Ellen Fernley writes in response to Issue 1 article
‘I LOVE BIG BOATS’
I’m writing to tell you about my complex relationship with big boats. Now, I feel quite fond of big boats. I’d even go as far to say that, I too, love big boats. But I haven’t always felt this way. It all began when I was traumatically introduced to the Titanic film at far too young of an age. I want to say that I was about 7 years old and at my friends for a sleepover and she told me we should watch it because her then boyfriend, Leonardo DiCaprio, was in it. My friend was also about 7 and I hope, even with Leo’s reputation, she was actually a bit young for him at this point.
At first I watched in amazement at this spectacular big boat taking sail from Southampton with a beautiful Kate Winslet on board and an admittedly quite pretty Leonardo DiCaprio sneaking on too. Things were going swimmingly. Kate fell in love with Leo, it was all a bit of fun, there were fancy dinners and dances, everyone looked very pretty in nice dresses and fancy suits; I was having a great time watching it.
And then. An iceberg. A huge blimmin iceberg. They drove straight into it! Long story short but the big boat SPLIT IN HALF and sank into the ocean and my 7 year old self was not having fun anymore. All the nice dresses were ruined. Kate wouldn’t let Leo on a door (I wouldn’t have either to be fair) and it was all very sad.
Anyway. Cue a year or so later and I went on trip with my family to stay with my aunt near Blackpool. “GUESS WHAT” my mum exclaimed, “WE’RE GOING ON A BOAT TRIP TO SEE SOME PUFFINS”. This should have excited me. I wanted to see puffins because I thought they were the same as penguins and who doesn’t love penguins.
But all I could think about was the fact that the vessel we would have to travel on would be floating in a very similar looking large body of water to which I’d seen my 7 year old friend’s boyfriend, Leonard DiCaprio, sink to his death in.
And I cried. And cried. And cried. I did not want to go on this big boat. I didn’t want to have to find myself a door to float on in the sea until a passing rescue boat found me blowing on a whistle with frost covered lips.
But off we sailed. I was still in tears. I sat inside on the big boat, sobbing, whilst my family all stood outside, looking out at sea, enjoying the sights. Were they even keeping an eye out for icebergs? I doubted it.
About an hour into the boat trip, my brother came rushing back in where I was sat sodden with tears to scream that he’d seen a jellyfish. A real jellyfish. I didn’t think I’d ever see a jellyfish in real life when I was young. I thought they were very exotic. Was this a once in a lifetime opportunity? I started to panic.
I wouldn’t see a jellyfish inside the boat. All I was seeing – through my tears – were quite uncomfortable plastic seats and quite grubby, finger stained windows. Did I have to brave going out on the deck?
The answer was no. I couldn’t do it. A short while later the rest of my family came back inside and sat with me whilst we travelled further to get to the puffins. That was that. No jellyfish for me. Just continued crying.
Then the boat stopped. Well, stopped as much as a boat can stop. The sea never stops, so neither could we. But we were there, at the cliff edge everyone had been waiting for. People began rallying their belongings and family members to get back outside, binoculars at the ready, to see the pengu… puffins.
I could hear and see the delight as, slowly but surely, everyone got a good view of the striking birds with their smart tuxedo bodies and bright plump beaks. Suddenly I was awash with bravery. Inspired, I know now, by what we’d call “FOMO”, because I too wanted to see the puffins and experience the same joy I could see everybody else feeling.
I braced myself and WENT. ONTO. THE DECK! And my word. It was fantastic! The sea breeze, seeing nothing but water for miles, hearing the whoosh of waves against the boat – I couldn’t believe that I’d nearly stayed inside to cry instead of going out to marvel at these wonders. And the puffins! We saw so many, bobbing along in the water, hanging out with their puffin friends and family on the cliffs, flitting around in the sky – they were everywhere.
With my newfound bravery I even managed to stay out in the breeze for the journey back to shore. And guess who made a return? The jellyfish! I loved seeing their strange squishy bodies changing shapes under the water, admiring all the translucent iridescent colours. And there ended my fear of big boats. I was a convert. I am a convert. I can now say with confidence that I too love big boats and I cannot lie.
