Tea with the Queen

Dave & Rita
Originally uploaded by rosailither.

As many of you already know, we have just had a 2-week trip back to the UK, set in motion by an invitation to a Buckingham Palace garden party, which we presume is the result of Dave’s actions during the tsunami.
From Islesboro, it was a short ferry ride to the mainland and a 5-hour bus journey to Boston followed by a 6 ½ hour flight to Heathrow the next day. We were amazed to arrive to hot and sunny weather and especially so when it lasted for the whole two weeks!
We spent the first long weekend in Devon catching up with friends and family (great to see you all!) then caught the train to London where Dave and his Mum attended the Queen’s garden party. They walked through the palace and into the gardens, strolling down the big lawn to a large marquee where food was served. As well as the expected cucumber sandwiches, there was tea, coffee and a selection of dainty cakes, some decorated with a chocolate crown on the top.
They were both dressed in their finest and suffered in the sweltering heat along with the other guests (apparently 20-odd people collapsed with the heat!). Dave and Rita went for a walk around the large pond to cool down and just made it back in time to see the Queen strolling through the crowds. They made their exit before the main crowds dispersed and were soon back on a train out of London, the long-awaited excitement all over.
Our last weekend was spent with Hazel’s family in Nottingham and Berkshire and before we knew it, we were back on a plane to the other side of the Atlantic.
We came back to find our boat had gone for a little sail on its own when hit by a thunderstorm cell generating 91mph gusts of wind. Luckily our friends were there to move the boat back to safety. Ros Ailither suffered minor scratches but several trees on the island were blown down and power lines were out for several days. Apparently this is not the norm for this time of year…

Maine at last

Bonnie Lynn
Originally uploaded by rosailither.

From Gloucester we joined a convoy of three yachts on an easy day sail to the Isle of Shoals, an isolated group of small islands and the site of a religious retreat.

From there, it was an overnight trip to Penobscot Bay in Maine. We had a good sail to the entrance of the bay then just after midnight the fog came in, visibility dropped from 14 miles to less than ¼ mile, and the wind slowly died away to nothing. Daylight saw us motoring up the huge bay relying solely on GPS and radar, neither bank being visible. We saw nothing but the odd lobster pot and a ferry looming out of the mist until land hazily appeared 30 miles up the bay.

We spent two days in the town of Belfast, with Ros Ailither aground on a slip and leaning against the harbour wall. We checked the bottom (luckily no sign of worm attack), touched up some bare patches of paint and installed a new seacock for the watermaker. Dave also took the brave step of chopping two inches off each propeller blade with his angle-grinder. Amazingly, it seemed well balanced after!

Our boat attracted lots of interested spectators in Belfast. One English resident came to say hi after seeing our English flag and turned out to be from Woodbury, Devon. He drove Dave to the chandlery and his wife took me to the supermarket. Here I had the bizarre experience of the staff refusing to sell me a crate of beer with my shopping. Apparently a UK driving licence (even with a photo) isn’t proof of age, and they won’t sell to anyone who looks like they may be under 30 years old!

The past ten days have been spent at Seal Harbour, on the lovely island of Islesboro.
This is the home town of sailing friends who we first met in Portugal and have bumped into several times since - in the Canaries and up through the Caribbean. They run a classic charter boat called ‘Bonnie Lynn’ and we have been able to accompany them on some of their charters - day trips around the neighbouring islands and lobster dinners on board.

Gloucester

the greasy pole
Originally uploaded by rosailither.

From Plymouth we headed north to Gloucester, a fishing town set around a huge natural harbour and also the setting for the film ‘The Perfect Storm’.
We arrived in drizzly mist and rain and were surprised to see crowds of people lining the beach opposite as we dropped anchor. It turned out to be the weekend of St Peters Fiesta and a variety of events were laid on to celebrate.
There was a funfair with typical rides, ‘hook the duck’ and hotdog stalls. On Sunday the whole town turned out to watch a big parade of marching bands and groups carrying religious statuettes from St Peters Church, and a Cardinal came and blessed the fishing fleet.
But the harbour was the main centre of action and for three evenings running, people congregated either on the beach or on a flotilla of moored boats to watch the proceedings. A gig-rowing race started things off and got the crowds cheering before the crazy ‘greasy pole competition’.
Forty men in fancy dress (mostly in drag for some reason) got ferried out to a wooden structure off the beach and climbed a ladder to the 25-foot high platform. Attached to which was a 50-foot long wooden pole with a small flagpole at the end and all thickly laden with gooey white (biodegradable) grease.
Each entrant was introduced by the commentator on the beach and after much cheering by the crowds took their turn to try and walk the pole. Nobody was allowed to get the flag on the first round (so everybody had at least one go) and we watched as each man took a few tottering steps and jumped, dived or fell into the water.
By round two, most of the wigs and costumes had disappeared and the competition started for real. There was much ‘ooh’ing and ‘aah’ing if somebody got close to the flag or had a particularly spectacular fall off the pole.
There were various methods of attack – careful steps, sideways slip-sliding or full-on run with arms flailing. There were also several ways of falling, some more painful than others, and a couple of people got whisked off by the harbour patrol for medical attention.
There was uproar when one guy thought he’d won but the flag didn’t come free as he fell and dangled out of everybody’s reach at the end of the pole. The Coastguard were called upon to re-nail it (getting themselves and their boat covered in grease) and the competition continued.
Finally, in the fourth and final round, the same guy reached the end of the pole again and made sure the flag came down with him this time. The crowd went wild, the rest of the men leapt off the platform and swam ashore and the victor was carried up the beach on his mates’ shoulders.
Complete madness and we enjoyed every minute of it!
The weekend was topped off for us when the crew of the pilot gig ‘Siren Song’ stopped by the trawler and invited us to go for a row round the harbour with them.