
and other small auxiliary craft had
developed the skills that were to be so
essential to his future career. It was while

on a cycling holiday around East Anglia
that he discovered the pleasures of the
market town of Maldon and was
introduced to his wife-to-be Margaret, now
known to all affectionately as Mrs M.
Meeting Margaret had been the catalyst in
his life. Upon leaving the navy he had
moved to the town and set up shop as a
boat builder repairer. There was a great
demand for his services, which had
enabled the business to expand and move
to the present premises at Downs Road.
He and Margaret were married shortly
after this event and set up home in the
town, and the rest as they say is history.
He left the security of the cockpit and
moved forward to make a final check of

the yacht before turning in. As he stepped
onto the foredeck something caught his
eye in the half light. A small wave was
travelling along the channel from the
seaward direction. It was not part of the
swell which had now subsided, but
seamed to move independently of it, as if
some large fish were making its way
upstream. It passed him and disappeared
into the mist. There followed a period of
silence, perhaps a couple of minutes,
before he was aware of the sound of diesel
engines starting and a shadowy bulk in the
mist, that had not caught his attention
previously, slowly withdrew to seawards
and became lost in the night. No lights
were visible and the engines were muffled

and running slowly. Puzzled by the
strange occurrence, he finished his
inspection, returned to the cockpit and
stepped below into the warmth and
security of the cabin. He changed into his
night attire, slid between the sheets and
was asleep almost before his head hit the
pillow. Tomorrow was another day.

Chapter 3
Beth Holden entered Liverpool Street
station from the taxi rank and boarded the
train bound for the East Coast. She would
have to change at Colchester and then
travel on by the local service to her final
destination, the small Essex town of
Wivenhoe, situated on the banks of the
river Colne. This was to be a new start, a
fresh chapter in her life. Recovery from her
failed marriage had been slow at first. A
move to France with her mother had
provided a diversion from the immediate
situation. However, there followed a year
of abject boredom, punctuated by various
social introductions, intended, in her best

interest, to offer prospects for the future.
Inevitably, the call of home became too
strong and she had departed, amidst
floods of tears, to a new life in the City of
London and prospects of her own making.
She had been offered the post of assistant
in a law practice in Lincoln’s Inn, and over
the years had progressed to the position of
junior partner. Life was rewarding. She
was secure financially, and fulfilled, both
in her working and private life.
Moreen Connelly, had joined the firm on
the same day as herself and an immediate
bond had been established between them.
They had shared a small flat, close to the
office during the intervening years, and
became known to one and all as the twins.

Living with Moreen had been a blessing.
She was a bright-light and spread her
enthusiasm for life to all around her, and
thus, in her care, she had recovered her
sense of contentment and well-being. And
so it had been. A friendship that had lasted
over the years. There had been the odd
romantic interlude for them both, but
nothing that had really rocked the boat, so
to speak. And then Moreen had form an
attachment to John Kemp. At first he was
just a casual acquaintance, but as the
months passed it became clear to her that
they were both deeply in love with each
other
“Love you Beth!” “Love you too. Be
happy!” and floods of tears again, as the

car drew away, carrying the couple on the
start of their new life together. It had all
happened so quickly, leaving her little
time to accept the inevitable. The flat felt
empty and became a place just to sleep.
She had taken to going away at weekends,
which were the worst times. It was during
one of these trips that she had come across
the hull of the gaff cutter nestled in a mud
berth at the seaward end of the Wivenhoe
water front. The notice tied to the mast had
read “For Sale any offers considered”.
There was a number, which she rang, and
within a couple of hours she was the new
owner. It was a completely mad thing to
do, but she needed a diversion, anything
to combat the chilling loneliness which

had descended upon her. “She’s as solid as
a rock” said the small man in the overalls.
“I’ll need her away soon though,
developing the site you see. There’s a yard
up at Maldon that’ll get her in shape for
you. Give em a ring shall I?” And so it
was, that she returned to the City that
weekend the owner of a yacht of dubious
condition and contracted to a yard owner
whom she had yet to meet. As to the cost
of all this, well that was anybodies guess.
That had been over a year ago now. She
had recovered from the shock of loosing
her friend and confident, and her life was
more or less back on track Then a senior
position had become available in the firm’s
Colchester office. She had been

