Orford

Margaret Young

I am sure that my three brothers and sister will have different special memories where Orford is concerned, but I believe that for all of us it was a very special sort of place after the five long years of war that had marked our early childhood. We spent our first holiday at the "Yacht House" in 1947. I was 11, my brother Frank nearly 10, Barbara 8 and Ian was 4. That first year Robert who was only 20 months went to spend his holidays on the farm with the Nurse who had looked after him when he was born as he was really too young for the primitive life style we led, but he joined us after that. For the next six years we spent most of August at Orford, enjoying everything to do with the river, growing up and learning skills and attitudes which have stayed with us all our lives. We were part of a small community which grew with the years and still treasure the friendships made then.

The "Yacht House" was a structure of brick and wood which had originally been the boat house for Sudbourne Hall. It was built just the landward side of the sea wall a few hundred yards up river from Orford Quay.The ground floor was mainly a square brick boat store with a stone floor, behind which were two pine pannelled, wooden floored rooms and a back entrance. Leading out of the boat store was a wooden open stair with a wire netting banister by which the second floor was reached. This was mainly an open balcony surrounded by wire mesh with wooden supports and rails. At the back across the whole width was a long wooden-floored, pine pannelled room with big windows, 'clubhouse' style, which we used as a living room. In the corner was a small square room which we used as the kitchen. Leading upwards from the balcony was another staircase, in the open leading to the top which was a similarly railed open space with a small hut in the middle inside which there were lockers on each side which could be used as seats.. There was also a fine flagstaff.

My grandfather William Craig bought the boathouse before the war, I think from Sudbourne Hall. He later gave it to my father for us to use for holidays.

During the war it was requisitioned by the army and had to undergo some repairs before we could use it which was why we did not holiday there until 1947. The army did not do much damage inside but I do remember seeing chalk writing on the pannelled walls.

The main entrance, double doors into the ground floor, was reached by going down the seawall and across a small bridge over the dyke which separated the boathouse from the seawall. In the early days as in the photo there had been a bridge from the middle deck to the top of the sea wall, but it had gone by the time I knew it.

On the river side of the seawall the foreshore down to the low tide mark also belonged to us. There was the remains of a concrete jetty into the river, very slippery and covered in seaweed, but still practical for coming ashore at least from half tide. There was a long low black tarred boatshed with a mud and shingle floor where half deck sized boats were stored during the winter. It was dark and damp and smelly and I can remember the feel of the cold mud on bare feet. Behind the shed there was an old winch for hauling boats up from the river into the shed. Frank once got in the way of the handle and cut his head open quite badly. I can see him now trailing blood along to the Jolly Sailor where our parents had gone to collect the mail or have a drink. There was also a small brick built hut on the fore shore with racks inside which we were told were for storing bombs...

The boathouse, as we also called it, was surrounded by a small copse of trees, and there was a path from the back door through the trees to the marsh at the back. There was no running water or toilets or any mod cons and to start with we had an Elsan in a small brushwood hut some distance from the back door. The Elsan was later transferred to a 'cupboard' under the stairs leading to the first floor deck. Either way there had to be a digging party to empty the Elsan every few days. Across the marsh there was a cattle shed and a gate leading to a track which led up to the road behind. We very soon peopled the marsh with black st Kildare sheep which were hardy and did not need much attention - except that the lambs needed their tails docking and the sheep needed to be rounded up for dipping against fly, both of these being horrendous experiences in which we were all expected to play our part. The marsh was grassy but thistles were its other main crop and chasing after sheep with bare legs in such a field is not to be recommended.

When we came from Framlingham on holiday to the boat house we had to bring everything with us. Our parents slept in one of the downstairs back rooms in a wooden bed constructed by our father. In the other were two sets of ARP metal bunks with wire mesh bases. We were each given a canvas pallias to fill with straw which was our mattress. There were no comfortable sleeping bags in those days, nor could we have afforded them,, so an interesting method of keeping warm was devised. You got into a lengthwise folded sheet with one or two army surplus blankets on top. I think we were allowed a pillow. There were also a couple of ex army camp beds as we often had visitors. I can't remember much about the sleeping except that Ian once fell out of the top bunk, and I anyway spent some nights in the hut at the top of the building which seemed a perfect little 'house.' There was a very characteristic noise which I can hear still of the wind in the trees outside, which made you feel very safe and snug and glad that you were not out on the high seas.

