SARAH TOWNSEND poRRiTT, stationed at Lytham-St Anne's, is a 46' 9" Watson lifeboat with a beam of 12' 9" and displacement of 24 tons 9 cwt. She was built in 1951 and as lifeboats go she is considered to be getting on in years, but nevertheless she is held in high esteem by her crew who have great faith in her.

Her moorings are in the open estuary of the River Ribble on the Lancashire coast and are a little unusual in that this type of open mooring is common to very few stations. There is no harbour to offer shelter and by virtue of the nature of the coast a boathouse and slipway launching is impossible. Indeed, the actual moorings are some three-quarters of a mile from the boathouse containing the boarding boat, and the crew have to board and get away, at times, in the full force of the weather, which could be that of wind and sea combined: a task calling for skill and strength.

Whether on the ebb or the flood there is always the tidal stream to take into account, and it can reach 6 knots. The river estuary faces almost due west and is wide and exposed to the prevailing winds, anywhere from south west to north west. To add to the 'interest' there are many sandbanks, some, at low water, rising to 20 feet above sea level and at high water just covered. Spring tides can be in the region of 30 feet.

Such, then, are the moorings of Sarah, where she has ridden for some 25 years.

It was in the middle of January that I received instructions to be ready in two days time to join colleagues at the repair yard at Bangor, North Wales, where Sarah had been undergoing refit, to bring her home. It was about four hours before high water when I arrived at 2000 and the incoming tide was just lapping against her stern. I was under the impression that we would be leaving at about 0800 next morning but our departure had been put forward to 0100 to take advantage of the tide both out of the Menai Straits and across the stretch of Irish Sea to carry us into Lytham. It was to be an all-night passage.

My colleagues duly arrived by road and hot drinks were served all round.

There were six of us on board under the command of the Lytham coxswain, Arthur Wignall.

We let go our lines at about one o'clock and moved out into the Straits.

High water was around midnight and so we had no bother about getting away, having plenty of water under our keel.

The night was coldish with slight cloud and occasional glimpses of the stars, visibility probably some four miles by my reckoning. Beaumaris was soon abeam on our port hand and away fine on our starboard bow could be seen the lights of Penmaenmawr.

Around 0200 Penmon Head light was passed on our port hand and course was set for Lytham. This, worked out on the chart beforehand, was to be a straight course on bearing 55°T for the light marking the entrance to the Ribble estuary. It was estimated that we should cover about 70 miles on this course and our ETA was 0800 later that morning.

As we pushed out into the open sea the effects of wind and tide made themselves felt. The wind, south east off the land, I estimated as force 6 to 7 and this meeting the tide caused a confused sea. Sarah became lively. I found it necessary to combat the movement by 0800 on a January morning. Sarah To wnsend Porritt is safely home on her moorings and the crew can disperse. On extreme left, the author, Wallace Lister Barber; second from right, Coxswain Arthur Wignall.

holding on with both hands and braced feet. The darkness seemed to enfold us completely. The only light in our part of the world was the one at our masthead, swaying through an arc of 45 degrees. At times the boat was lifted up some six feet or so, judging by the angle of the deck, and then came down either on the port side or the starboard, whichever the sea willed. The helmsman was called upon constantly to be giving her helm one way or the other to keep her on course. Our radar was in use.

It must have been on one of these occasion when I went down into the cabin to have something to eat. As I knelt on the cabin sole I was flung from starboard to port; before I could grab anything she flung me back to starboard and I finished up with my head against the steel cabin side. No damage, not to the bulkhead anyway! Broken sea crests were sweeping over the wheelhouse, but in its shelter I found that I could sit on the wheel platform and wedge myself into a corner. For the next few hours I occupied this corner with just one or two 'visits to the side'.

Even under such comparatively mild conditions it is easy to appreciate what wonderful sea boats these are. It is also easy to realise just what gale conditions can be. To be able to locate a casualty, come alongside or rig a breeches buoy in a gale calls for the highest degree of seamanship. Superb.

The twin Thornycroft 70 diesel engines never missed a beat throughout.

No trouble was experienced and just before dawn broke the lights of Blackpool, some miles away on our port side, came into sight. Sarah settled down, for now she was in home waters and the flood tide carried her swiftly upstream to her buoy. Soon she was moored and swung head on to meet the flood and, as the engines were shut down, I am sure I heard her heave a sigh of relief and say, 'Home again'..