By Commander E. W. Middleton, V.R.D., R.N.V.R., Western District Inspector of Life-boats BY some unfortunate chance, new lifeboats seem to make a habit of being ready for delivery during the winter months. But one can experience good weather in winter and bad weather in summer. The main disadvantage of winter seafaring is the lack of daylight, which usually means leaving in the dark and arriving in the dark. The passage of the St. Albans was chiefly remarkable for the persistent gales.

Her crew for the passage consisted of Coxswain Arden Evans, Motor Mechanic Gwilym Davies and Life-boatmen Meurig Lewis and Eric Swan. As district inspector, I was in command, and Mr. Ireland, the district engineer was in charge of the machinery.

From Cowes on a Friday We left Cowes on the morning of Friday, the 3rd of December; not a popular day of the week for sailing; and the crew were inclined to blame this for the weather we afterwards experienced.

All my efforts to explain that on my previous trip, only a few weeks earlier, we sailed on a Friday and had wonderful weather the whole way, were received with polite scepticism.

It had blown a gale the day and night before we left, and as we made down towards The Needles a big lumpy sea was running, but the wind appeared to be moderating. A frigate doing gunnery trials lay stopped off the South- West Shingles Buoy, and.we tried to enliven the proceedings by signalling " Can we help ? " But the joke fell flat as they replied soberly, "No, thank you. We are quite all right!" St. Albans Head was not particularly kind to its little namesake, for the Race was lively and gave the boat a wet welcome.

It was just after dark when we slipped quietly between the piers at Weymouth, past the towering crosschannel steamers, to round to alongside the Weymouth life-boat. Here, as at all ports on our way, we received the most willing help from the life-boat crew and coastguard. This friendly welcome, and obvious desire to make things as easy as possible, is one of the most pleasant features of these coastal passages, and one that shows that the brotherhood of the sea is still a very real thing.

The weather forecast being reasonably good we decided to push on, so we refuelled, had a hot meal, and sailed again at ten o'clock that night.

Portland Race was kind, and there was nothing like as much sea off the Bill as we expected. We passed the lighthouse within a few boat's lengths, in order to keep inside the Race, and commenced the long plug across West Bay. There was quite a big sea running, but not a lot of wind, for the first few hours. Sleep is virtually impossible in a boat of this size, and after an hour or two the cold begins to get you.

About one in the morning we opened some tins of self-heating soup and were more than grateful for the steaming hot fluid. This is good, rich, sustaining food, and it is boiling in a few minutes.

It can be used in any weather conditions.

Over Salcombe Bar Soon after Start Point Light broke the horizon, the wind veered to the north-west and freshened considerably.

This put up a nasty cross sea and damped our spirits somewhat. The tide was against us now, and progress seemed painfully slow. Daylight saw the Start abeam, however, and not long afterwards Salcombe began to open up.

Had the wind remained southerly, there would have been a very nasty sea on Salcombe bar, but as it was, it was just breaking and no more. Close under the wooded cliffs we ran smoothly up harbour, with a sparkle of early morning sunshine to brighten the lovely estuary. Coxswain Distin and Motor Mechanic Lapthorne were afloat and met us off the town. They had everything arranged for us—refuelling, hot meal, and accommodation. Eddie Distin told us we could not have crossed the bar the day before, it was breaking so badly.

Severe Gales Promised We were too tired and wet, after our twenty hours afloat, to proceed that day. That was a pity, as conditions were then fairly good, and when daylight came next day, it was blowing a full gale. After one look at the seas breaking on the bar I hardly needed the efforts made to dissuade me from leaving. So we spent Sunday in Salcombe, waiting for some sign of improvement in the weather.

Next day, Monday, we were away at daylight, into a fresh to strong southerly wind and the familiar big sea. Off the Eddystone the wind and sea increased, and the greasy clouds had a look reminiscent of typhoon weather about them. A wireless warning of severe gales and a somewhat pessimistic outlook on the part of the Coastguard at Polruan, with whom we were in touch by radio-telephone, made me decide to put into Fowey instead of continuing on round The Lizard to Newlyn. It was just as well, for by the time it was dark the wind had increased to hurricane strength and it would have been most unpleasant off The1 Lizard.

A Western Ocean Sea On the Tuesday morning, conditions were better and we made our way out of harbour in good style. By this time we had decided that the boat would stand anything—the only limiting factor was what we could stand.

