I was inspired. It was Christmas 1997 and for several weeks I had been following the progress of the first Atlantic Rowing Race on the Internet. I can't remember where I originally found out about the challenge but I downloaded the daily reports and was fascinated not only by the progress of the International teams involved but also their motivation for embarking on such an adventure.
A few months prior to the start I had written to the race organisers and asked if I could participate. I realise in the light of experience the naïveté of that request as there was no way I'd have had time to put together such a complex project in such a short space of time. They did say however that I could go on the waiting list and once an evaluation of the race had taken place and a positive decision made to organise another one, I could apply for registration on a first come first served basis. The irresistible prospect of becoming involved grabbed my attention and I made up my mind this was a challenge made for me.
I had gone to sea at 16 to train as a Deck Cadet with P&O General Cargo Division. Prior to this I made several sailing trips to continental Europe with the Ocean Youth Club. There was no tradition of the sea in my family but I felt like the sea was in my blood. However after nearly two years both sea and shore based training I decided on a different direction for my life. I left and went back to my parents home in Kent to decide what might come next.
I met an old friend of mine who was planning to go to Australia to train and work. His intention was to do the trip overland by public transport and I volunteered to keep him company! It was June 1976, Cannon Chapman's, Westerham High Street Boogy Woogy Band played it's last gig on a farm trailer in a field just outside the town. I played guitar and sang. A gentle drizzle formed droplets on the tarpaulin we rigged over the trailer for such eventualities but unfortunately it's waterproof capabilities were lacking causing some 'collateral damage' as the drips fell from above to tease our electrical equipment! This event remains in my memory as it was the last rain that would be seen in the UK until September and marked the beginning of the great drought of 1976.
The next day we said farewell to our families at Dover and boarded a ferry for Calais the first leg of a long and eventful trip taking us by ship, train, bus and plane across France and northern Italy, down through Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, into Turkey and some of the most frightening mountain roads I have ever experienced. Actually it wasn't the roads that were particularly frightening, it was the people using them! Our bus driver appeared to have a death wish or may be he was just keen to be martyred, unfortunately he hadn't informed his passengers of this before departure but in retrospect perhaps there is some truth in the saying, 'ignorance is bliss'! It was our first encounter with Turkish bus and lorry driver's mountain road craft. This entailed sounding an extremely loud two tone horn whilst approaching and negotiating horrendously sharp blind bends flanked on one side by shear rock walls and on the other by shear drops, at the bottom of which, lay the remains of various vehicles that had failed to fly! Presumably, the object of the exercise was to warn drivers of other buses or lorries coming in the opposite direction of our presence. The only trouble with this strategy was the driver coming the other way had a similar deafening two toner which he was just as keen to use and obviously felt the same right of road ownership as our driver! Fortunately there was just enough room for two vehicles to pass but only just, all we could do was hang on and pray. The scenery was fantastic however and if you could re focus your eyes from a stare of vacant terror through the front windscreen the rewards were spectacular.
After the rigours of Turkish mountain roads, Istanbul provided some light relief especially our visit to the Blue Mosque where Richard, my travelling companion, got vociferously sworn at by a mosque 'minder' whose only English is unprintable and thought, as many of us do, that if a foreigner doesn't understand you because he doesn't speak the language all you have to do is shout louder and louder and eventually the penny will drop. The reason for his outburst had something to do with shoes, we had removed ours, as is the traditional mark of respect when entering a mosque but we must have put them in the wrong place or something. Whilst avoiding the wrath of God the 'minder' was obviously not in the mood to show mercy. We moved the shoes and our new acquaintance went off to persecute some other unsuspecting tourist leaving us to enjoy the rest of the visit to this majestic building.