recommended for the post and had
accepted gratefully, as it offered the chance
of a new start. The restoration of the cutter
was almost completed. There had been
several visits to the yard in this period and
many letters had exchanged hands
concerning the detail involved in the
reconstruction. Joseph Masters had set her
mind at rest and assured her that the
project was sound, and had quoted a price
that was fair and within her budget. And
so it was that Easterly had been reborn and
was nearly ready for delivery.
She left the train at Colchester and settled
on a bench to await her connection. It was
sunny and the air was cool and crisp on
her face. A feeling of confidence and

pleasure stirred within her as she
contemplated her new beginnings.
Wivenhoe had been a natural choice as a
base. She had frequented the town
regularly and felt secure and at-home
there. A small cottage had come on the
market in Dentons Terrace not far from the
shops and river. She had put in an offer
which had been accepted. Thus the stage
had been set, and she could hardly contain
her excitement at the thought of the
prospects that lay before her. There was
still the problem of finding a suitable berth
for Easterly. She was due for delivery in
about a week’s time. Not long, but she
lived in hope. The firm had given her a
month to settle in, before she was due to

take up her new position and she was sure
that she would need every minute of it.
The local service had arrived and she
boarded and settled herself in a window
seat, anxious not to miss her first glimpse
of the sea and the surrounding countryside
which was to be her new home. “Hello
Miss!” She was startled by the voice which
had come from the opposite side of the
carriage. At first she could not place the
speaker. Then it came to her. It was the
small man in the overalls, except he was
now wearing a sports jacket and grey
trousers. “Been to town shopping” He
offered the explanation, and then
continued, “The name’s Robert. Robert
Prentice, but my friends call me Bob.” She

was not sure that she welcomed the
intrusion, but smiled in reply. “Bethany
Holden, hello! it’s nice to see you again.”
“How’s the yacht progressing?” he asked.
“She’s nearly completed. Due to launch
next week.” “Make a good job of her, did
they?” “Yes, I’m very pleased with the
work and the price was reasonable too. I’m
calling her Easterly.” “Good name that”
He beamed at her across the carriage, and
she began to feel more at ease in his
presence. She paused in thought for a
moment and then asked “You wouldn’t
know where there’s a berth for her, would
you?” “Got just the thing” he replied. “I
purchased the lease on that piece of
foreshore, last year. The wife and I needed

a bit of extra income for our retirement.
Could fit you in there.” “Thank you very
much” she replied. “You have no idea
what a relief that would be to me.” Their
conversation lapsed for a while as her
attention was drawn by the view from the
window. The river lay in all of its
splendour to her right hand, wending its
way through the Essex countryside, and
glinting in the sunlight. The beauty of it
took her breath away. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Yes it
is, very lovely” she replied. “Gets to me
every time, and I’ve’ only lived here all me
years” he continued. She laughed,
realising as she did so, how absent the
sound had been from her life. They

completed the journey in silence, content
with their own thoughts. At the station
they took leave of each other as friends.
She walk the short distance to the terrace
of cottages, turned the key in the lock and
was home .

Chapter 4.
Easterly lay to her anchor in the shallow
waters off of Mersea Stone. The lad sat
relaxed in the cockpit, whilst Beth Holden
busied herself below with the preparation
of their lunch. It was a brilliant day and he
had been watching the various small craft
navigating the stretch of water that lay
before him. A large motor yacht had
anchored some distance inshore of them. It
seamed strange to him that nobody was to
be seen on deck on such a pleasant day. It
just lay there, as if deserted and yet he had
seen no one leave the vessel. He watched it
for a while longer, then turned his
attention his present situation. He was