All the way down to The Lizard the wind and sea increased. It was as big a sea as I have ever seen in the Channel, more like a Western Ocean sea. Several ships were sheltering off Helford River, and nobody seemed to like the look of things very much, but the St. Albans took it all in her stride'and skimmed over the big breaking seas like a gull.

Roxmd The Lizard we brought the sea on the beam as we made up towards Newlyn, but we shipped little or no water, and I am sure we were more comfortable than some of the big ships we passed. Soon after dark we sighted Mousehole and signalled the coastguard, and by six o'clock we were all fast alongside a sturdy fishing boat in Newlyn. Once again all arrangements had been made for our reception and we spent a very comfortable night ashore.

Running Into a Naval Battle Next morning, Wednesday, there were one or two jobs to do in the boat and it was after nine o'clock before we got away. The wind was in the southwest, fresh to strong, and the sea was steeper and more unpleasant than on the previous day. Off the Runnelstone a destroyer and a submarine were plunging about warily in the Redland and Blueland "battle," which was in progress. We hoped they were enjoying their fun and games.

Cutting the corner we headed up inside the Longships, where the seas began to pile up astern. Sennen Cove life-boat station answered on the radio telephone and expressed surprise at our temerity in making light of their waters.

The sun shone, and once round Pendeen we had the best few hours of the trip, till the wind went round to the southward again and the dry spell was over. It was after seven before we made our way into Padstow, having arranged to go alongside Padstow No. 1 boat in the Cove, as there was not enough water to go up to the harbour.

A Wrong Weather Forecast The B.B.C. having promised a southerly gale, we sought to take advantage of a fair wind for the passage from Padstow to Tenby. With this in mind we left Padstow, after refuelling boat and crew, at eleven o'clock that night.

Alas, the prophet was false, and off the south end of Lundy the wind came away from the west-north-west with a bang. Within a few minutes the wind, sea and driving rain were all acting as if inspired by vicious personal animosity. The seas came tearing up out of the murk, their grey-white tops swirling in and around the boat hungrily. Now and again we would get the full force of the break and a good deal of solid water would make its appearance, on board.

After four or five hours of this we were all extremely cold and damp, and resigned, if not definitely miserable.

But these New Quay men took their turns at the wheel and nursed the boat carefully, like the splendid seamen they were. The boat herself again took it all in her stride and behaved beautifully, only shipping water under the utmost provocation. Truly, a real life-boat.

Soon after dawn, with Caldy Island Light showing up clearly ahead, we spliced the mainbrace. The effect was magical, and had we had the fuel, nobody would have complained if we had carried straight on to New Quay.

A Quick Laundry By nine o'clock of the Thursday morning, we were under the lee of Caldy Island, and shortly afterwards Captain Diment, the honorary secretary of the Tenby station, was welcoming us alongside the jetty. The Tenby crew took over and refuelled while we were hurried off to hot baths and a hot meal.

All our clothes, including those stowed under cover in kitbags, were soaked, and these were all collected by the local laundry, dried, and returned to us neatly folded! Next day, Friday, it blew harder than ever, and it was not until Saturday evening that there was any sign of a let-up. Even then, the weather reports were bad and the coastguard told us conditions were far from good.

Tenby Harbour dries out, and the boat was nearly on the bottom, so there was no time to speculate. While we got our gear together the Tenby coxswain took the boat out into the bay, and we made a quick change-over at the life-boat slipway.

A Third Run by Night Our third night run of the passage proved the lucky one. In spite of threatening conditions there was little more than a big swell off St. Goven's Head and right round to the South Bishop Light. There was a lot of shipping off Skokholm Island and our radio telephone was busy with Tenby and Strumble Head coastguard stations.

Dawn on the Sunday showed New Quay right ahead, and a rocket from the shore told us we had been sighted.

At half-past eight we passed the breakwater, which was lined with cheering people. I think the whole village was there. It was a wonderful welcome and more than repaid any discomforts of the trip. Mr. D. J. Rees, the honorary secretary of the station, Mr. H. E, Carrington, of the St. Albans branch, and Lieut.-Colonel V. M. Lewis, M.C., organising secretary for Wales, met us as we beached, and the boat was soon surrounded by an admiring crowd.

That afternoon, the old life-boat hoisted her sails and ran smoothly out of the bay. St. Albans was on station and readv for service..