Sail away, sail away, sail away
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| The Astrid's Cargo |
Much of the dinner conversation with the Cassins concerned
the history between Bordeaux and the UK. I realised I was lucky in that
Bordeaux and its surrounding regions – Aquitaine – are the most Anglophile part
of France. In all my years there, I don't recollect ever being on the receiving
end of the sort of rudeness our British journalists regularly dish out to
France.
Every year the good people of Castillon re-enact the Battle
of Castillon, 1453, which ended the 100 Years War, but they always remind
everyone that they were actually on our side! This wasn't really a fight
between the French and the English but between rival groups of French-speaking
aristocrats, one of whom happened to sit on the English throne. The battle
re-enactment makes it clear that the people of this region were very much on
the side of the English King who, in response to a plea from the harassed
'Anglo Gascons' sent over an army. Unfortunately it was led by a 70-year-old
general, rather past his best. And that was that.
Why the loyalty? Well, the King of England was also the Duke
of Aquitaine and had been for hundreds of years. But really it was all down to …
wine.
We, in our damp islands have always been noted for our
excessive love of wine. Well, booze of any kind, really. It’s not a new thing.
In the 12th century we in Britain, apparently consumed as much Bordeaux wine as
we do today. With a population of what … two million? This thirsty market kept
Aquitaine in the money for centuries. Monsieur told me there was this annual
fleet of fat bellied boats called 'cogs' that sailed down the great sea highway
that ran across The Channel and down the west cost of France at vintage time.
It is possible to surmise – though it won't win you friends in the region –
that Bordeaux is not what it is today – the greatest region of fine wine on
earth – necessarily because it makes the finest wines. It might just be
because, for a thousand years, it was the handiest source of good red wine for
the ever-thirsty British. My French friends say the 'GB' we stick on our cars
stands for Geule de Bois or 'wood-throat'; a very dedicated drinker.
They say it with admiration. They love us for our thirst.
The Bordeaux wine trade in its Medieval prime was the
greatest trade, of any sort, the world had ever seen. Monsieur Cassin told me
this, thus precipitating another of our mad schemes; we would re-enact that
trade.
Hugh Johnson was keen to sail. Madame Cassin was keen; she
had an ancestor who was a corsair. The customers seemed keen on some waterborne
wine. So I went off to Cornwall, found an old Brigantine square rigger called
the 'Marques' which had featured in 'The Onedin Line' on TV and chartered
her.
We set sail, Hugh, me, Colin Forbes the nautical cameraman,
and a scary-looking bunch of wild Cornishmen, from Charlestown, a tiny port
which has featured in just about everything filmed with an old sailing boat in
it. With a brisk northerly wind, we roared down the coast to Bordeaux in just
two days. There, the bemused but willing dockers of Bordeaux packed 2000 cases
of claret into her capacious hold. They packed them extremely well … and later
we thanked God for that. Fully laden we sailed back past the Médoc – where we
took on a few barrels as deck cargo – and on out into a dead calm sea. We sat
there and waited for wind whilst diving and swimming with the porpoises. This
is easy, we thought.
The first storm warning came as we neared Brest. So we took
shelter for a couple of nights. Unfortunately time and money were running out
and we had an appointment with a BBC film crew in Plymouth. So we decided to
make a run for it.
The big storm hit as we emerged into the Channel and
darkness fell. The captain lowered all sails except for the two jibs and we had
no option but to run before the wind, up the Channel. The ship had no
electricity and the oil lamps blew out. Like a ghost ship, we apparently
crashed through a French fishing fleet. By then, Hugh and I, believing our final
hour might have come – and me only married a month – had got down into the
focs'le with two bottles of extremely fine Cognac, a fortuitous gift from our
friend, old Marcel Ragnaud.
In the cold wet light of morning there was no more Cognac.
There were no more sails, only shreds, and a lot fewer barrels on deck; gone
overboard. But we were still all alive and Colin, who was used to filming
Southern Ocean races was having the time of his life. Me, I watched every
towering swell, the size of a block of flats, bearing down on us, convinced
this one would be the one to overwhelm us. But no, up we bobbed, every time,
steady as could be, ballasted by 24,000 bottles of claret. Some years later,
the poor old Marques did capsize, and sank off Bermuda with much loss of life.
That time there was no wine ballast.
This time we got away with it as we nipped into the shelter
of Torbay, and I started to breathe again. Alas the BBC were in Plymouth and had
gone elsewhere by the time we sailed in after the storm. So we missed the
hoped-for news feature. But we did unload every single bottle intact. And that
meant 2000 happy customers.
But … never again.
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| The Astrid |
… until 1991, that is, when for some inexplicable reason we
did it again, on the 'Astrid'; another ship which, some years later, sank, off
Ireland.
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| The Irene arriving in London |
… and then once more in 2010 on the 'Irene'. That time the
weather in The Channel was lovely. But over a two week voyage we somehow
managed to get through four captains. Talk about Mutiny on the Bounty!
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| Unloading the Irene |
Sailing with wine is not straightforward.
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| The Irene's cargo, safe and sound |
Are we mad? Certainly.
We have also chartered bigger, luxurious, sailing ships and
loaded customers on as well as wine. On these voyages there was always extensive
damage done to the wine cargo. But the passengers were fine … and very, very
happy.
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