Maybe

At the time I did not think that 'Maybe' was a very good name for a ship.

A piece of equipment to be relied upon in life threatening situations upon towering waves and seemingly bottomless troughs with the violent turbulence in between should have a stronger name, for sure.  'Maybe' would have suited a rowing boat or a dinghy.  It is a name which inspires a bit of optimism in a lotta laughs sort of way, and would certainly be a sentiment called upon if such a small craft drifted into the bow shadow of a large aircraft carrier,bulk carrier or globe trotting multi storey cruise ship. 'Maybe' just does not give a feeling of invincibilty and confidence on the open seas or even the local boating lake.

The story behind the name is however interesting.

Commissioned by a wealthy Dutchman in 1933 the boat was designed to fulfill the dreams and aspirations of that individual and his family for travelling and adventure. During the war years it was hidden in a muddy backwater as it would have been quite a prize for some self important invader and no doubt commandered, requisitioned or just plain stolen away to some private wharf in the Fatherland. Post war it began to take part in the Tall Ships Races, a glamourous and evocative sounding lifestyle, the playground of the rich and famous. The image of crystal clear waters, powder blue skies and warm sunshine could not be more distant than the lock basin of Hull Marina on a murky wednesday afternoon in October through which 'Maybe' was being carefully teased.

I was a bit of a captive audience in that the inner lock gate was already open and my passage across on foot was postponed. The outer gate was in the early stages of mechanical activation to drain out the basin and allow the ship out into the also murky River Humber. I was effectively trapped for a few moments.

I feared the worst, in a sort of morbid and fascinated way,  for the coming together of ship superstructure and the inanimate thing that is the landmass of West Hull as the long vessel swung into the basin from the busy Marina. One of the crew in the bows gave the universal symbol of a very close thing but no drama with a thumbs up although his colleague some sixty feet back at the wheel will have been unsighted and oblivious to how close he had been to an embarassing scrape and crunch. Either that or he was supremely skilled and proficient in tight quarter navigational techniques.

Now that the grand ship was directly in front of me as it awaited the seeping away of the waters I could see that the deck was littered with bodies. In between Ocean Racing and Corporate jollies the main role of the Dutchman's dream was as a sail training school.

The compliment on board looked to be a timid and apprehensive group of teenagers. This brings me back to the lack of inspiration and confidence in 'Maybe' and I imagine that their doting parents, signing off their offspring in loco parentis for a few days would be equally anxious. The shipping forecast would for the duration be avidly followed in kitchens and living rooms of those left at home.

So early in the voyage, about twenty minutes,  it was a case of the only communication being 'do not touch anything', and relations between crew and pupils were distant and strange. The youngsters were huddled low on the plank deck, well kitted out in all weather gear and life jackets but nevertheless visibly shivering from cold and fear.

Within a few hours of leaving behind the familiar waterfront of Hull there would be the start of a very strong bond and trust between all those on board. The mooring ropes were loosely tied to the basin wall as the ship began to drop slowly and uniformly to the level of the wild river beyond the substantial timber outer gate. By now there was quite a large gathering on the quayside but mainly comprised of impatient types wanting to cross rather than having a passing or fleeting interest in how to get a Tall Ship through a narrow lock.

I would be home and warm in about half an hour whilst ship, crew and trainees would just be edging out towards Spurn Point and where the choppy waters of the Humber would look positively millpond-like in comparison to the ragings and swell of the North Sea.That would of course depend on whether the mist and drizzle lifted enough for them to appreciate their surroundings.

I did, I admit, feel a small twinge of envy about their adventure that lay ahead up the Yorkshire Coast towards Whitby and beyond.

 Life on board a sailing ship of classical proportions promised much in the way of self discovery and motivation and those going out as hapless youths would return as fully rounded and confident citizens with a fresh and exciting new aspect on how they would conduct their own lives and futures on a positive course ................................................maybe.

Ah, yes, it is all very clear now. Clever.