The passages of two new life-boats to their stations are described here by men who were aboard. The first account, reproduced by courtesy of the Eastern Daily Press in which it appeared on 28th October, 1964, is written by Dr. P. S. Barclay, honorary secretary of the Cromer branch. The second is taken from the report of Mr. G. R. Walton, now district inspector for Ireland, who was assistant district inspector for Scotland at the time.

What more literal execution of the idiom "a round trip" could it be possible to contrive and what more exciting experience thereby provided than the opportunity of making the passage from Cowes in the new sy-foot Oakley life-boat William Henry and Mary King round the coast to Cromer No. 2 Station ? Going foreign, the familiar countryside flashes past the train until the Norfolker is plumped in the metropolitan antithesis of his natural environment.

Having struggled across to Waterloo he eventually finds himself in country once more, unfamiliar but attractive, until at last he sees, hears and smells the sea again with the added fascination of Southampton docks, the Itchen and the Solent viewed from the ferry to Cowes.

TO A SECLUDED JETTY The day of departure dawns still but grey and misty and after being deposited by taxi at White's Boatyard where, alas, the O.N. 980 has been the last life-boat to be built, we find our way through a maze of busy shops to a secluded jetty where lies, freshly bright in spite of the day, the new Cromer No. 2 life-boat.

All the trials have long been completed and without any preliminaries or sophisticated farewells other than handshakes, she is cast off to thread her way, on her own at last, down the river past the ferry pier and R.Y.S. headquarters out into the Solent where very soon all that can be seen of the island is a misty green shadow over the starboard quarter.

At eight knots she throbs beautifully through the calm sea with the sound of her two 52 h.p. diesels roaring out of the exhaust ports like a distant squadron of Lancasters. For hours we see no land until Selsey Bill is just visible out of the mist and the south coast passes by as one long stretch of ribbon building from Bognor Regis to Brighton and then Newhaven where the life-boat is berthed for the night opposite the motor vessels, Falaise and Brighton, of the longer Channel crossing.

PAST THE SUSSEX COAST Off to a good start with the tide at 8.45 the following morning, out of the harbour into the open sea with the justified promise of sunshine later. Round Seaford Head the meeting of wind and tide stirs up a slop that for a short time sets the life-boat very much alive before settling down to the more ragged sunlit swell only to be broken occasionally again by other major promontories.

Past the Seven Sisters, round, almost under, Beachy Head, and once again the continuous ribbon of buildings along the low coast line until Hastings gives way to Rye bay, where the shore lies almost invisible until the enormous rectangular pile of the atomic power station looms up on Dungeness.

Steady on 50 degrees, the familiar white cliffs identify Folkestone and Dover coming up on the port bow, stirring up nostalgic memories of Continental holidays, until all this is over the stern and course is altered round the South Foreland. Heading for the night's harbour at Ramsgate we pass a fleet of fishing boats from Walmer, their sharp counter sterns bristling with rods and line all unconcerned, presumably, with the weather forecast of north-westerly gale force winds imminent! So they were! The quiet start of the third day's passage which belied the brightly blustering sky under the lee of the North Foreland drove across the Thames estuary into the blast of a north-westerly gale over the port bows where the life-boat showed her paces and delight of the sea tossing, pitching, and rolling in her natural element that appeared dramatically wild at least to a landsman; spray and cascades of water showering everywhere except the shelter of the gyrating canopy.

ONLY A CAP IS RESCUED At the Outer Tongue buoy a cap is blown overboard, the restoration of which provides the only rescue of the trip before the land behind drops below the horizon. Five hours or so later, after passing and hailing the Kentish Knock and Shipwash lightvessels, Orfordness was our landfall and in a comparatively quieter sea we pass Aldeburgh, Thorpeness and Southwold to the last lap of the day.

To the west the sun was sinking behind a low bank of clouds throwing up the land in a silhouette of molten lead, while ahead the sky, like the base metal itself, made the sea appear almost pale. Daylight faded and the lights of Lowestoft twinkled and slowly emerged over the bows, offering us the welcome of a safe harbour which we reached just after the rain started.

Up at 5.30 on the last morning to leave port at 7 a.m. Daylight breaks reluctantly through ragged clouds and running up through the Yarmouth roads we leave behind a scattered fleet of vessels still riding at anchor and break out into the open as we turn north-west past Caister.

ALIVE WITH WELCOMING CROWD If the elements tried us yesterday it was, this morning, as if they were combining to welcome us to our own hunting ground with traditional force of the most superlative quality. Punching through and over turmoils of water and spray the William Henry and Mary King saw her own coastline for the first time.

Palling church, Happisburgh lighthouse and all the familiar landmarks blinking between the waves until Cromer church and pier hove up ahead to tell her that she had reached home at last. The beach was alive with the welcoming crowd to see her run up with the rushing surf on to the beach to a perfect landing, where the carriage and tractor, manipulated by scores of willing hands, in due course pulled her up into the boathouse.

Four memorable and happy days, exhilarating hours: sun, sea and wind blowing away the cobwebs of previous nights' conviviality with hospitable lifeboatmen of other stations.

A rugged boat, O.N. 980, for a splendid station. She will continue and maintain a history and tradition that is second to none round the coasts of the British Isles.