Some days are best described as "watery." No pun intended.
The water itself is often a steel grey and the sky a light, light blue dotted with high cirrus...... like stretched out cotton wool.
The sun is filtered but it's not cold. You're aware that summer is waning. Fall is around the corner. Some of the trees, at the waters edge, are starting to turn and the geese are looking to the south but there's plenty of life left in the year.
It was a day such as this that Jason and I shared our last sail in "his brother in law's skiff."
We pushed off with me at the tiller......by now I was, at least, comfortable with the dinghy but still on a steep learning curve. I had acquired foul weather gear recently, having learnt the hard way. The gear cost me more than the darned boat!
Jason, as usual, was in his old dark green gear and black rubber boots that he often wore about the yard on the muddy days. He's brought with him a flask of hot, sweet, milky tea which I detest to this day.....I prefer no milk no sugar......plus a couple of truly thick sandwiches made up for us by his wife. We had the customary gear in the boat including a couple of floater cushions plus life jackets. All this and two intrepid adults left little room!
As we hoisted the sails I commented that we were about two hours into the ebb and noted that the breeze was out of the south west. Wind against tide produced a healthy little chop for a small boat.
It's days like this that you remember. We wore upwind not that the boat pointed very well. Spray flying from the chop. Sun shining. Not having to work hard. Sitting on the weather gunnel tiller extension in one hand......a new and recent addition......main sheet in the other periodically leaning out to weather as the gusts threatened and to keep the boat trim.
Jason sitting up forward totally relaxed, cheerily puffing on his pipe; enjoying the moment but aware of everything. A look of contentment on his face. An ageing man comfortable with himself and his surroundings.
For a couple of hours we worked our way up and down the channel waving at passing boats some going with a destination in mind some, like us, simply enjoying the afternoon.
Not many words passed between us. A few simple instructions from Jason periodically in order to get the best out of the dinghy. Comments on trim and adjustments; the boats heading relative to the constantly shifting breeze. Jason teaching....me learning.
"Not sure you want to be over 'ere this toime of the arternoon" he says suddenly. "Put 'er about and 'ead back across the channel."
Woomph....too late.....we ran aground! "Thought so" he says. "Must be four hours into the ebb. This bank is a shifty one alright."
We tried to pole her off using the oars but she wouldn't budge. We upped the centreboard and leant her over. No luck. We were stuck for a while.
The water sluiced by the dinghy as the little bay emptied like a bathtub. Mud flats started to appear. "Part of the larnin' " says Jason lighting his pipe. "We'll be 'ere at least three hours. Must be an hour or so left in the ebb then about forty five minutes slack then it will take at least an hour of flood to float her orf." "Might as well make ourselves comfortable."
He poured himself a mug of his disgusting tea and shared a sandwich after which he loaded up his pipe and settled back comfortably leaning against one of the cushions at peace with his world waiting for the tide to come in and float us home.
"You've never told me too much about yourself Jason" I said. He looked at me over his pipe and thought for a few moments. I think he knew that, as I grew, we would see less and less of each other. He was right in this.
"My father owned the yard before me and his father before him. I'm seventy one years old and was born in a different time........ but aren't we all." I was born in 1890 in that old house by the yard. My family has lived in that house for over two hundred years that I know of. Queen Victoria was on the throne. Did you know that she died not very far from here? In Osborne House on the Isle of White in 1901. I remember it quite well."
He paused, spat over the side of the boat and began to load up his pipe again out of the old oilskin pouch that I had become so used to seeing. He was thoughtful. "What is it you actually want to know?"
I said "How much does your son know of your history and your family's?" "Not much" he replied. "We don't talk too much."
For me....there's the rub. Quite often little is passed down. Much gets lost in the passage of time. We lose our identity making it that much more difficult to determine who we are and why we are the way we are.
"Oi've seen three wars." he said. "One first hand.....I was in the Navy. The next sort of second hand as I was working in a yard in Portsmouth. I was too old by then to fight but I had to do my bit but they bombed Portsmouth all the time. The third was just in the newspapers. They never larn."
"Oi spent ten years in the navy. Oi joined up in 1914 at the start of the war against the Kaiser. Oi ended up Bosun on a destroyer. I was at the Battle of Jutland under Admiral Jellicoe. Oi dunno if you know but that battle was the largest navel battle in history in terms of the number of warships involved and men killed." "Oi was a lucky one though!"
"After oi was finished with all that I come back to the yard and worked with me dad." "It was about then I met the woife. Couple of years later my boy was born."
"Times was 'ard then." "Not a lot of money around. Folk picking themselves up arter the war. We did OK though. We grew all our own vegetables and had a few chickens. We ate well but the business was poor."
"Then, bugger me, if it didn't all start again. Hitler this time. I was too old to fight and my boy too young. I think he was only twelve when it began. Lucky it didn't go on another year he would've bin called up." "Dad stayed in the yard. Me and the family went down to Portsmouth to do war work until it was all over......do our bit loike." "Later on the Korean war came and went but it seemed a long way orf and we just read about it in the papers."
"Things got better then." More people took to the sailing. Dad and I built a few small boats and repairs kept us busy....roight busy in fact. Dunno wot is going to happen in the future though. Things is changing. There's all this fibreglass and suchlike now."
Our little boat gave a lurch. "Water's coming up." says Jason. "Won't be long. Should be off soon."
He was quiet for a few moments gazing across the rapidly filling bay.
"By the way Peter, I never told you, but it was me dad that built this little skiff for the wife's brother." "Brings back memories."
That was the last time I sailed with Jason. I saw him about the yard through the Autumn months but I already was dreaming about joining a yacht club and moving up to a modern fibreglass, competitive dinghy. As an aside I ended up buying a 505, an Olympic class at the time, and club raced until I moved back up north.
Jason died in 1966. He was seventy six years old. I saw his wife before emigrating to Canada.
She said his last words were "It's toime." She said he was content.
He has a headstone, next to his father's, in the churchyard. It reads:
"Jason... Fair Weather"
The image is a 505 dinghy in full flight. I ended up buying one very similar.!!
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