Another bus took us on to Iran where a queue of lorries several miles long were waiting up to two weeks to cross the border, fortunately our driver ignored this and we left Turkey after a couple of hours of formalities. There were three crew on our bus journey from Istanbul, a steward and two drivers, one driver would sleep in a bed at the back of the bus whilst the other drove ever onward. They would alternate every so often but both were keen fans of traditional Iranian music. The whole point of the trip was to mix with the locals and enjoy a snapshot of their culture but these constant strains began to get to me. Occasionally the music would change to something more familiar but he would quickly re tune the radio to another Iranian top 20 station. I was slowly driven mad and you can imagine my relief when we finally made our next hotel. My joy was short lived when the occupant of the next room sent the cockroaches scuttling as he played more Iranian hits on his ghetto blaster. It was all too much; I just wanted sleep so drastic action was required. I took some toilet tissue and stuffed it in my ears. It worked but the next day I was unable to extract the offending material from one side. I asked Richard to help and he used the top of his biro to try and dig it out. Unfortunately he only managed to push it deeper and compact it into my head. On arrival in the next major city, Tehran, I made my way from the hotel to the British Embassy to find a doctor who could help. What I hadn't been told was in Tehran green traffic lights mean go and red one means go even faster, I could only deduce that the Tehranians had been to the same driving school as our Turkish bus driver or perhaps he had made a video! Once you got the hang of it your life expectancy was considerably increased. I made it to the Embassy and told the doctor of my predicament, this seemed to cause him a great deal of amusement rather than the up welling of deep sympathy I was expecting. He picked up a large pair of tongs and jammed them into my ear extracting the paper in one deft and extremely painful manoeuvre. I felt a great sense of relief, particularly as I could hear again.
Iran gave way to Afghanistan where I contracted Dehli Belly although in this case it was Herat Belly, which doesn't rhyme so well, but the effects are the same. This ailment did help us as the next bus, bound for Kabul, left at 0400 hours and we would probably have missed it if I hadn't been constantly seeking refuge in the toilet. Speaking of which, the bus would occasionally stop at roadside cafes for passengers to purchase refreshments and have a stretch, the condition of these establishments would have caused an environmental health officer to weep and this was underlined when I asked a local where the toilet was, "ahhh" he replied, brandishing a hand in the general direction of the surrounding desert, "Afghanistan one great toilet"! With that I retired to the back of the building and the rest is history!
As we crossed the desert one of the great mysteries of the country unfolded. A small black dot appeared on the horizon and as it came nearer revealed an individual beside the road with an insulated box full of ice and Coke, this was of course pre Taliban days just before the Russian invasion but miles from anywhere it begs the question, where did he get the Coke from let alone the ice, it will forever remain a mystery to me.
Having said that we found the people very friendly and concerned for our welfare particularly when they found out I was feeling pretty rough. It was extremely hot and dehydration was a bit of a problem. An Afghan travelling with us on the bus told me not to drink the water, not just because of our lack of capacity as Europeans to fight off water born bugs but the danger to any traveller who dared to risk fighting dehydration with raw water. This was clearly demonstrated when another Afghan had died on a bus the previous week from a water related illness. So the Coke bloke turned out to be a bit of a lifesaver!
Talking of Coke, after we had rested a while in Kabul we set out for the Pakistan Border. This was a part of the trip I was looking forward to, as we had to go through the Kyber Pass. It reminds me of the first time I went to Northern Ireland before the cease fire, passing through places that I had only heard about on the news and suddenly you are experiencing them for yourself. The Pass is the stuff of history and the area around it run by local tribal leaders. Those you did see carried Lee Enfield 303 rifles with belts of ammunition slung across their shoulders making a large X over their chests. We were told a smugglers train came up the pass every week from Peshawar and buses were often stopped and the occupants robbed. Fortunately we avoided such a scenario and made it to the border. The vendors openly selling various drugs from biscuit tins by the road amazed us. We declined their special offers and headed for Lahore.
We crossed Pakistan, entered India and travelled by train to Calcutta. The visit to this amazing city was quite an eye opener with abject poverty side by side with considerable wealth. India is a land of contrasts and completely different to the culture we are used to in the UK, which made our short stay of particular interest. We left by plane as the political situation in Burma at the time did not allow us to do this leg overland. The train from Bangkok took us through the jungle from Thailand into Malaysia. The journey was marked by 40 American Mormons on board whose mission, apart from travelling to the border to renew their visas, appeared to be to convince us that "Joseph Smith was a true prophet of Gaad" as I couldn't remember anyone by the name of Smith in the Bible I remained unconvinced, not bad for a 20:1, missionary:victim ratio. Anyway if things had got really bad, I could have called on the heavily armed guards carrying machine guns and grenades who accompanied the train in case of bandit attack!
