Chichester’s Last Message

Press, Volume CVII, Issue 31381, 29 May 1967, Page 13

Chichester’s Last Message

(From

Sir FRANCIS CHICHESTER)

ABOARD GIPSY MOTH IV, May 27. I am very sorry that I will not be in Plymouth by my 11 a.m. Sunday deadline. I would need a 20-knot breeze to be in by then.

I am becalmed at the moment—doing 1J knots with a three-knot wind. But these calms don’t usually last very long. The question is: when will the wind come? But Plymouth tells me there is a breeze, so it shouldn’t be too long.

I have about six boats around me and I can see an aeroplane out there, so I’ve no problems with navigation at the moment. The Royal Navy is there also and I am ashamed to bring out a sextant to find out where I actually am. I have just rung the Royal Western Yacht Club at Plymouth and am going to contact them again this evening. They know more about it than

I do, and will be able to work out better than I can when I am due to arrive.

I have plenty to do at the moment. One thing is that I cannot find a dean shirt to wear when I arrive at Plymouth. I’m really looking forward to taking a good holiday. What a difference the sun makes—and the sparkling blue sea. I have steering troubles, but one expects those. This wonderful sailing in the Atlantic seems so enjoyable and somehow not fearsome like the southern ocean, and I forget that there is only the boat to worry about. Not Enough Sleep An odd habit—strong by now—is that of dropping asleep at any time of the day. I never have enough sleep. I am usually up half-a-dozen times in the night On Wednesday night I took some pain-killer for my arm which made me sleep deeper than usual. But I was up four times all the same. I had just turned in again after deckwork at 6.45 a.m. and was in a heavy sleep with a wonderful dream when two Royal Air Force Shackletons buzzed me.

1 wanted to sleep on, but then I thought it would be mean after they had taken the trouble to hunt me, so I got up to wave to them and finished my deckwork.

But to continue about shortage of sleep: I eat a huge breakfast, frequently the only meal of the day, and often I have to stop to sleep before the end of it. What will my hostess say if I am dining out in London and, at the end of the soup, I must sleep for 10 minutes before the next course?

Then there is talking to yourself. I have spells of this and have given up trying to suppress it. It starts with a difficult problem or an awkward situation such as when working out a navigation sum. It cuts down the blunders if I say the figures aloud, and I am caught out badly when everything goes wrong in a squall. It is much easier to tell yourself aloud what is the next thing to be done. It stops the panic caused by the brain juggling with several things wanting to be done at once. On Wednesday I serviced and rigged two red lights, one above the other on a staff at the sternhead which show that

a boat is under control. I have right-of-way as a sailing vessel over everything except fishing boats, but with luck they might move out of the way if they see all my lights coming like a Christmas tree.

Right-of-way is not much value at times with steamers. They are not expecting a small boat in the deep waters and some appear not to keep a watch all the time. Friendly Seas There was a big sea running here for a day or two, spectacular enough for me to try for some photographs. This seems a sure way of quietening a sea. I waited for an hour, very uncomfortable, and nothing came along, but as soon as I got below with my oilskins off .. . wham, wham, wham! Three seas in succession bowled Gipsy Moth down and gave the deck a proper sluicing. They would have made wonderful photographs. These seas seemed quite friendly and I have no fears of 60-footers trailing in the background waiting to pounce. (Copyright, Sir Francis Chichester and Times Newspapers, Ltd.)