Post 115: Summer storms and significant smiles.
Spirits can soar once freedom is restored—with surprising speed.
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While yesterdays storm blew overhead I was reminded of a trip to Ireland 37 years ago (this week) to attend the wedding of my youngest sister-in-law-to-be.
Jenny and Barney had been together a long while and chose to get married in the hottest part of summer, back in the late ’80s when the summers were always pretty good as I recall. It was a couple of years before our wedding, and my Darling and I had decided to take the car and to drive over.
We could be independent, to a certain extent, if we were lucky.
There were plenty of good reasons to fly, but in the end—as it was the first week of August—a summer ferry seemed the best way to get her bridesmaid’s dress, all the wedding bits, and our holiday gear over there with the least stress.
We set off in a blood-red, fully packed five-door Austin Maestro and drove to North Wales—over 350 miles away.
The long motorway trip meant my Darling navigator could put her bare feet up on the dashboard and sleep most of the way.
As we left the sunshine behind, we headed west toward the Atlantic storm that had been forecast days earlier. But we couldn’t and wouldn’t change our plans. We had to get there, come what may.
We could take all day to get to Holyhead, as we were booked on the red-eye at 4 a.m.
We arrived at the farthest point northwest on Wales on Holy Island realising the reality of the unkind weather.
As I wound down the window to show the ticket paperwork to the kiosk guy at the barrier, the escalating wind whipped around everything that wasn’t tightly held down in the car.
We were ushered into a line of vehicles to await departure—still five hours away.
We planned to park up and sleep until boarding the old-fashioned tub of a ferry.
In later years, the service improved with a fast ship—a massive catamaran (the wonderful HSS)—cutting the crossing to under two hours. But this older ferry was three and a half hours long.
But the stormy seas never really bothered it - Unlike the wether dependant HSS.
We knew things were getting worse weather-wise when we heard the service was running late and the timetable might change.
That didn’t faze me—we were ready whenever they were, and the wedding was still days away.
Obviously it was dark by the time we arrived at the port. After having a bite to eat and finishing most of our packed picnic, we decided to stroll around the ferry port, find toilets, and take a few nighttime photos of the buildings lit up like Christmas trees and the harbour wall shielding the roll-on roll-off dock.
We opened the car door and were ejected from our seats as the strong wind yanked the doors open.
Immediately, the shorts and t-shirt weren’t enough, and I gave up pretending to be brave. I shut myself back in the car to find a warm raincoat.
It might have been summer in England but Wales and Ireland was a different kettle of fish.
Once suitably dressed, I grabbed my camera bag and ran sideways through the crazy wind to the port office building and the waiting rooms.
That’s when I realised how bad the storm really was.
Through the big windows facing the breakwater and the incoming/outgoing boats, it was hard to see anything—foam blown from the wave tips covered everything.
Even in the dark, you could make out the huge waves crashing over the stone breakwater arm protecting the harbour.
OMG!
I tried to make light of it, but it was clear this “summer ferry trip” was going to be hellish.
By the time the delayed ferry arrived, news had spread that the 04:15 sailing would go ahead, but would be 30 minutes late, but on arrival in Eire we would have calm seas.
I don’t know if that was good or bad news—but we were stuck in lines we couldn’t exit, resigned to a stormy crossing.
Rain swept in while we boarded via the ramps and our car was stowed away in the boat’s hold.
We grabbed food, warm clothes, and wet wipes—just in case.
I had a fiendish plan to save us from some of the horror that would accompany the crossing: head to the forward bar area and avoid the restaurants and entertainment zones, where the kids and mums would be struggling to stay upright and keep their meals down.
The plan worked well.
By the time the ferry left the calm waters inside the harbour and approached the open sea, the announcer warned:
“On no account is anyone allowed on the outside decks due to the rainstorm and wind. The doors will be open, but it’s too dangerous to stand on the wet decks.”
And then, the kicker:
“We hope you have a pleasant trip.”
Some hope, I thought, as the ferry turned into the wind and the whole ship listed severely to the right—and stayed like that the whole way across the infamous Irish Sea.
As it happened, I was happy to be in the quiet bar area.
Only I had a pint of Guinness in my hand, though.
Everyone else was fighting the swell and the movement of anything not nailed down, especially my pint glass that I struggled to keep from spilling.
After a while, everyone just gave in to sleep as the storm howled and the boat lurched.
Yes, it was uncomfortable.
But we got there safely—into Dublin Port—disembarking into the calm of a sunlit morning, as if nothing had happened.
On the way back down the stairs to return to our car, we overheard other passengers say:
“All our lives, we’ve never had a worse crossing—at any time of the year.”
And this was August, for goodness’ sake.
I was reminded of this today because Little Bro and all his out-laws are in Cornwall for the week.
All afternoon, we had thunderstorms and heavy showers.
And this is August, for goodness’ sake!
I hope he avoided the storms—or, if not, I hope he danced in the rain.
Congratulations to Jen and Barney on 37 years of happy marriage.
Wishing you plenty more.
———
I have to say—I forced myself to be positive in this blog.
It’s not a funny or captivating anecdote, for which I’m sorry.
But I’m pulling out of a painful nosedive and feel much happier today—and that’s what I needed to share.
That I am happier.
My Darling has been so supportive this week during my worst hours.
I find it hard to express how much that truly means.
From the moment we met to this moment, you are my everything.
As Her Highness Madge once said:
“I’m crazy for you…
Trying hard to control my heart
I walk over to where you are
Eye to eye, we need no words at all.”
(by Madonna Louise Ciccone)
———
Bowels: slower than a one-legged tortoise
Pain relief: bang on the money 
Aches and pains: just that—aches and pains
Next week’s outings: still on track
Tuesday’s oncology phone appointment after my routine blood test for chemo—and I can’t wait to hear the news.
Things are looking up.
I’m on the mend.
I’m smiling significantly more.
Cross your fingers for good news next week—I’ll cross mine for you too.
