Page 111 - It's a Rum Life Book 3 "Ivy House Tales 1970 to 1984"
P. 111

Picture of Boston Docks.


            The boat owner was a local dentist and very persuasive. All things considered, Alford was
            not far to go despite being in the hills about 25 miles north of Boston.


            Down at the dock in Boston, the boat owners had clubbed together to use one of the dock
            cranes to lift several boats all on the same day.


            The dentist’s boat was lowered onto the trailer and comfortably cradled with four tiers of
            motor tyres. These were helped with copious lengths of rope and ratchet straps. After
            checks and more checks we began our journey without the least knowledge of the mind-
            blowing events about to overtake us.

            All went well for 99% of the journey. We carefully negotiated up hill and down hill, sharp
            bends and narrow streets, until arriving at the long steep downhill slope above Alford town
            itself.
            The decent began slowly and orderly with me and the boat in the lead and the dentist
            owner following behind watching the load. Our prearranged signal for an emergency was
            one toot on his horn!


            GRAVITY
            Half way down the hill and within just one mile of our destination I heard a toot! Not just
            one toot but two or three. We never did find out who it was…. but the effect was
            catastrophic…I pressed the brake pedal and in an instant gravity took over!

            The car and trailer slowed but the boat and all its contents, engine, cabin fittings, food,
            crockery etc carried on down the hill!
            My pride and joy was in the way and the bow of the motor cruiser cleft a broad “v” groove
            into the boot of the lovely otherwise unblemished glossy red jaguar car. Jaguars of this
            vintage were well built and solid.

            It was the car that had stopped the boat careering further down the hill and it, the boat, just
            gracefully slipped off its trailer and landed on its side on the grass verge at the side of the
            road.
            It was a public holiday Saturday and this road was the main route to the East Coast resorts
            from the Midlands. Why does everything awful happen on a bank holiday?






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