And up she rises!

I have a confession to make: the Red Skye did not sail off into the sunset, but instead sank in Lydney Harbour in January 2017. Years of neglect, coupled with the theft of the generator which had kept the pump running, took their toll on the Rosa Mystica (the boat’s real name), and she slid unceremoniously into the mire at the bottom of the old canal. As she did so, she managed to take out the stern navigation light of the Good Ship Fiona, together with the stanchions (sticky-up things around the edge of a boat, for non-sailors) of another boat, which was rafted to her. Much head-scratching has taken place in the eighteen months since her demise, but today she rose, not so much like a pheonix rising from the ashes, but more like The Creature from the Black Lagoon emerging from the depths of a swamp.

Recently, I asked my granddaughter, on whom the real Megan Waterfield is based, which is her favourite book in the series and she chose Red Skye Sunset. It is often the one that I like to read from at events, and one of my favourite passages features the moment when the children, while looking for Dotty the Salty Sea Cat, who has been kidnapped, find a clue which leads them to the boat.

The story is told by Megan:

'At that moment, the wind dropped and all was still. It was then that we heard it: a chirp, faint at first, but growing louder as we started to call out the little cat’s name. “It’s coming from beneath us,” said Bob, rushing from the wheelhouse towards the deck hatch. It was dusk and as we peered into the open hatch, the inside of the hold was already in total darkness. Undaunted, Bob started to climb down the ladder, but I held onto his arm. Memories of the black, oily waters at the bottom of the boat made me cry out, “Stop! It’s too dangerous. I’ll go and get a torch from the Fiona. Wait until I get back ... Promise?” Bob nodded in agreement and I left him sitting on the top rung of the ladder. As I went into the Fiona’s cabin, I could hear Bob talking to the Dotty, reassuring her that we would be with her soon. I found the torch in the compartment under the radio, and was about to leave when I decided that some protection for our feet might be a good idea. My dread of the rats that I had seen swimming in the dark waters around the boat, was almost greater than the need to rescue Dotty. I found what I was looking for in the wet weather locker: a pair of my grandfather’s wellingtons for Bob, together with my own red boots. A collection of sailing gloves lay alongside the boots, and I chose a pair that looked as if they were more suited to wear on a motor bike than on a boat. They were made from a waterproof fabric and had a strap at the wrist. I was determined that not a drop of that dark water would touch me. Feeling that we were now well prepared to carry out a rescue from a rat-infested wreck, I made my way back to the Rat Boat, but my confidence soon turned to despair, when I arrived to find the deck empty. I switched on the torch and peering over the edge of the hatch, followed the path of the beam as it swept the hold below. “Bob,” I called out, “where are you?” I was relieved to hear his voice: “It’s okay,” he said, “I didn’t have to get my feet wet after all. Shine the torch to the left and you’ll see a ledge. I think they must have used it to walk along so that they could check the cargo when it was piled high.” I hardly wanted to ask the next question, “Dotty ... is she okay?” I asked falteringly. “You’d better ask her,” came the reply. I called out her name and was reassured by a loud chirp when she recognised my voice. I slipped the torch’s lanyard over my wrist and pulled on my red boots, just in case I had to wade in the murky waters below. Holding tightly to the ladder, I lowered myself down into the darkness, a rung at a time. As I reached the last step above the water’s surface, I lifted the torch so that I could see the ledge. “Hold onto the side of the ladder with one hand and reach out as far as you can with the other.“ Bob’s voice from the shadows gave me encouragement. “You’ll find the edge of what must have been an old doorway. Hold onto it and pull yourself onto the ledge.” Despite the fact that my hands were buried in sailing gloves that were at least two sizes too large for me, it was easier than I thought, and I soon found myself on a narrow platform. Shining the torch along its length, I could see Bob at the far end of it. To my great relief, Dotty was cradled in his arms. “We’ll soon have you back home,” he comforted the little cat, stroking her gently. Before long, I was kneeling next to Bob, speaking soothingly to Dotty and finding myself rewarded with loud chirps. “I can’t believe that Rat Boat Ryan has done something so cruel. He must be desperate for the money to repair this old boat,” I said. I thought about how Dotty had been kept in the darkness, surrounded by rats and bilge water, and felt angry about what had been done to her. “What time is it?” Bob asked. I shone the torch onto my wristwatch and was horrified to see that it was almost six o’clock. “The deadline!” I cried out. “We must reach Grandma before she hands over the ransom.” Without delay, we started back along the ledge. Bob led the way with the cat in his arms, while I used the torch to light our way. We had reached halfway, when the boat swayed slightly and Bob stopped, signalling for me to do likewise. “Shh!” he whispered. “Listen. There’s somebody on the deck. It must be the kidnapper!” I switched off the torch and stood stock-still, hardly daring to breath, as a light from the hatch raked the darkness below.’

I am pleased that today’s rescue has gone according to plan, so far. There is a chance that the ‘Red Skye’ might sail of into the sunset, after all. Just a slim one.

Thanks to photographer, Adie Cooke for permission to use his images.

The eagle-eyed observers might be able to spot the Fiona in the photograph: She has a light blue hull and is behind the red boat in the top left hand corner.