Ferry Boat Ride
On the morning of October 14th, 1976, I loaded my little family into our 1972 Ford Gran Torino, and drove onto the ferry boat in the port of Zeebrugge, Belgium bound for Dover, England. We were enroute from our three year tour at Torrejon Air Base, near Madrid, Spain, to my new assignment to RAF Bentwaters, England, about 80 miles east of London. Our daughter had just had her first birthday two weeks earlier in Monte Carlo, Monaco. Our son, Eric, was six and proved to be a real trooper through what turned out to be a harrowing and exhausting crossing. It should have been about a four and a half hour trip, but ended up being the longest 15 hours I’ve ever spent.
We parked the car according to the instruction of the ferry deckhands, gathered a few items, and found our way to the passenger deck. This boat, a ship, actually, was big, about 5 or 6 times the size of the ferries we later became familiar with in the Pacific Northwest.
It was a lovely day, a little overcast and chilly. Outside on the bow, the wind and spray made it very chilly, but exhilarating. I could only stay out there for a few minutes before retreating inside. There were plenty of chairs and small sofas available to rest on for the trip.
There was a brightly lit duty free shop with perfumes, handbags, wine, champagne and all manner of whiskeys. They were all on cleverly designed shelves, tilted back so that the rocking of the boat wouldn’t dislodge them onto the floor.
About an hour out, the wind slowly increased and sent spray up onto the upper deck. How exciting! After two hours, the storm increased to the point that many people were getting seasick. But not my family! Not much later, the ship was being rocked to the point that the booze from the duty free shop began to fall off their shelves in waves, and I took this as a sign that this was a very unusual storm and this ship might not be up to the challenge.
It took quite a bit longer than five hours to get to Dover. In fact it was dark when we got the signal to go to our cars to disembark. I went through the door to the cavern-like bay where the cars were parked, family right behind me, and started down the metal stairs. I looked outside as they lowered the ramp we were supposed to use to drive on to the Port of Dover and stopped in my tracks. The Dover side of the ramp was heaving up and down, relative to us, in about 10 foot waves. I knew there was no way any of us were getting off the ferry with this situation. Sure enough, at that moment, the PA asked everyone to return to the passenger decks, and they raised the ramp.
Back inside, we found some booths to sit in and wait out the storm. There was a porthole by us and I perched myself so I could see what was going on outside. I saw that there was an enormous concrete pier between us and the dock next to us. We were being blown into that pier so that it would strike our ship hull about midship. There were two tugboats attempting to get a purchase on the hull to hold us away from the piers, but there was not enough room between us and the next vessel to get square onto us. Not long after, the PA told us we were going to leave the dock and sail back into the channel to ride out the storm.
By this time, we were all exhausted, so I went in search of someone to help us. I found someone I took to be a purser, and told him that if there were a cabin available I would gladly pay whatever it cost. He found us a small cabin with four bunks that we could rest in. Free, as it turned out. I think we got some sleep, but at least it was more restful than wandering around a now very smelly passenger deck.
I don’t know what time it was, but early in the morning of the 15th, we got the signal to return to our cars. We had docked and the ramp was much more approachable. Still, they were timing everyone's movement, escape really, so that the ramp was in a reasonable position for driving.
Our relief was palpable as we reached dry land (figuratively). It was about two in the morning and we didn’t know where any hotels might be and it was much too late to find a guest house or pub lodging, so we decided to drive on toward RAF Bentwaters. After a couple of hours, I was too sleepy to continue driving, so Cherie drove the rest of the way. Her first time, I think, driving on the left hand side of the road. It was daylight when we got to the base and found the Officer’s Quarters.
Later, I learned that three ships had foundered, one super tanker ran aground, and 29 crewmen, total, were lost in that storm. So began our adventures, and there were many, in Jolly Old England.