When I came to write these remembrances I found myself surprised at how few were individually of Janet. We camped as a family, we sailed as a family, we did most things as a family. The boats we owned were big enough for the four of us to sleep aboard when we explored the coast of North Carolina. When my job took us to Singapore, Janet was eleven. I wanted to continue sailing but my contract with the Telecommunications Authority covered only one year so a relatively expensive cabin craft didn’t seem a good idea. So I bought the Lark!
The Lark, a 14 ft. dinghy rigged for racing was a veritable explosion in a spaghetti factory. It proved a poor choice for exploring the coastal islands. But since it was being sold by a departing expatriate it was cheap. It had been many years since I had sailed dinghies and after I closed the deal I wanted to take it (the Lark never deserved the dignity of nautical gender or even of a name) and work out what all the lines, halyards and sheets did. Whether I made the mistake of inviting Janet to crew or whether she volunteered, I don’t remember.
We launched the Lark from the Changi Yacht Club on the Jahor Strait between Singapore and Malaysia. Sheltered from the northeasterly breeze blowing at probably no more than six or seven knots, even in that light wind, the low gunwales with only inches of freeboard splashed us. Janet, who had been used to handling the jib on the larger, more stable boats, cleated the sheet and relaxed, trailing her hand in the water. I, learning the handling of the new boat, tested the responsiveness of the helm, easing and tightening the mainsail. Then, as we reached wider parts of the strait the wind stiffened. We were not yet out into the South China Sea but the waves became choppy, splashing into the hull.
I decided to go about and made the big mistake. Instead of asking Janet to release the jib sheet, I reached forward to do it myself, shifting weight without easing the main, just as a wave washed over the gunwale. Janet remained perfectly calm but it was in my mind that I must not make her nervous of sailing in such a small craft by giving her anxious instructions, so I made the second mistake. Instead of releasing the main I attempted to turn into the wind.
It was about then that I realized that what I had bought did not include a baling bucket and the amount of water sloshing around in the hull probably weighed more than the boat itself. The helm was totally unresponsive, the still cleated jib, the shifting weight of the water we had taken and the continuing increase in wind combined to pull the lee gunwale under water.
The proper reaction on my part would have been to step over onto the centerboard and use my weight to keep us upright. I took a moment to explain to Janet and it was a moment too long. The Lark was flat on the water and I, dumped into the water, came up under the mainsail. It seemed to me a long, panicky time to find the edge of the sail and reach the surface just as the Lark turned turtle. Janet was calmly holding onto the hull. We both wore life jackets and climbed onto the upside down hull. Janet sat coolly and seeming to regard everything as a completely normal event. I never did ask her if her reaction was due to confidence in me.
Fortunately the South China Sea is warm and even more fortunately Alma had been watching through binoculars and had seen our misadventure. Her story of organizing our rescue is worthy of a separate posting.
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