The regime was fairly spartan. Washing was kept to a minimum and we were expected to swim every day as all the water had to be carried in jerrycans from the Jolly Sailor. Everyone had to wear plimsolls without socks and the boys wore their shorts without underpants to cut down on washing. We had to take it in turns to do the jobs, one of which was to collect the milk from the farm near the castle every morning, quite a long walk but I don't remember minding. One year Mrs. Brunton came in to cook the evening meal and another we used to go to a house in Quay St. and eat it there. One entry in my diary says "We tried to get to Butley Creek but we did not get there. We missed our dinner" (23.8.48).

In the early days we used to spend our time playing around the boathouse, in the muddy pools left by the tide on the foreshore, sailing boats on the deeper pool where mud had been dug out. The feel of the dry cracked mud and the sea lavender under bare feet is very evocative. We used to swim in the river but only in the barred off swimming pool below the quay which was only full at high tide and where there were two black tarred huts in which to change.

As we grew older and became more adventurous there were trips to the "top jetty", about a mile downstream and on the opposite side of the river, where we could walk across and bathe in the sea, and later down to the shingle bank where we had wonderful times exploring and gathering drift wood and all sorts of treasures washed up by the sea. Picnics were very basic - a loaf of bread and margarine with a pot of Marmite and one of Sandwich Spread or paste, and occasionally hard boiled eggs, with plums and apples from the garden at home. Later we would light a fire and cook bacon and eggs and heat up soup. We soon learnt to be very careful with this because the shingle when it got hot would almost explode and you could get a nasty burn. We used to take all our animals to the boat house - dogs and rabbits in particular, and the dogs would accompany us on our expeditions, putting up hares on the shingle and swimming when given the chance. We were not allowed to have accidents - we never wore life jackets and we never fell in - you were expected to be careful and not to get hit by the spars. Golden rules were never to wear wellington boots as they would pull you down if you fell in, always stay with the boat if you capsized, and always respect the mud. If you trod on the mud flats where a boat had been lying you were liable to be sucked in and my grandfather had nearly drowned that way.

Before the war my father had a Broads boat called Mantis. She was much too flat bottomed for the Alde and just before war broke out he had bought a Victory class half decker called Sandpiper (No. 27 - and there are a number of Victories still being raced at Portsmouth regularly). She was beautiful and marvellous to sail. The foredeck and side decks were covered in cream painted canvas with wooden coamings and there was plenty of room underneath the foredeck for all the swimming and picnic paraphernalia as well as for at least two bodies to stretch out, and more if it was a matter of keeping dry. From the first year the fathers had got together and decided that the best thing would be for each family to buy a Robertson 10ft. wooden dinghy for us all to learn to sail in. They were rather heavy but very sturdy, with a lug sail and a centreboard. They were ideal for learning to sail, hardly known to turn over, and good fun to race. Several families bought one so that there was good competition for those with ambition. At first we sailed and raced with a parent, but soon learnt to go on our own and races were arranged throughout the August holiday. Ours was No. 5 and was called Puffin. The prototype, no 1, was Rodney owned by the Roche Lynches; others were Goblin belonging to the Webbs, Plover (George Brinkley?) and Pat (Frank Harper?). Most of the other racing was arranged for the half deckers which competed for the Harry Edward Cup on Saturdays throughout the summer and in other handicap races, in the Aldeburgh and Orford regattas and the round the island race. These boats and their owners were part of our growing up - Plain Jane and Mrs. Johnstone, Lady Sarah and Mr. Hacon, the Tomtits - Nadya (the Webbs), Tania (Alec Comyns) Hebe (the Pellys), and a number of others. There were other boats which had permanent moorings and which we recognised as obstacles on the course and as familiar friends - Seastream (the Lingards) and the two fishing boats - Morning Star owned by Mr. Fison who amazed us with his agility on only one leg, and Renowned owned by Mr. Franklin. Mr. Franklin gave us a first experience of sea trawling. I only went once - the agony of rolling slowly on a swell off Orfordness, sea sickness lurking but not actually;y happening, and worse for me the agony of not being able to go to the loo - the boys had a bucket but somehow I could not pick up courage ... I only went once but Frank enjoyed a number of outings. The people were very important to us and played an important role in all our lives. Ralph Webb had been with my father on HMS Dido during the war. They had gone through the battle of Crete together and had become firm friends. Ralph brought his family to Orford for the holidays at the same time as us, and for several years we shared picnics on the shingle bank, excursions to Aldeburgh and Iken, trips on their larger yacht, Gudgeon, family celebrations and visits to each others homes. The Johnstones, Russells, Lingards, Codringtons, Bridget Roche Lynch (later David) and her father, Dorothy Hodgson Nicholl and her mother, Mr. and Mrs. Giles and others were part of the Orford scene and many have remained so. Frank and I spent a memorable week with Mr. and Mrs. Ross Taylor in about 1950 and raced with Roger De Quincy in his St. George, rather like the Dragons which were then the cream of the racing scene. Prince Philip's Bluebottle paid a visit to the river, much to everyone's delight. Then there were the visiting boats like Mr. Riggs' Alan, the Grogonos' (I think) Sonia, Dusmarie, belonging to Commander and Mrs. Dixon and Astrid. These were exciting because in those days there were few of the bigger yachts to be seen and one coming into the river always caused a stir.

