I can recall quite clearly the arrival of the sailing boat. That was exciting, but also quite amazing to see just two orange canvas bags on the floor, one packed with endless bits and pieces which had to be put together, the other containing the heavy skin which covered the hull. I figured that it would be much like building a model airplane, with the hull of the boat like the fuselage of a plane, over which was stretched the boat’s skin. I thought that since both my father and John were experts at the construction of model planes, building a boat wouldn’t be that much different. We stored the bags on one of the two large, covered stoeps we had in the flat in which we were living.
The size of the sailing craft was daunting, though. We couldn’t erect it inside, at least not with its keel, its 12 ft. mast, with its two sails, and its second mast which sported the mizzen sail. The boat was not small. Including its rudder, it was almost 18 ft. long and could hold three people.
So, the first time my father erected it in its entirety, must have been at Lake McIlwaine, where we sometimes stayed for the weekend. We must have loaded those bags into the car and taken them with us. The odd thing is that I don’t remember seeing my father erect and use the sailing boat at Lake MacIlwaine, but my brother John tells me that he used to help my father and then go out fishing with him. I wasn’t that interested in their sailing and fishing expeditions, so I must have stayed on land with my mother and my younger brother.
I do, however, recall what happened when our family took the boat on a seaside holiday to Beira in Mozambique.
The first problem arose at the border when my father declared that he had a boat in the car. The Customs officer couldn’t see a boat and wanted to know where this boat was. “I can’t see a boat”, he declared. “Where exactly is this boat?” “Inside those canvas bags”, said my father. “It comes in kit form, and we build it when we arrive.” The officer was reluctant to believe that this was possible, given the size of our small car and the five of us travelling in it. He wanted to see for himself, so my father dragged out a bag and began to open it, explaining all the time how it worked. Eventually the officer agreed that there was, indeed, a boat, and nothing else in those bags. As he waved us on our way, he was, however, muttering to himself, “Whoever heard of a sailboat in a bag?!”
So, we drove on to Beira, laughing amongst ourselves about the interaction with the bemused Customs officer.
The day after our arrival at the seaside, we caused even more of a sensation with our boat, when my father began to build it on the beach. We were all helping, concentrating so much on the construction of the vessel that we didn’t notice the large crowd of fascinated bystanders who were gathering around, at a distance watching us. They had never seen anything like it!
