Straits into the North Sea. My only uneasiness was due to our being bang in the middle of the shipping lane, where a thousand ships pass to and fro during a day. At one time there seemed to be ships’ lights round us in every quarter, and it was hard to keep track of them, because they disappeared every time we were in the trough of a wave.
Sheila had turned in happily, because the bunks were fitted out with a luxurious comfort which she had never experienced in Gipsy Moth II. As the sky lightened for daybreak, she heard me say that we ought to be sighting Beachy Head soon. She popped out her head and said, ‘I never knew the cliffs at Beachy Head were green.’ The fact was that the sea looked pale green in the faint dawn light. Sheila can always be relied on to say something which will stop me from taking life too seriously.
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Once round Dungeness, we got into sheltered water, and as we ran up to Dover the storm abated. We hoisted some sail, and entered Dover Harbour to anchor in the submarine pen.
Early in the year, Sheila had said, ‘It’s time you had a new boat,’ just as she might have said, ‘It’s time you had a new suit.’ She said, ‘If you can win prizes with your old boat, you ought to do well with a new one.’
‘We haven’t got the money to pay for it.’