We took part in the regattas, especially the Orford Regatta with sailing in the morning and rowing and swimming in the afternoon, culminating in a splendid tug of war. The half crown prizes were greatly valued because it gave us spending money for the Aldeburgh Carnival fair. We also enjoyed the Orford day of the Aldeburgh Regatta when the Aldeburgh Yacht Club used the Yacht House to start the races. There was a great tidying up and putting up of flags, and our flag pole really came into its own.

The Orford Sailing Club was then called the Orford Dabchick Sailing Club, and we were very disappointed when the name was changed. We made our own burgees - blue with the white D in the centre and were very proud of them. My diary records a celebration of 25 years of the clubs existence on 7th August 1950 at the Jolly Sailor, finishing with a sing song. The mainstays of the club in those days were the fishermen and local people of Orford. George Brinkley, whose wife, Mary, kept the sweet shop (now a private house) half way down Quay st on the left (you went down two steps to get into the shop and the bell had a very sweet sound) was a larger than life character. He was difficult to understand and rather frightening as he teased us in a rather dead pan sort of way, and you didn't know whether he meant it or not, but he taught us the ways of the river and would stand no shoddy or unsafe behaviour. Frank used to stay with him at times and accompany him on his big motor boat Sunray, doing odd jobs and 'being useful'. Then there was Tom Brinkley, also rather unsmiling, but with a good heart, who was in charge of the ferry going over to the 'Island' as the secret, out of bounds, far side of the river was known. He took Ian under his wing, called him Enoch, and allowed him to go backwards and forwards over the river any number of times in the early morning as they took the men to work. Ian once tied together Tom's bootlaces to those of another of the crew. They picked him up and dunked him headfirst into the river and he did not do it again. Victor was the handsome one of the Brinkleys and more smiley, and later there was Ralph who took over the looking after our boats from George. Other memorable faces were those of Sid Harper and his wife from the Jolly Sailor, Wally Green and Dick Elliott.

We played and were friends with the younger generation - Frank and Susan Harper, and Tony Harvey, their cousin, and Dennis 'Peanuts' whose surname I cannot remember, and others whose faces flicker in and out of my memory but whose names I have forgotten.

As time sent on we graduated to bigger boats - Puffin was replaced by an Alde 15 foot called Dido and in 1952 we acquired a converted lifeboat on which we could sleep. She was tremendous and extended our horizons to big boat sailing and holidays in Holland. She was a gaff rigged ketch with space for us all to sleep - and we were now usually 8 as from 1952 we were joined by a friend, Stewart Young, who usually spent his holidays with us and later became my husband. We had wanted to call the new boat Kilean, after the clipper of which my great grandfather Mackinnon had been captain, but the cost of changing her name proved prohibitive at that time, and we kept her original name, Chaperone, which was really very appropriate. We had some wonderful times in her at a period when we would never have been able to afford other holidays abroad, and she certainly looked after us and gave us an insight into the adventures to be had at sea - but that is another story.

The acquisition of Chaperone meant that we could no longer afford to keep the Yacht House and Sandpiper, and to our sadness they both had to go. In 1953, during the North Sea floods, the river had overflowed the sea wall, flooding the marsh (the sheep had to be got up into the road by a local shepherd in the middle of that horrendous night) and as a result all the trees surrounding the boat house died and it was never quite the same again. The sheds on the foreshore disappeared, and my father handed over the rights to the land to the Orford Sailing Club, who have used it ever since for their clubhouse. The boathouse went to a friend, Mr. Davies, who had been a prisoner in a Japanese prisoner of war camp, and needed somewhere peaceful to rest. He had a few years enjoyment of it before he died, and it was then sold to I believe a garage owner from Southend who did the first conversion of it into a holiday home. There is nothing left to remember it as it was except a few old photographs, but memories ares a very powerful preserver, especially when they are happy.