(My contribution to the March edition of the Tetbury Advertiser, written in the middle of February as we were about to embark on a week-long trip to France, Belgium and the Netherlands)
As I write this month’s column, I’m just 22 miles away from becoming the Tetbury Advertiser‘s foreign correspondent: I’m poised to cross the English Channel. In a Force 10 gale.
This morning, the idea of spending a week in February touring Northern France in our camper van has lost its charm. When we booked our passage in the dark days of December, far-off February seemed comfortingly spring-like. We knew we’d have to pack warm clothes to guard against the colder climate of a continental landmass but did not foresee such storms.
My parents phoned before we were due to set off yesterday, just after the lunchtime shipping forecast.My mother did not exactly suggest we cancel our trip, but I’m sure that’s what she was hoping to hear. My father, a former Royal Navy meteorologist, sounded positively excited on our behalf. The prospect of our trip brought back fond memories of his days serving on the HMS Belfast during the Korean War. He offered us the benefit of his advice.
“Just close your eyes and think of the sea as rocking you to sleep.”
That might have worked when he was in his navy issue hammock, but unfortunately our chosen ferry service, DFDS, doesn’t provide hammocks.
“Tinned peaches are the best thing to settle your stomach when you’re seasick. Make sure you pack tinned peaches.”
We have none in the larder, so I slip tinned pears and pineapple rings into my bag instead.
“We are allowed to postpone the trip to the Sunday when the forecast looks better,” I tell him.
“Oh, the swell will continue for days after the storm,” he assures me brightly. “That’s how it was every time we set off towards Korea, as soon as we were away from the shelter of the land.”
My daughter asks what our crossing will be like. I try to frame the prospect as a positive adventure.
“Think of it as crossing the Channel by rollercoaster,” I suggest.
I know she’s just reached the age where she loves rollercoasters.
“Will we go upside down?” she asks eagerly.
“I sincerely hope not!”
I’m thankful that the journey will be relatively short, until my husband recollects a memorable Channel crossing from his distant past.
“Once we had to wait outside the port for four hours because it was too rough to dock,” he remembers. “We just had to ride the storm out at sea.”
I try to banish images of the final scene of the movie The Perfect Storm.
So if my copy for this column turns up a little late, that’ll be because we’ve been shipwrecked and I’ve resorted to old technology to submit it. But not to worry, I’ve got an empty Cotswold Spring water bottle in the van that I can use to send my message. I’m just hoping it has a homing instinct.
Postscript: Our scheduled 10am departure on the Saturday morning was delayed till early evening. DFDS bumped us up to the 8am crossing instead – which left around 4pm. The reason for the delay? The ferries had been stuck out at sea for not four hours, but 10 hours, awaiting conditions sufficiently calm to let them dock. By 4pm, thankfully, all was calm. And my tinned pears and pineapple stayed in their tins. Phew.
More posts about our February trip coming soon! Here are the first two:
A Question of Priorities – about a strange encounter on the dockside as we waited to board
A Theme Park By Any Other Name – a theoretical tour of prime European theme parks, resulting in our visit to, er, Plopsaland
3 thoughts on “Channelling Calm for the Dover to Dunkerque Ferry”
Laughed out loud at some of this!
Am also from sea-faring family but not direct line – uncles, cousins, etc… on both sides – gene missed me (as did their one for maths,sadly!)