The Journey -
A Coming Together near 'Rosy'

The little 'Halte Nautique' that I'm currently on is a series of floating pontoons in one corner of a good sized basin.  I'm buried amongst other moored craft, and often can't see passing vessels - a bit frustrating.  But an outside mooring, with passing craft passing close to you, can be bouncy, and it tempts fate.  An outside mooring became available, and a German boat, Luna, started her engines and zipped round to nab this prime mooring spot.

In the evening a hire craft arrived - one of those ghastly Caribbean cruisers, with the driver sitting right up forward.  I espied problems early on.  He got his nose into the pontoon OK, with a bow line ashore, and cut his engines.  He then had a problem getting his stern in - he obviously didn't realise that his engine and rudder give him control over the back of the boat.  Things weren't helped by Mrs wandering about the boat, armed with a boat hook, but wondering what to do with it and, eventually, doing nothing.

It turned out that this family came from that well known nation of professional fence-sitters, who had been let out of their bank vault for a couple of weeks respite from counting all that money, and had come down from their Swiss mountain fastness to see how the rest of us are getting along.

Come the morning, and it was time for them to leave.  Cast off all lines.  Start engine (yes, they did it that order).  Mrs again armed with a boat hook (I see, now, where all those Swiss pikemen came from), and still not knowing what to do with it (she (luckily) didn't understand my suggestions given in English).  Engine in reverse, and they backed out.  Despite the HUGE area of open water behind then, Sir very quickly popped the engine into forward, and turned his wheel to starboard.  The bows rather neatly missed the stern of the outside German vessel by about a metre, and the boat continued to head out towards open water.  At which point ...  he applied more starboard rudder, and opened the throttle - wide open.

The results were quite spectacular.  Everyone started shouting at the driver, who, because of the engine noise could hear nothing.  Mrs rushed about even faster with her boat hook, but still couldn't decide what to do with it.  The port stern quarter came galumphing across the water at a considerable rate of knots, and struck, with unerring accuracy, a mighty blow right in the middle of the German's stern.  The Port Captain, who lives in a boat, disappeared below decks, and became unavailable.

The only damage (apart from that to pride and dignity) were a crunching of the two bikes carried on the German's stern (the Germans were using words like 'schweinhund' and 'schiezen' at this point).

There followed a very entertaining hour of photographs being taken of the scene and the damage, Swiss Mr and Mrs weeping in each others arms, German Mr and Mrs still 'schweinhunding' and 'schiezening', statements being written and rewritten etc. etc.

Then quiet (ish).  The Swiss departed.  Mr German spent a happy hour muttering darkly to himself, but amalgamating the two bent bikes into one unbent bike.  He and she repeatedly told me all about it, which was frustrating for them, as I'd seen it, and knew all about, and don't speak much German, and they spoke less English.

Then - relief, and, for me a significant moment.  Mr German noticed 'Rosy''s rather fine looking engine, and enquired about.  He eventually asked when it was made.  I looked him in eye, and without a smirk, snigger or a blush came right out and told him.  1945.  I was very proud of this achievement.

After a bit, she came and asked me about my VNF flag.  VNF is the French equivalent of British Waterways.  When, last December, in Ghent, Wendy and Robert from the boat Maria hired a car and drove to Dunkirk to renew their French vignette (boat licence), they did mine as well, and were given a freebie VNF pennant - mine now flies on 'Rosy''s mast.  From the way Mrs German simpered at me, I think she thought I might give her the flag in recompense for her dreadful morning.  No chance.  She wanted to know which VNF office had given it to me, but having just got over the 1945 hurdle, I don't yet feel secure enough to ejaculate (as Barbara Cartland's heroes insist on doing) the 'Dunkirk' word.

Then, later in the day, another Caribbean type cruiser hove into view.  Mr and Mrs German armed themselves with metal pointed pikes/boat-hooks, and located themselves at various defensive points around their boat.  This particular vessel has something to do with The Home of the Brave and the Land of the Free - leastways it was flying the Stars and Stripes, and the extensive crew weren't going to accept any grief from any Europeans.  Despite the fact that (as they later told me) they were blue water sailors, and had sailed the Caribbean, and that this particular canal boat had both bow and stern thrusters (they told me that 2 or 3 times), it still took half a dozen of them to pull on lines and to fend off before they were safely berthed.  In the same way that I have more computing power on 'Rosy' than Buzz Aldrin had on the Lunar Lander, they have more control mechanisms.  (Actually, they've just left, and, in their confusion, seem to have a mooring rope behind).

Er ......

That's it.

Toodle pip!!

Bill