pleased to have such an agreeable sailing
companion, and had begun to realise that
the next few days could be a pleasure,
rather than the arduous task that he had
expected. She had taken to Easterly like a
duck to water, and he had been pleased to
help her in any way that he could.
The previous morning, they had left
Pyefleet very early, being anxious to catch
the last of the flood tide up river. Their
arrival had to coincided with a good depth
of water to enable the safe delivery of the
yacht into her berth on the foreshore. After
breakfast, Joe packed his gear ready to go
ashore. Margaret was meeting him with
the car for the return journey to Maldon. In
the meantime he had to call upon the

owner and deliver the final documentation
for the rebuild. “Now you behave yourself,
remember the young lady’s from the City.”
“Yes Joe!” Right then! I’ll leave you to look
after things here,” and he was gone. The
Lad was not quite sure that he welcomed
this intrusion into his everyday routine,
but it seamed that he had little choice in
the mater. He was just beginning to feel
restless, when a voice hailed him from the
river bank. “Hello there! Easterly!
Permission to come aboard?” She was
young, probably in her late twenties. Her
figure was slim and pert, displayed to
perfection by a white short sleeved blouse
and fitted jeans. A bob of brown hair
framed her features, which were warm

and generous, with eyes to die for. All of
this and more, became apparent to him, as
she descended the bank and drew closer.
His heart skipped a beat. She was not at all
what he had expected.
“A penny for them!” She had returned to
the cockpit bearing bowls of steaming
soup and a large plate of sandwiches.
“There, I think that should keep us going
until tea-time,” He grinned in reply, and
they both tucked into the fare that lay
before them. After a while, she asked,
“what do I call you? We can’t be friends
you know, unless we have names.” He
thought for a moment. It had never
occurred to him before. He had always
been called the Lad, but he liked the idea.

“I know,” she continued, “how about
Jamie?” He thought for a moment longer
and then said, “yes, why not, Jamie suits
me just fine.” She smiled, “hello Jamie!”
“hello Beth!” he replied, and they settled to
the rest of their lunch, content with their
solution to the problem.
The horizon over the Thames Estuary had
become dark and foreboding. It had
happened without their noticing it. A wind
was rising from the North East and there
was a definite chill in the air. “We had best
be moving, I don’t want to be caught here
in that.” He gestured towards the ever
blackening squall that was descending
upon them. Let’s get some water under her
keel.” And so saying he set about rigging

the storm jib and try-sail. “They look very
small?” she ventured. “You wait until this
wind builds, that’s all she”ll need. I’ll
shorten the anchor cable. When I give the
signal, sail her out will you?” ” Yes of
course,” she replied, taking charge of the
tiller in readiness. He went forward to
recover the anchor. When he had
shortened the scope of the cable
sufficiently, he waved his hand. Beth
hardened the sheets and eased the tiller to
lee-ward. Easterly responded by surging
forward driven by the raising wind, and
then turned and headed away from the
shore, into the deeper water beyond,
lifting the anchor free from the seabed as
she did so. He completed his task and

secured it in its housing on the foredeck.
He had just re-joined her in the cockpit
when it hit them full blast. Easterly heeled
to the onslaught, steadied, then marched
staunchly across the short seas that had
been whipped up by the gale-force wind.
With the wind came the rain, ice-cold,
torrents of it. It took their breath away. It
lasted perhaps two or three minutes at the
most, before moving on. There had been
little time to prepare, and they were both
soaked and extremely cold. He started the
motor and headed inshore towards the
Pyefleet Channel. It was the closest point
to offer any shelter and he knew that they
needed to regain their body heat as soon as
possible. On arrival, they anchored and

secured the yacht, and went below to
recover.
Easterly’s cabin offered them little comfort
at first. The main hatchway had been
partly open and a considerable amount of
water had found its way below decks. He
started the heater and set about pumping
the bilges. He became aware that Beth was
shaking uncontrollably with the cold. She
looked almost blue and it was obvious that
she was unable to fend for herself. He
realised that he must get her warm as soon
as possible. She looked at him in
desperation. “Jamie, please do this for me.
Its fine, really!” Her voice was no more
than a whisper. He seated her on the edge

