We had sailed up the Firth of
Clyde and into the Kyles of Bute
where, late on a Friday evening
in June with the sun still
bright and warm, we anchored at
Colintraive. There was one other
yacht lying quietly to a hotel
mooring. A few yachts could be
seen sailing further up the
Kyles. The hills of Bute were
going into shadow on the west
side while the hills on the east
side shared our sunshine. It was
a peaceful, ‘good to be alive’
place.
While finishing our alfresco
meal in the cockpit, a large
yacht arrived and anchored near
us. As the yacht settled she
swung round and ended up quite
close. Her skipper saw the
situation and called over-
“Sorry about that. If you don’t
mind we will have our meal and
then shift over a bit. Our
skipper had no hesitation in
agreeing to the suggestion. We
had met the boat before and knew
that the skipper – a Commander
in the Navy- his wife and two
teenage sons were an
enthusiastic and competent crew.
No sooner had they gone below to
eat than a dinghy left the yacht
on the mooring and headed over
towards us. Pulling away
heartily at the oars was a
rotund man with a very red face,
very white shirt and wide shorts
topped by a spotless white
floppy tennis hat.
The dinghy shot past our boat
and alongside the new arrival.
The rower shipped his oars and
holding on to a guardrail,
started knocking on the hull and
calling out-“Hello- on board
there!’ As soon as the skipper
appeared on deck the dinghy man
started to shouting –‘ I am a
senior official of the local
Cruising Club- do you realise
that you have given this yacht a
foul anchorage. They were here
long before you and anchored at
a proper distance from my boat.’
The errant skipper politely told
him there was no need to bang
and shout. He had already us
that he would re-anchor as soon
as their meal was finished. The
dinghy man started to shout
again about bad manners in
anchoring when our skipper took
a hand in the matter, telling
him that we were quite happy
with the situation and suggested
he should return to his own
boat. With bad grace the dinghy
was angrily splashed away.
As the irate man climbed aboard
his own yacht gesticulating
widely and only stopped when his
wife handed him a glass. Shortly
afterwards the nearby yacht was
moved giving us plenty of
swinging room and peace and
quiet returned.
But not for long. An hour later
loud engine noises were heard
and looking for the source we
saw an old converted ship’s
lifeboat heading towards the
anchorage. I wasn’t one of the
better conversions. It really
did look as if someone had stuck
an oversized garden shed with a
couple of cracked windows, onto
the bright green hull. Large
dense clouds of thick black
smoke, belched a smoke screen
from the exhaust of the terribly
noisy, ancient, sick, diesel
engine- possibly terminally ill
from the sounds
and smells emitted from its
bowels.
As this craft (for
want of a better word) designed
to be imminently seaworthy and a
saviour of those in peril on the
deep angry seas, farted and
laboured past, we were amazed to
see the crew emerging through
the sooty environment.
The skipper, steering
his vessel with a long thin
tiller and keeping his course by
peering round one corner of the
garden shed and then the other.
Difficult to believe but true:
he had his trousers held up with
bright green braces- and the
legs rolled up to his knees. The
sleeves of his shirt with broad
green striped were rolled up
over muscular, hairy arms. The
shirt itself was half-in,
half-out of the chest high
trouser waistband. Bare legs
disappeared into unlaced floppy
black shoes. And literally, to
cap it all, an off-white
handkerchief knotted at the four
corners to keep the sun off his
pate.
There was another man
standing forward, almost a clone
of the skipper. Two women, in
bright floral dresses, one with
a clashing apron round her
bursting middle and holding a
golfing umbrella aloft, sat on
an old kitchen chair. The other
very thin woman with a soot
spotted, bright yellow dress,
clutched a black cardigan across
her sparse chest with one hand,
while hanging on tightly to an
old lop-sided striped deck
chair.
Children ran about
yelling and screaming. How many,
it was difficult to tell, as
they were moving about so much.
The ‘lifeboat’ skipper
gave us a circular wave as he
tried to go round outside us but
miscalculated and had to dive
between our neighbour and
ourselves – just missing both of
us. Then, the thumping, clanking
mode of propulsion gave a most
magnificent booming belch of jet
black smoke and died. The two
men vainly tried to restart the
lifeless dinosaur. By sheer luck
they got an old long-handled
brush round a hotel mooring and
tied a dubious piece of cordage
onto the small pickup float.
Unfortunately this put
them in close proximity to the
vessel of the ‘Senior Official’
of the local Cruising Club. Two
spotless white clad figures
sprang into view with glasses in
hand and immediately started to
shout across to the wretched
skipper that he couldn’t stay as
it was a hotel visitors mooring
and they would have to leave and
go somewhere else. The reply
they received from the old
wreck’s skipper was lengthy and
the words used were not repeated
and were unrepeatable.
The two in white were
aghast and suitably silenced and
we saw them look at each other,
pour themselves another drink
and disappear below.
Saturday proved the
forecasters right in the fast
moving depression that came
through. All the boats stayed
where they were, waiting for it
to pass. Much activity could be
seen around the mechanical
monster on the old converted
lifeboat.
Sunday morning was a
much improved day and we decided
that we would venture away about
midday. At 0930 while we were
having a coffee and yarning,
there was a knocking on the hull
and voice called-‘ Any one up
yet?’. When our skipper went on
deck we heard that dreadful
accented voice asking him if
anyone would like to join his
wife and him going to church.
Our skipper declined. On
rejoining us in the cabin he
told us that ‘they’ were dressed
in blazers, ties, grey flannels,
yottie caps- and wellies!
They never asked the
Commander or the Lifeboaties if
they wanted to go to church.
Later we saw the
churchgoers return and they
started getting ready to leave
the anchorage. Just then there
was a bang from the old green
lifeboat and the engine started
to thump. Her crew cheered and
the children ran about clapping
their hands. With a lot of
laughter and shouting they cast
off from their ‘forbidden’
mooring
And started heading out into the
Kyles, passing very close to the
‘Senior Official’ who screamed
at them backed up by his wife.
There was frantic
movement on the lifeboat. Just
as the grotty old green hull was
about to scrape along the
beautifully varnished hull of-
‘you know who’- there was the
biggest bang yet heard. The
engine erupted like a volcano,
then burst into life and pulled
the old boat clear, as black
soot and goodness knows what
else blotted out the varnished
hull as the two on board held
their noses. The air smelt of
half burned diesel fumes, old
socks and a touch of pigswill!.
The crew of the
maritime atrocity retrieved the
cushions they were going to use
as fenders and started singing,
laughing and shouting at each
other. The engine cleared and
started working smoothly with
hardly any smoke, as if it could
go on for years.
The happy sounds from
the old green lifeboat got
fainter as they motored away up
the Kyles and we saw the other
two standing looking at each
other with their faces and
lovely whites, polka-dotted with
oily soot.
Our neighbour slowly
sailed past in the light breeze
and the Commander called
across-‘ Good for the old
girl—but what a pair of twits!
Bill Mills