Chapter 17 - The Big Storm
For years Charles had been talking about making a sailing trip and wanting Alison to come with him. She would sail on the harbour with him, and she loved the exhilaration of beating to wind as it tossed back her hair and the boat heeled in the spray. But most of all she loved the simple joy it brought to Charles, the way his face flushed in the cool air and how that trademark wolfish grin, that she knew and loved so well, never left his face.
In 1885 Charles had become one of the inaugural members of Balmain Sailing Club. With his fast growing son, John, and with James, when he could visit, along with other local sailing friends, they would go flying across the harbour in an 18 foot open boat, going impossibly fast under huge canvass sails, often racing in the many regattas that were held on Sydney Harbour.
Sometimes Alison and the other children would join him in overnight trips on their own boat, named after them. These were mostly within the harbour but sometimes they sailed out of the harbour up the coast to the vast Hawkesbury River inlet or headed south to Botany Bay and Port Hacking. However they were rarely away for more than a couple days.
Alison had resisted Charles in his many previous entreaties to go and sail the wide ocean. Her reasons were many; work at the shop, children and grandchildren who all needed her. But now she knew it was time, time just for them, away and alone together, making the discovery of many new lands and horizons that were out there. Balmain had always held her so tight, and this hold would remain. But now she felt ready to go away, knowing that she could return to its fastness when needs must.
So today, having shared her secret with Sophie, she tripped along with a light heart to tell Maria and Jimmy of her plans. She was sure they would both approve, in them lay a streak of the wild adventurers who had first come to this land. She arrived just as they were sitting down to a late lunch, and her enthusiasm was infectious. They all joined it the making of plans.
Charles’ sister, Elizabeth, had established a farm over in New Zealand, more than 20 years ago, somewhere near Wellington. Elizabeth was now a Grandmother to a brood of grandkids, most of whom Charles and Alison had never seen, and Elizabeth had written begging them to visit.
While they could have caught a steamer, Charles eyed off his little blue hulled boat, and so the plan was formed. Sophie had turned seven in the winter, and they would leave in the spring, when the winter storms were mostly past. With fine weather and fair wind about a week would see them across the ocean and then, perhaps in the autumn, they would return.
At last the day of the planned departure came. All their own children and grandchildren assembled, and many friends besides were there too
It was a clear spring Saturday as they gathered for a picnic on the point at East Balmain. Charles and Alison shared in excited anticipation with all the well-wishers on warm sunny afternoon, as conversation and good spirits flowed. The boat was loaded, the sails were checked, they had provisions for a month and all was set. As the sun started to dip west a fair sea-breeze sprung up, as if a signal.
Charles stood up. It was time. So, with a small flotilla of following little boats and yachts, they were away. The others followed in their wake to Dawes Point then broke away. With a last wave they were ocean bound, heeled over into the breeze.
Four idyllic days of sailing followed, mostly light breezes and the odd heavy blow. But these were just scuds, and soon they sailed back into sun and fair weather again. They were more than half way there. Then, on the Thursday, far off to the south, they spied streamers and trailers of cloud. As the day passed they watched these grow, banking and piling, layer on layer into a huge lumpen mass, somewhere far out towards Tasmania. The sea took on a sullen unstructured shape and the wind died away until they were barely moving. It was almost soundless; a lone seagull squawk here and there, and creaking and flapping of loose sails as odd wind eddies passed.
Charles frowned; he knew the signs, tightened ropes and shortened the canvass. He and Alison went around the boat, checking to ensure everything was securely stowed.
Alison looked at him and his evident concern. She smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, Charles, I know the signs out there. What will be, will be. Now we should eat and rest as it may be a long time until we can do so again.”
So they prepared a simple meal and sat together in the stern, eating, with a sense of great contentment. Then they lay side by side in their bunk, held each other close and slept, her cheek resting on his chest and her hair in his face. A few times they almost woke, but feeling the comfort of each other, they snuggled close and slept again.
As the first rays of dawn were glowing in the east, their boat gave a shudder as the first gust of wind rocked it. They put on their oilskins and harnesses and went above.
Charles pointed the boat into the wind. He pulled in more sail; now just enough remained for steerage. Alison sat alongside him in the stern, they would wait and work together, and, please God, they would make it home to Balmain to see their children again.
But she had no fear and no regrets. Her cup of life had been filled to overflowing with its joys and sadness, and it had all been so good. And here they were now, still together.
An hour later the wind was howling and the waves were huge. The little boat was driven before it, where they did not know, but somewhere to the southeast. A day passed and a night, their sails were torn and tattered, the main mast was split; it would break away soon. But they hung on and stayed together, driven down one wave before rising up over the crest of another in and endless cycle. Finally, as the second day faded, the sounds of wind and waves changed.
Charles heard and knew the roar of breakers. He grabbed a sea anchor. But it was too late. So they held each other and let a final peace wash over them, before a grinding roar as their boat piled and splintered on the rocks.
Next morning, the storm had passed and a fisherman, near Greymouth, found splinters of broken timber on the beach. He headed further along to where the rocks loomed, black against the grey sea and sky. There he found them, a smashed boat with the name “Alison-Heather-Maria” painted in red on the stern and two bodies in oilskins, tied to their harnesses with arms locked around each other.
So Alison and Charles returned to Balmain, in a casket, but still together. They were laid beside the others in the little cemetery looking out to sea at the end of Balmain. Sophie and Maria cried at the grave, but another part of them was happy too, these people they loved so much were rejoined to their family, to be together always.