of the bunk-bed and proceeded gently to
attend to her needs.
They sat opposite to each other, wrapped
in blankets. The heater had done its work,
and the cabin was habitable again. She had
the colour back in her cheeks once more. “I
must look a mess?” “You look fine to me,”
he replied. “I’m sorry! Have I embarrassed
you?” she asked. “Well a little,” he replied.
“You’re so beautiful.” She flushed and
lowered her eyes from his view. “Oh
Jamie! I can’t remember the last time that
anyone said that to me.” She reached over,
took his hand and drew him to her. Her
mouth was soft and warm as it sought his.
She reclined backwards upon the bed,
opened her thighs and accepted him,

thrusting forward desperately in her
search for completion. Their desire for
each other seamed insatiable, but was
eventually rewarded, and they lay in each
others arms, lost to the world in repose.
He had been awake for some time, laying
there, watching her sleep, her breasts
raising and falling gently to the rhythm of
her breathing. He was completely
mesmerised by her. He could never have
imagined meeting some one like her, and
to be as close as this was beyond his
wildest dreams. She stirred, “Hello there!”
her voice was low and lyrical. Their eyes
met, and just for that moment time stood
still. They were in another world and
neither wished for the spell to be broken.

They consummated there relationship
again, gently, lovingly, deeply, then
slumbered on content in the moment and
with each other.

Chapter 5.
The Cessna was above the squall, having
climbed to avoid it. John Francis and Tim
Western surveyed the scene from their
lofty vantage point. They could see the
small yacht clawing its way into deeper
water, and then all was obliterated from
their view. “Hope they make it OK.” “Yes
so do I.” John Francis had experienced
similar conditions in the past and he did
not make the comment lightly. He thought
that he had recognised the yacht, as it bore
a strong resemblance to the Cutter that he
had seen anchored the previous evening,
but he was not sure. They turned their
attention to the job in hand. This was their

first day working together as a crew and
they were getting along just fine. This
flight was mainly for calibration of the
instruments and camera. The weather had
delayed them slightly, but already the
horizon was showing signs of clearer
conditions to come.
He was still unsure of the exact purpose of
their mission. His job was to fly the aircraft
accurately. Tim had control of the camera
and directed the operation. So far, most of
their time had been spent out in the
estuary far from their intended location.
He made a mental note to mention this at
the next meeting. “There they are. We’ll
have them on camera in a minute.” Tim
had re-discovered the yacht. She was

heading inshore now, seeking shelter
closer to the land. “There you see, look.”
He adjusted the zoom and the yacht
appeared, on the screen, small but very
distinct. It was only an image on a monitor
screen, but for John Francis something
stirred within him and he knew
instinctively the identity of the young
woman in the cockpit. It was completely
illogical that the feeling should be so
strong, and yet it was there. The image of
the yacht had faded from their view and
the spell was broken. They completed a
further hour of their allotted task, flying on
various heading and checking the accuracy
of the equipment. Eventually Tim nodded,
satisfied with results. “Right! That should

do. Let’s head back, I could kill for a cup of
tea.” He was a great tea-man and seamed
to consume gallons of the stuff. “Yes! by all
means, let’s do just that. I could do with a
stretch myself.” he replied and set course
for the return leg of their journey.
It was late afternoon. They had just
completed their tea break, when Johnson
had requested that he should attend a
meeting with the Governor. He had
directed him to one of the rooms, situated
on the ground floor at the front of the
building, which was being used as a
temporary office. Graham Spencer sat at a
large desk by the window, sorting through
a pile of papers. He looked up as he
entered. “Hello John! do take a seat. Be

with you in a minute.” He gestured to a
large armchair placed adjacent to the desk.
John Francis settled himself, grateful for
the comfort that it offered. His attention
was drawn to the window He tried to
recall this same view when the Cutter had
been anchored there previously, but he
was still positive that there had been two
male figures and no other. “You all right?
You’re looking a bit worried.” Graham
Spencer had completed his deliberations
and was watching him attentively. “Yes
I’m fine.” he replied, “just something or
nothing”. “Good! Let’s get on then.” He
picked up a large folder from the desk. “I
must confess to you that we have made
extensive enquiries regarding your past. I