We made it to Penang and were advised that the route down through Sumatra was very dangerous. With my shipboard experience I went to the port in Medan and found a small coastal vessel on passage to Jakarta. For a small fee the Chief Officer agreed to relinquish his cabin for us and supply us with food. This seemed a good deal so we gladly accepted and had a very pleasant trip down to our last port of call before flying over to Oz.
After a couple of eventful weeks in Western Australia I said an emotional farewell to Richard who had been such an excellent travelling companion and all round good bloke. A fact that my sister Alison obviously agreed with when she subsequently married him! I flew back to the UK and was staggered by the state of the country as we began our descent into Heathrow. Instead of England's green and pleasant land stretching out below, there was an alien scene of barren brown hues the result of three months baking without a drop of rain, it was coming to the end of the great drought of 1976.
As the plane touched down I had a real sense of achievement tinged with unrest, an emotion I have become all to familiar with over the years. Its a fleeting sense of completeness mixed with a real desire to move on. This can be frustrating if the next challenge is as yet ill defined or non existent but I know if I can stay with it, and weather these interludes, something will be waiting round the corner to grab my energies.
The journey, like my time at sea and the trips with the Ocean Youth Club had given me a taste for adventure, a thirst for challenge and a desire to take others with me. I also thoroughly enjoyed meeting so many different people, most of whom showed great interest in what we were doing and helped us in any way they could. I guess these first few years of independent living were very formative with regard to the future.
Back in the UK I moved quickly on to my next challenge which had been planned before I left for the overland trip. I took up a course in Youth & Community Work at Westhill College in Birmingham. One of the reasons I had left the Merchant Navy was a desire to 'work with people'. I wasn't quite sure what that meant but there was a gut feeling that this was a direction I should take which was salted with a hefty dose of Christian commitment.
I had been brought up in a fairly well off family in rural Kent. We lived in the middle of a wood near Toys Hill, where my parents had built three houses just after World War 2. Both sets of grand parents lived nearby as did other members of the family. My Mother's Father was very active in our local village of Brasted and the Anglican Church, where I was christened and confirmed. I went regularly to Church, somewhat reluctantly in my teens before I left for sea but I guess these years had laid a foundation of faith in my life. Whilst engaged in the shore based naval training in Plymouth, I realised there was a lot more to Christianity than just going to church and this resulted in a decision to put God at the centre of things. This radically altered the direction of my life and has influenced it ever since. There is probably a book lurking behind this story in itself but that will have to wait until another day. Suffice to say I became involved with various contemporary expressions of Christianity under such names as the 'charismatic, house church, restoration and renewal movements' which will mean little to anyone outside these rather closed and narrow streams of the faith. To be honest they ended up leaving me out in the cold. I still consider myself a Christian, have faith and believe God holds my destiny in his hand but I have largely withdrawn from organised religion as much of my experience has caused me to question the motives behind it. It seems to have more to do with the abuse of power than caring concern, integrity and maturity in leadership. Neither am I convinced that this situation is limited to the Christian religion alone!
During the course I met and married my wife Usha also a Christian from a Hindu background. On completion of her teacher training we moved to York to take up my first youth work appointment. We had some very happy years in the City and during this time our first two children Nayna and John were born. We also met another couple at the Church we went to, just starting out on family life. Rob and Therese Ringer became great friends encouraged by the fact that Rob and I shared a common interest in kayaking, walking and cycling.
We organised various activities with a close circle of friends. The "I went kayaking with Rob and Richard and survived" trips became legendary. Occasionally Rob and I would organise mini-expeditions on our own or with a few friends in support. Perhaps the most challenging of these were two Trans-Penine Canal Marathons, a 127 mile non stop kayak across the Penines on the Leeds Liverpool Canal made no easier by strong headwinds, horizontal rain, sleet and ice on the boat!
