in Cape Town, but she won’t. I reckon it’s the baked beans. The good news is the baked beans have at last run out. The bad news is we had sardines for supper. Eeeyuk!
February 7
We’re hundreds of miles out in the Indian Ocean, and then this happens. Stella hardly ever comes up on deck unless it’s flat calm. I don’t know why she came up. I don’t know why she was there. We were all busy, I suppose. Dad was brewing up down in the galley, and Mum was at the wheel. I was doing one of my navigation lessons, taking bearings with the sextant. The Peggy Sue was pitching and rolling a bit. I had to steady myself. I looked up and I saw Stella up at the bow of the boat. One moment she was just standing there, the next she was gone.
We had practised the ‘man overboard’ drill dozens of times back in the Solent with Barnacle
Bill. Shout and point. Keep shouting. Keep pointing. Turn into the wind. Get the sails down quick. Engine on. By the time Dad had the mainsail and the jib down, we were already heading back towards her. I was doing the pointing, and the shouting too. She was paddling for her life in the green of a looming wave. Dad was leaning over the side and reaching for her, but he didn’t have his safety harness on and Mum was going mad. She was trying to bring the boat in as close and as slow
as she could, but a wave took Stella away from us at the last moment. We had to turn and come back again. All the time I was pointing and shouting.
Three times we came in but each time we passed her by. Either we were going too fast or she was out of reach. She was weak by now. She was hardly paddling. She was going under. We had one last chance. We came in again, perfectly this time and close enough for Dad to be able to reach out and grab her. Between the three of us we managed to haul Stella back into the boat by her collar, by her tail. I got a, ‘Well done, monkey face,’ from Dad, and Dad got a huge rollicking from Mum for not wearing his safety harness. Dad just put his arms round her and she cried. Stella shook herself and went below as if nothing at all had happened.
Mum has made a strict rule. Stella Artois is never to go out on deck – whatever the weather – without a safety harness clipped on, like the rest of us. Dad’s going to make one for her.
I still dream of the elephants in South Africa. I loved how slow they are, and thoughtful.
I loved their wise weepy eyes. I can still see those snooty giraffes looking down at me and the lion cub sleeping with his mother’s tail in his mouth. I did lots of drawings and I keep looking at them to remind me. The sun in Africa is so big, so red.
Australia next. Kangaroos and possums and wombats. Uncle John’s going to meet us in Perth. I’ve seen photos of him but I’ve never met him. Dad said this evening he’s only a distant uncle. ‘Very distant,’ Mum said, and they both laughed. I didn’t get the joke till I thought about it again when I came on watch.
The stars are so bright, and Stella was saved. I think I’m happier than I have been all my life.
April 3
Off Perth, Australia. Until today it has been nothing but empty ocean all the way from Africa. I love it more and more when it’s just us and Peggy Sue and the sea. We all do, I think. But then, when we sight land we always get so excited. When we saw Australia for the first time we hugged each other
and jumped up and down. It’s like we’re the first sailors ever to discover it. Stella Artois barked at us as if we were mad as hatters, which we probably are. But we’ve done it. We’ve sailed all the way from England to Australia. That’s halfway round the world. And we did it on our own.
Mum’s been getting her stomach cramps again. She’s definitely going to see a doctor in Australia. She’s promised us and we’ll make her keep to it.
May 28
At sea again after nearly six weeks with Uncle John. We thought we were going to stay in Perth for just a few days, but he said we had to see Australia properly while we were there. He took us to stay with his family on a huge farm. Thousands of sheep. He’s got masses of horses, so I went riding a lot with my two little cousins, Beth and Liza. They’re only seven and eight, but they could really ride. They called me Mikey, and by the time we left they both wanted to marry me. We’re going to be penpals instead.
I saw a snake called a Copperhead. Uncle John said it could have killed me if I’d trodden on it. He told me to watch out for Redback spiders in the toilet. I didn’t go to the toilet very often after that.
They called us their ‘pommy cousins’ and we had barbeques every evening. They gave us a great time. But I was happy to get back to the Peggy Sue. I missed her while I was gone, like I miss Eddie. I’ve been sending him cards, funny animal cards, if I can find them. I sent him one of a wombat. I saw a
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