am pleased to say the that you have a clean
bill of health in this respect, and I am now
able to explain the real purpose of this
operation to you. I’m sure that you must
have been wondering.” He swivelled his
chair to face the window and looked out
upon the view, deep in thought. Then
without waiting for an affirmation he
continued. “It has come to our attention
that certain sensitive materials are being
bought into this country by a foreign
power. I am at liberty to tell you that
should these be used for their intended
purpose, the results would be
catastrophic.” He paused for a moment,
then returned to his position facing the
desk and looked long and hard into the

eyes of his audience. “Look John, these
people are bloody dangerous. I want you
to be clear about this, before you commit
any further. My team are all from the MET
Special Operations branch. We are used to
this, it’s part of our job. You will be
branded as one of us by association, and
should push come to shove you’ll not be
given any special dispensation. It’s dog eat
dog in this business I’m afraid.” He lent
back in the chair and relaxed, having
imparted his message. He was keen to
elicit a positive response, but years of
experience guided his hand in the mater,
and he could only hope that his initial
impression of the young man seated before
him, had been correct.

So there it was, the truth at last. A little
late, but better late then never, he thought.
Upon consideration, his previous
occupation had not been without its
dangers. One had to be constantly aware
of them, as complacency could lead to dire
consequences. The question was, should
he become further involved in this
particular situation. He was sorely
tempted to take the opportunity offered to
him and withdraw there and then.
However, his curiosity had been aroused,
and he had to admit that the demanding
nature of the task had provided an outlet
for his natural ability as an aviator.
Something that had been missing, since his
retirement from his former career. He was

part of a team again, and he found
complete satisfaction in this. It had been
the pattern of his life over the past ten
years, and it was good to be back. Without
further consideration, he affirmed his
commitment to the project, and the two of
them shook hand. “Good to have you on
board.” Graham Spencer looked pleased
and relieved. “Let’s have a drink on it.
Whisky?” Two glasses and a bottle had
appeared upon the desk. “I like a small nip
occasionally. Double malt! Hope you like
it!”
They sat together for a while longer,
discussing various aspects of the
operation. Some considerable time had
been spent on the ground in a fruitless

search, using conventional methods, but so
far they had drawn a blank. There was no
doubt that the the materials were arriving
by sea. Several vessel had been boarded
and searched, but had proven to be clean.
Time was of the essence, and it had been
decided to set up a base on the island and
carry out an aerial survey in a last attempt
to penetrate the cloak of secrecy
surrounding the problem. The intent was
to concentrate upon the many small creaks
and inlets to be found in the area. These
were less obvious, and yet would provided
ample opportunity for clandestine
intruders to come and go unobserved. This
task was to commence at dawn the

following day, and promised to be
thorough, both in it’s extent and detail.
David Cox had entered the room whilst
they had been chatting. “Something here
that I thought you should see right away
Gov.” He placed a large photo image on
the desk before them. “This one is from
from today’s’ survey. We have an
interesting situation here, just at the
entrance to the Pyfleet Channel.” He
pointed to the area of interest, and upon
further inspection it became apparent that
there was an unusual pattern visible on the
sea bed. There appeared to be two parallel
tracks, extending from the seaward end of
the channel, and terminating in the
shallows at the source. They were very

feint, disappearing occasionally, is if
buried, only to appear again a short
distance further on. “Also notice the large
motor yacht anchored just off-shore,” he
continued. “This may just be a coincidence,
but I have a suspicion that the two features
are somehow connected.” “Yes so have I.”
Graham Spencer prodded the image with
his finger. There was a steely glint in his
eyes. “Gentlemen I think that we have
them at last,” he said.
There had been much speculation as they
sat talking after their evening meal.
Graham Spencer had remained in the
office, and the phone had been busy for
several hours. He had eventually sent a
message inviting them to join him. The

