On a cloudy midsummer afternoon, my best friend, Harry Scott, and I waved goodbye to our worried mothers and sailed out of Falmouth’s Carrick Roads – two naïve 20-year-olds, wide-eyed and open to the world. We had loaded Flying Cloud, my 22ft Clyst Class wooden sloop, with surfboards, a foldaway bicycle, two pasties each and a pint of milk, and set sail for Brittany looking for nothing more than an adventure.
Having graduated from university, we had no commitments to work or education, and the freedom was overwhelming. And what better way to travel than a small sailing boat? We were transients, able to make a home wherever we dropped anchor – ever sure of a warm bed and a hot meal.
Our arrival in France was a novel occurrence,…