The following article appeared in the Norwich Mercury of llth April, 1968, and is repro- duced by courtesy of the Editor Who, reading this, has not at some time or other rushed down to the beach at the sound of the maroons calling out the life-boat crew ? Who has not waited—and watched—while the boat has been dragged from the shed and launched into a wild and stormy sea, there to be tossed about like a piece of driftwood? Who has not thrilled inwardly that, in this materialistic age, when all we hear about is higher wages, shorter working weeks and the general Tm all right, Jack' attitude of seemingly everyone, there are still men who will risk themselves, certainly not for the money they will receive, but simply because someone 'out there' is in need of help, and life can be saved? And who has not secretly wished that he, too, could go in that boat to help to rescue the poor devils asking for assistance, but who, when he has seen the boat standing nearly upright in struggling to get through those terrible breakers, hasn't been highly relieved that he did not, in fact, have to go ? From earliest childhood, I was fascinated by life-boats and life-boat crews.

RECEIVED A GOOD CLOUT I remember vividly one cold winter's day, long ago—just as we came out of school—the maroons going off. The Sheringham life-boat /. C. Madge was in those days kept at the Old Hythe, right across the golf links and halfway to Weybourne. But off I went, running all the way, and saw the boat manhandled into the water. I remember I stayed there, cold and hungry, until 8 p.m., waiting to hear what happened. And when eventually I did arrive home, I received a good clout across the ear from my very worried mother and a good dressing- down from a very irate father.

I really envied the men who went in the life-boat, and I wished I had been born a fisherman's son. so that I could be in the crew. In those days, however, it had never been known for a landsman to go in our life-boat. It was unheard of.

Then, in 1940, the R.N.L.I. decreed that there should be a 'second reserve mechanic' at Sheringham; so that, if the two mechanics happened to be at sea after crabs, this man would be available at all times to take the boat to sea.

PLANE DOWN The late Mr. H. R. Johnson, then the local honorary secretry of the R.N.L.I., asked me if I would take on the job. I was thrilled, and was about to say 'yes'— but then I thought of huge, rough seas and dark nights and of going out into the unknown. Me, a landsman, who had only been out fishing very occasionally, and then only when the sea was very calm! So, cowardly, I lamely stammered that I did not think I would be much good at it; 'I might be sick—I did not know anything about marine engines—I did not really think', and so on.

Mr. Johnson took no notice of my excuses. He said he was sure I could do it, and that I had better get in touch with Teddy Craske, the first mechanic, who would show me how to start the engine, and so forth. And the next time there was a practice, I should go in the boat. So that was that.

I never did go on that practice trip, however, because three nights after that my telephone rang and a voice asked, Ts that you, John ?' It was Mr. Johnson.

'Quick as you can', he said to me. 'Life-boat. Plane down off Blakeney.' I stood petrified with the 'phone still in my hand.

'What is it ?' my wife asked.I replied in a very strange voice, 'Life-boat'.

'Well', she said, 'get cracking! You'll have them launched and gone before you get there.' I remember looking at her rather oddly. Didn't she care that I had to go out in that boat on this dark and unfriendly night? Wasn't she worried that she might never see me again ? Wives are funny creatures, aren't they ? Anyway, off I went. When I reached the boathouse, Teddy was preparing to start the engine.

I shouted, 'Shall I come aboard?' He grinned. 'I reckon you'd better if you're coming with us.' I could sense that Teddy was thinking it would be a bit of fun having a land- lubber on board.

VERY COLD We had a good launch into a fairly calm sea. But—oh, dear—I was cold before we had got into the water! I had only slipped on a light macintosh, and the wind was going right through it—and rn . My teeth started to chatter.

Jimmie Dumble was coxswain and Jimmie Scotter and Bennett Middleton were in the crew—none of these, alas, with us today.

Dumble glared hard at me. 'You look cold, boy.' I said I was. Then he looked at my feet. 'Kent you got no water boots?' I said I had, but they were at home.

He gave a lovely, broad grin. Then, with that twinkle in his eye that all seafaring folk seem to have, he said: 'They won't be no good to you on this trip, will they? You'd better put an "oily" on—that will help to keep you warm.' We steamed straight to Blakeney Overfalls, where the plane was supposed to be, and searched and searched and searched. But never a sign of any plane could we find.

Jimmie then decided we would go further out. When we did that, the weather worsened and the seas started coming over our little boat. On boarding her in the shed, she had looked so sturdy and reliable. Now she was being thrown about like a piece of cork.

I shouted to Bennett, above the howl of the wind, that we must be landing on the bottom of the sea and hitting sand on the sea-bed! Bennett gave me a long look, saying slowly, 'I don't know what you'll do if ever you come to sea in her when it is rough.' That put my back up, I made a silent vow that, whatever happened in future— even if the boat capsized or sank, and I were walking along the floor of Davy Jones's locker with the crew—I would never (repeat never) again make any reference to its being rough. I never did.

Well, we didn't find anything that night, but continued searching until day- break, when we were ordered to return to station. It was 8 a.m., just 12 hours after launching. I went straight home and jumped into a hot mustard bath.

I made many trips after that. Serving under three different cosxwains, Jimmie Dumble, John Hardingham and Downtide West, I did have the satisfaction of taking part in some good rescues. Some of those included removing aircrews from rubber dinghies, and I suppose the sea must sometimes have been rough.

But, somehow, the sea never again seemed as rough—to me—as it did on that dark winter's night when I made my first-ever trip in a life-boat. And was really scared..