atmosphere in the room was tense. The
briefing was short and to the point. A
police presence had been established in the
area to monitor, movements overnight.
Until a transfer of materials was suspected,
things would be kept low key. The
coastguard had been alerted and would
deploy a vessel if required. A Police
Special Forces Group had been assembled
to head the main arresting body. They
were due to arrive early the next morning.
In the event, the Cessna would be
deployed to monitor the situation from the
air, and supply direction to the ground
operation, by radio. The meeting
completed, they retired early in
preparation for the events of the coming

new day, though whether sleep would
come easily was questionable. Probably
not!
Chapter 6.
Patricia Hodge dropped the mooring
buoy, hardened the sheets, and lay the
dinghy on course, leaving the anchorage at
St. Lawrence Bay quickly astern of her.
Ahead she could see the outline of the
Power Station, set gaunt against a
darkening sky. She had taken the

precaution of setting her storm sails, in
preparation for the approaching squall.
She adjusted her bearing until the foot of
the fore-stay aligned with the tip of the
Bradwell breakwater, and held steady,
secure in the knowledge that she would
achieve a safe passage to her intended
destination.
‘Kitten’ was a GP-14 hard-chine dinghy;
not the fastest, but solid and reliable, and a
very good sea boat. There were not many
places in this stretch of water that she had
not visited in her, and over the years she
had become a very accomplished sailor.
She had helped her brother David build
the dinghy while they were still at school,
and they had had many an adventure in

her together. Then David had joined the
Navy as a cadet, and she was left as officer
in-charge so to speak. A last hug, for a
while at least. “Look after Mum! guess you
are the captain now!” and he had
departed, excited with the prospects of his
new career. They had both missed him
terribly. Her Father had deserted them
when she was but a child, and the three of
them, Mum, David and herself, had
weathered the storms of life together ever
since. Upon leaving school, a short term of
employment as an office junior, had
convinced her that there were better things
to be doing in this life. She had donned the
garb of the working man and found casual
labour amongst the yards and vessels that

constituted the commercial life of the
Maldon water front. Her natural ability to
attend successfully to the various tasks
presented to her, and her cheerful
disposition, had found favour with the
working folk, and her services were
always in demand. A dab of paint here, or
a trip to the top of the mast, to fix an errant
portion of the rigging. It was all within her
daily routine.
The wind had increased in force and
backed to the North-East. She raised the
centre board until just the tip was gripping
the water, and went about onto a starboard
tack, surfing across the face of the squall as
a surfer rides a wave. She had the whole
width of the river at this point and had

drawn away from the dangers of the
shallow water to the lee of her. The rain
came down in buckets, ice cold, reducing
visibility and taking her breath away.
Kitten skipped across the waves at a great
pace, and the opposite shore line was soon
upon her, prompting a further change of
course. The wind was now free and from
her port hand. She settled the dinghy on a
broad reach, which would eventually
bring her within the shelter of the Bradwell
foreshore. Though well prepared, she had
still been chilled by the passing downpour,
and aimed to rest there for a while, and
replenish her bodily resources.
And all of this, just for that silly Lad, she
thought. Life had been uncomplicated till

then. She had been confident and able to
look after herself. Mum had said that she
was too independent, and yet family life
and her daily routine had provided ample
opportunity to socialise, and she had felt
happy and content in this. The Lad had
changed all of that, and she was not sure
that she welcomed the intrusion into her
inner sanctum. He had come to their home
as a lodger, and they had taken to him
straight away. David had just departed for
the Navy, and it was good to have the
company, as the house had been feeling
very empty. At first they were just mates,
but so alike. They spoke the same
language, thought the same thoughts. It
was uncanny. They shared the same love

