Into The Weddelworth Channel: Day I

I had decided to leave South-Stitchford on the first day of April. We had been hoping for a break in the weather, owing to a particularly pernicious drizzle that had downcast our departure. Time was of the essence, if we hoped to make for good winter quarters, we must make it to dry land before the water gets too chilly. We had a hardy crew, but no man aboard was liable to survive long after taking an icy bootful from the Chestershon Dyke. Luck would be on our side for now it seemed, and on the morning of the first, the cloudline parted and a lead of majestic blue opened before us. We harried to stations and made haste to load supplies aboard our vessel, the Dudley Dribbler, which was to be our home and only respite for the coming months. Never was a ship more handsomely stocked as she, packed to her gunwales with all manner of necessities, from tins of corned beef to jaffa cakes and tuna sandwiches, and a large bag of biscuits for the dogs – one of the men joked that we would all return fattened from the excursion, which did much to stoke the morale. Had I been in a lesser mood, I might have had him shot, but owing to the weather and excitement of departure I let the incident slide.

Our first sailing brought us well clear of the docks and soundly into the treacherous Weddelworth Channel, but thus far we slipped on without impediment. We took a depth sounding at noon, and the reading came back at a little over four feet, which made sense as the channel was only about twelve feet wide at this point. At four o'clock I took order to anchor and make camp as the weather was beginning to turn and I did not want to get wet. Soon the tents were up and ready and it sure enough started spitting. The cook prepared a rudimentary snack on the primus stove, and it was then it was discovered that no-one had packed any tea – a serious undersight – so I called for volunteers, and sent Wychershen-Smithe to procure some from a nearby petrol station. By now there was a distinct patter of dropulets hazing from the clouds, so we took extra precaution and equipped him with a folding umbrella and a pair of galoshes. Before long he had re-emerged from the deluge with a large box of PG tips and a packet of chocolate hobnobs, which we divided up hungrily amongst the men. Shortly after supper we retired for the night, and I elected to take the first watch, being relieved by Hardy at around a quarter past ten.

– Sir Walter Finchley Ruddington-Fry