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The Destruction of the Wind ShelterDavid Villers-Child reminisces... |
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It was late July and the weekend of the Bognor Barrel and Adur Trophy Races at Bognor Regis Yacht Club. Or it would have been. Had it not been blowing force eight from the west. Not yachting weather! Two hundred or so dinghy sailors on the loose in a town the size of Bognor should not present too much of a problem for the authorities. On the whole prosperous, middle class and responsible, you would think! There is a practical limit to what one can drink. We tried croquet on the club lawn, but after two broken ankles and a wee fight over possession of a mallet, the ref� called time out. Then Robin, an Aston Martin Owner, Royal Engineer (Engineers are all mad, mostly Methodist and Mainly Married!), and very very rich, proposed a road trolley race. The thesis was that a launching trolley would be lashed to the front of the road trailer where the car would be usually be, to act as the other two wheels and steering bogy. A mast or long boom would then be tied to the front of the trailer to the trailing mast support and a spinnaker would be flown from the top of this spar. The �vehicle would then be let go down a measured half mile on Bognor Sea Front, the runs would be timed and the winner would get a firkin of beer presented by Robin. We could all then, hopefully help the winner with his onerous task of drinking it. Of course first to go had to be Robin. He set off like a rocket and as he sailed past the end of the run at well over thirty miles an hour, the fault in his cunning plan came to the fore! Like the Bloody Great Wheel, alas there was no way of stopping it! We had of course tactfully cleared the general public from the race-track, and asked that toddlers and dogs be kept on a leash! Robin was faced with three choices, the Ice cream parlour, a flint wall or a wind shelter. Whether by accident or design the Wind Shelter got chosen. Unfortunately there were three little old ladies seeking shelter in it, and little old ladies do not run very fast. Fortunately the Merlin Rocket class is endowed with a number of Doctors as competitors and one undertaker. Luckily the latter was not needed. The crash, (bits of Victorian ironwork glass and wood went flying) is deeply embedded in the memory. It was a mess. After the sal-volatale and something stronger had been administered and the odd scratch been plastered over and peace been made, before the police arrived, Robin offered the ladies a lift home with him, or a taxi wherever they wanted to go. They chose the taxi! A footnote to this tale is that the Croquet Match that started it all was reported in the local papers complete with a picture of �the pitch� and the Commodore of the Bognor Regis Yacht Club. Somehow this got into the hands of the All England Tennis & Croquet Club, a letter of protest from them appeared in the next issue concluding with the fact that the hoops were too wide at the base! It seems that rule pedants are not restricted to sailing! |