of the river, and found a deep satisfaction
in each others company. Then slowly,
without her really realising, something
deep within her had stirred. A yearning,
over and above all of this, and it
challenged her each day to seek
completion. Her body had changed, she
knew that, and Mum had guided her in the
management of this. That had been the
easy bit. It was her feelings for the Lad that
she found so challenging. He had
remained oblivious to her re-birth as a
woman, choosing to live in a world of his
own, amerced in his boats and the river.
And now she was on this fools errand,
perusing him to goodness knows where, in
a desperate attempt not to feel rejected. If

she were honest, the whole affair was
driving her nuts.
The sun had emerged from behind the
retreating clouds, and her mood changed,
soothed by the warmth of its rays. The
wind deceased to a fair breeze, escorting
her little vessel on its final passage into the
lee of the breakwater at the entrance to
Bradwell Creak. She anchored the dinghy
close to the shore, where the best shelter
was to be found, and recovered her
Thermos-flask and sandwiches from the
security of the locker, set under the
foredeck. The warm soup replenished her,
body and soul, followed by Mum’s beef
and chutney sandwiches, and she settle
upon the bottom boards of the dinghy, for

the moment, content, and at peace with the
world. How long she had lain there, she
was not sure, but she came to with a start,
realising that time was of the essence if she
was to reach her final destination before
nightfall. She had planned to lay-up for the
night in the Pyfleet Channel. It was
sheltered and secure and she had often
enjoyed the peace and tranquillity that it
offered in the past. She completed her
preparations and and made her departure.
The wind and weather were set fair, but
she had a hard six mile sail ahead of her,
before reaching the entrance to the Colne
estuary, and her intended landfall. The
incoming tide would set against her soon,
and it was essential that she should gain

the shallow waters of the Mersea Flats,
before it was able to hampered her
progress. The Flats bordered the southern
shore of Mersea Island, and extended to
Mersea Stone, situated at it’s Eastern tip.
Kitten had the bit between her teeth, and
was really steaming along, and she
achieved her objective, in record time. The
motion over the shallows was smother and
she was now out of the main tidal stream,
and able to make progress unimpeded. She
knew the area like the back of her hand.
No place to take a larger craft, but a
dinghy on a rising tide presented little
problem.
It was 4.30 pm as she rounded the point at
Mersea Stone. It had been an exhilarating

sail. The wind had served her well, and
although tired, she felt mentally refreshed,
and optimistic. More like her old self. She
urged the dinghy forwards on a failing
wind and eventually entered the channel.
Her heart missed a beat. Easterly lay
anchored close to the shore a short
distance ahead of her. She could not
believe her luck. There he was at last with
nowhere to run. Her heart was pounding,
with excitement, at the prospect of an
imminent gratification of the desire within
her. She bought the dinghy alongside, and
silently climbed aboard. She slid open the
hatch and peered within. It was a while
before her eyes became accustomed to the

dark, then she uttered a sob, as her whole
world collapsed around her.
Chapter 7.

Police Constable Bob Marley shifted his
position to ease the cramp that was
developing in his left leg. The grass bank
to the rear of the sea wall at Mersea Stone
was not the most comfortable of locations.
Normally his shift would have ended by
now and after a swift pint at the Bell, the
pleasures of home, supper and the loving
attentions of his wife Megan, would have
completed his day. On this occasion,
however, this was not to be and he tried to
put these thoughts from his mind and
concentrate on the task at hand.
It had been a strange evening. He had been
put on extended duty around 6pm in order
to observe any activity on the waters off of

Stone Point. At first, all had been quite,
apart from a small dinghy making its way
into the estuary. It passed close by and the
sound of sobbing drifted across the waters;
which was strange, as sailing was usually
looked upon as a pleasurable activity. The
small vessel disappeared from his view
leaving him perplexed.
His attention returned to the scene before
him, and there it was; a motor cruiser, a
giant compare with most craft on the river.
It had appeared as if by magic, while his
attentions had strayed. No sound was to
be heard, and it lay there, still in the
waters, like a bird of prey, awaiting to
pounce. This is a work in progress:
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Easterly - A Coastal Sailing Adventure

Easterly - A Coastal Sailing Adventure

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