Our connection with the Blue Mermaid and the Sea-change Sailing Trust began many years ago now.

I had just had my book ‘May Flower A Barging Childhood‘ published (2007) and in chapter one, I had written of my thoughts about barge reconstructions and the building a ‘replica’ in steel. Uncannily, during 2008/9 I learnt of the Blue Mermaid appeal…

Christobel and I have been avid supporters in print as well as in hard cash, ever since.

Now for a spot of history. The original Blue Mermaid was blown up by a mine near the old position of the West Hook Middle Buoy in the Swin. The May Flower was tacking with her towards the spitway – the May Flower went to Colchester after the Blue Mermaid’s crew were looked for, sadly a forlorn hope for nothing was found.

The appeal was for the build of a new vessel to allow the trust to fulfil its stated aims in an ongoing cost effective way. Time passed by, funds were raised alongside a continuation of trust programmes afloat in a variety of chartered barges. Finally, the new barge was launched – built at Polruan, Cornwall – towed to Maldon and fitted out over a two year period.

With a season and a bits real work under her belt, along came the year of Covid-19…

Most barges remained either relatively inactive or did not even rig in the spring. The Sea-change Trust rigged out the Blue Mermaid to give trainees some experience, also, once rigged the trust has managed to do training in house and crew/skippering weekend sessions.

We’d been invited to sail with the trust on several occasions, but were always tied up sailing aboard Whimbrel. Then an email came through while we were away on a ‘cottage’ holiday at a working windmill in Boston – would we like to go on a day trip. Wow, yes please!

We had to be at Heybridge Basin in time to be picked up at 0600 … with two others. Fortunately, that night was also ‘clocks’ so we did not loose much in the way of ‘normal’ sleep. However, it was a long day full of excitement and pride.

Initially, Christobel was called aft by Richard (skipper) to helm off the buoy – she didn’t like that and called me aft, saying to Richard that she would rather I did it. I’d have trusted her…

It was uncannily quiet on a day with a inshore waters forecast of SW 5-7. Local weather predictions were a little lower, but…

A strange tidal set took across in towards the Millbeach moorings and a tack was needed across to Northey Island. The wind increased and the barge bit into the ebbing tide and began to show her paces, breaking free.

Behind us, the Topsail Charters vessel Hydrogen could be seen setting sail as she motored down with a much reduced Covid compliant party aboard.

It seemed a shame to stop, but the anchor was dropped off the Osea shore and whilst the bacon sizzled below, the four of us helped Ollie (mate/1st hand) rig the jib.

During breakfast we were hit by a squall and a short vicious burst of showers … it soon cleared!

At breakfast, I mentioned to Richard and Hilary that I was expecting a facetime call with my mother who has had to go into a care home and all are currently isolated. I continued to helm as we were passing Bradwell.

The wind increased on the way down river and I could feel the pull of the jib. It was exhilarating, different from sailing Whimbrel, but I was getting the feel of her.

It was sublime sailing. Different, Christobel said, to sailing on Whimbrel: from the deck of a spritsail barge one is higher above the water, less conscious of speed and seemingly all the time in the world to gaze.

As the time for my call came, I handed the helm to one of our fellow crew. Now, the chap has only just begun to sail in dinghies, but he seemed a natural at the helm under Richard’s watchful eye.

Jabbering to my mother and showing her the scenes around the deck and beyond, she was transported to days long ago!

Off Sales Point, the wind strengthened into a ‘bargeman’s breeze’ … we were tramping along hitting 8 1/2 knots. Richard and Ollie had a conversation and the topsail was rucked as the Bench head was left astern.

The spitway was in sight when we turned.

A lunch stop was planned off the beach at Sales Point. The wind eased as we came back into the river’s mouth with the shore to windward.

Conversation rattled round the lunch table with people spaced apart (apart from Christobel and I, and as I said, to guffaws, we’d woken up together, so presumably were a ‘bubble’…)

Before departing the bowsprit was steeved up. Anchor next … I was again at the helm. In glorious afternoon sunshine, we dropped off under very little mainsail, the rest set as we gathered way and the topsail as we tacked.

‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked Richard.

‘Take her upriver…’ he said, as he disappeared below.

With the two chaps forward with Hilary or Ollie, we long and short tacked west up the delightful River Blackwater.

At times, I seemed alone. Christobel was close by watching, looking happy and trying to get a word in from time to time…

At one point, I called, ‘think we should to tack.’

‘Your call…’ drifted down from forward.

Ready about … lee O … le’ go … back onto the tram lines…

One tack more after Thirslet Spit and Blue Mermaid’s bow sprit was on the Marconi. We were close on the wind!

The afternoon was moving towards an earlier evening than we’ve all been used to – clocks!

The navigation lamps were lit and placed…

By the time we approached Osea Island, it was dusk. Ahead, the marks were difficult to see. Ollie was impressed that I’d worked the Blue Mermaid through the gap past Stansgate Point and Osea.

Another conversation took place. ‘What’s up?’ I asked Hilary.

‘Nothing … you got us here too early…’ she said grinning. She followed this with embarrassing praise!

We went on past The Doctor, turned and sailed back to the Marconi after reaching ‘The Doubles’. Times were discussed around me … plenty now, it was reckoned. Water off Heybridge…

It was surreal sailing towards a known destination but unable to see very much. The ‘blinking’ buoys were out of view until passing them by. With crew alert all around, I concentrated hard, feeling proud of them, myself and the barge.

Hilly Pool was loomed. Richard’s form was apparent. He lifted a leeboard a turn, then turned and said, ‘Do you mind if I take her now…’

Just a few more short tacks, the topsail dropped, the barge was spun as mizzen was stowed and mainsail reduced to a mere scrap…

Then, the barge with its ‘way’, Ollie and Richard gently found our buoy…

What did I gain from the experience?

Well, every day is a school day and I, in particular, refreshed buried skills from my barging childhood: although I’d sailed on a number of spritsail barges over the years, this time there was a clear trust in my ability to handle this one million pound vessel … to call for the tacks, and to bring her up, in the dark especially, to Hilly Pool. I’ve sailed for many decades, but I learnt an awful lot.

Christobel too appreciated the caring attitude of the Trust’s patient and non-condescending teaching methods, gently caressing those with little or no knowledge into ‘efficient’ hands – this was reiterated by the other two chaps aboard. It is something I’ve written about before in magazine and blog articles.

What a day we had. It was a long one, but absolutely wonderful.

Thank you, Richard, Hilary and Ollie, and our two other crewmates.