The Ringers and Woods began taking holidays together starting a tradition that would last for many years. Whilst on one such Christmas log cabin holiday in Keilder Forest it had snowed heavily and a cycle ride along some of the forest tracks seemed like a good idea. We were on the return leg of the route and the snow had started again. Both Rob and I were looking forward to several drinks around a warm electric fire, for some reason the Forestry Commission didn't seem to think open log fires were a good idea in their wooden cabins! It was getting dark and a thunderstorm had just begun. This was extremely bizarre, as I had never experienced thunder and lightening in a snowstorm before! As we slipped and slid along the main road before the turning for the cabin there was a tremendous flash of electric blue light and a huge explosion, fire and sparks erupted from a wooden electric pylon and we realised we had just witnessed a spectacular lightening strike. I think we pedalled a little faster over the last half mile!
In 1987 we moved to Worcester. 1994 was a major family landmark when our third child Joshua was born and with a 10 year gap between him and John plus the fact of having a baby around pretty much put an end to shared family holidays. Our children were growing up and consequently priorities changed. However Rob and I still maintained the occasional foray into the wilds with kayaking taking the back seat to mountain biking. This proved a sometimes painful pursuit. On one occasion having circumnavigated the Isle of Mull we were heading for Strontium back on the mainland. I took a sharp bend in driving rain at high speed, not a good combination, and ended up crashing onto a rock strewn bank. Fortunately I was wearing a helmet otherwise I probably would have suffered severe head injuries if the dent was anything to go by, but the rocks that came into contact with my chest didn't do my ribs any good at all! We were still two days away from the end of the trip and a long way from anywhere so the rest of the journey was rather painful especially on the steeper hills when the breathing got heavier against the cracked ribs!
It wasn't just these trips and mini-expeditions that helped quench my search for a fuller life. I am the kind of person who has a constant desire to face new and varied challenges both small and large and this has been reflected in the work I have done over the years. I have been employed in youth work for more than 20 years but the major expertise I have gained is in the development and implementation of project based work. This has entailed organising a number of cutting edge initiatives, from the seed of an idea through the funding process, to initiation and completion. I did hold the record for the world's largest cheque on a single sheet of paper, part of the wider work of Christmas Cracker a youth fund raising initiative of which I was Project Director for over 6 years. During this time, local youth groups took part in a national challenge each Christmas, to raise funds for the Developing World. We organised, Eat Less, Pay More restaurants, live broadcasting FM radio stations, Fair Trade Shops and Newspapers all of which raised over £4million. It was a brilliant effort by the thousands of young people and youth workers who were involved and proved what could be achieved with great ideas, the will to succeed and the time and energy of committed individuals on a steep learning curve! I love helping others to realise their potential and achieve things they didn't think they were capable of. Youth work provides a great vehicle for facilitating this but remains one of the most misunderstood professions. It has very little to do with table tennis and 'keeping the kids off the streets' and has a great deal to do with enabling young people to make the transition from being a child to adult life in as creative a manner as possible. This is all about the discovery of self, learning how to conduct yourself effectively with others, finding out just what you are capable of and astonishing yourself when you find you are able to realise that capability.
I am not a maintenance person, I get bored easily once the challenge has been achieved or the particular piece of work has lost the pioneering element from it. I am not really interested in pursuing a particular path either, preferring to take hold of a thing and work on it, whilst engaging in the learning process necessary to gain expertise and fulfil the goal. I think I would be very unhappy following a particular career path for instance where you continue to do the same thing year on year with a view to promotion or more knowledge and expertise in the same area. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing negative about this way of life, in fact there are times when I wish I could just settle into something more secure and predictable but I don't think it will ever happen.
Having said that everyone's life is a challenge, filled with our own personal mountains to climb or oceans to cross. These can be small and seemingly insignificant to others but may be enormous to us, requiring all our energy and strength to tackle. Sometimes we fail, sometimes spectacularly, but living to fight another day feeling stronger and wiser as a result is surely what life is all about. I believe life is a gift to both the person it has been given to and those they will come into contact with. Our supreme challenge is to use that gift to its full extent both personally and for others. Setting goals and achieving them is part and parcel of the process that also entails learning from the times when we fail. In fact 'process' is a fantastically important part of life, often missed by many. It is something that should be at the heart of most things. As youth workers we are as interested in how an individual reaches an outcome, as in the fact that they actually succeeded in getting there. Perhaps it is the journey, the process of getting there which fascinates me and in 1997 the process began for the journey of a lifetime.
