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Only the second person to hold the office of Commodore, Gordon Winterton recalls his early days of sailing on the Norfolk Broads; the yachts and those who sailed them. From these early cruises, the Green Wyvern was born, with many of Gordon's companions becoming the first skippers and, of course, lifelong friends.

The early days of the Green Wyvern Yachting Club could be lost in the mists of time; founding fathers are dead or defunct and 'old men forget'. Whilst the worst aspects of dementia are held at bay a few dates and events, just for the record, are in order.

The war was drawing to a close, and though the outlook was none too rosy, we were beginning to say 'Back to those happy days'. We friends of the thirties had kept in touch through 1939-45 though we had to suspend activities on the river. Percy Shenton was now too old and Cecil and I only met him at the bridge table. Bert had organised camps at Wolverton aqueduct whilst he was at Bletchley Park. Cecil had run harvest camps at Redmile. That was where Val and I met Dante Campailla and Frank Fenton whilst I was on leave. Dante is now a very successful lawyer, Frank (Americanised), a very important economist. Jack Plumb, as he then was, we saw when the war effort allowed.

The boats on the Broads were all laid up or afloat on the big waters to prevent German sea-planes landing. However, Cecil knew Herbert Woods and got him to re-commission Ladybird and Smuggler . . . yes, the same. In the Whitsun of 1945, before VE Day and still blacked out, a party set out for Potter Heigham. With ration books and a crate of eggs I had arranged, we travelled from Leicester to Market Harborough, Peterborough and South Lynn, and then on to the now defunct M & GN through Norfolk and many stops to Potter. Tom Driberg who later attempted this Everest of the iron road, was invalided out at Melton Constable, then the hub of communications in the county. Bert, who knew the hazards, saw us all safely off to get tea at Melton Constable and North Walsham.

The party was, as far as I remember . . . Smuggler: Cecil, Dante, Frank and two others, (perhaps John Lawson, later a GW skipper). Ladybird: Bert, Jack Lander, (now a retired professor of Medieval History), Hilda Lander, Val and Myself. We arrived in late afternoon after a start at 6.30 a.m., had a meal, a drink in the Bridge whilst admiring the big fish, and then slept.

The cruise enjoyed good weather and Cecil, (in charge of course), had planned an itinerary in the north. However, the day we arrived the black-out was lifted and boats were freed to cross Breydon. So, we went south and saw Breydon in the sun for the first time. Breydon without posts and with a few oil drums to mark the channel! It was a windward sail and we went aground frequently. Ladybird was twice pulled off backwards by a crazy Canadian in a cruiser, only to sail back towards South Denes. At St Olaves I broke the first Green Wyvern quant.

Oulton, presented by Cecil as Heaven itself, was inhospitable. The yacht station was still in the hands of the Navy and we had to ferry ashore. Hilda, who had connections everywhere, knew a fisherman in Lowestoft who brought us a bucket of plaice, cod and haddock which I, having been a messing officer, was expected to clean.

There were incidents on the way back. At Acle, Jack, Dante and Frank went shopping in the village with Hilda. They stayed for a drink and on the way back danced and sang. A colonel (retd), who was passing, sniffed and said he didn't know what he had been fighting for. Hilda confronted him and said,'I'd have you know, sir, these are my sons.' Hilda, in her forties, could be formidable. Jack later did a spectacular fall-in as we were setting off. He was on the fore-deck and stumbled. As he fell someone said, 'Grab the jib'. He did, but sadly the halyard was not made fast.

We had also canoed the Ouse at Hemingford Grey and ventured on to the Fenland rivers, but it was not until a few years later that we extended this interest. On the Broads I sailed with Cecil in 1946: he taught me most of what I know about sailing in the time we spent in a Leading Lady at Easter 1946. Jack Plumb had by now joined us and so it was we considered forming the club.

In the Summer of the same year Val and I married: Bert was best man, Cecil and Jack ushers. A likely party. For a wedding present Bert and Cecil hired Daydream for a week (£7), and Val and I sailed her with the fleet to Cantley and Oulton. This was the occasion when beer was so short that we drank port and lemon at the Red House! The following week I had a crew of boys on Smuggler.

We stayed north to escape the worst of the weather. The previous week had been very rough: it was, I think, in that week that Nyanza, (skippered by Jack Plumb), got entangled with the attendant's money-net at Haddiscoe lift bridge on The Cut. The attendant was pulled into the water.

Then, in 1947 we launched the club. Cecil was to be commodore (for life), Jack Plumb vice-commodore and Bert, Chairman of Committee. The schools involved were Alderman Newton's and City Boys School, Leicester. Skippers were appointed including George Matthews, John Lawson and myself. We extended an invitation to an old Newtonian, Taffy Williams, to accompany us, but after a year or two a separate club was formed based on London schools.

We sailed in the Easter of 1947 and at the start boats assembled from Horning, Potter, Martham, in Ludham Dyke. We had planned on lying in Womack Water but the weather was so bad that we only managed to creep thankfully into the dyke and lie head to wind, fastened to rond anchors, weights and bushes. As the gale rose, accompanied by snow, we lowered awnings and cabin roofs and took the primus stoves into the cabin for heat. Golden Moon, which I skippered, had as crew Val, Hilda Lander and her niece, Liz. At the height of the gale a boy, ('Porky'), came in a dinghy with his blankets to stay the night. He had taken a fancy to Liz. He didn't get far.

One of the party, a boy from City Boys School, had not arrived and we were anxious for him. After a few 'phone calls he was found at Oulton Broad. He had arrived there in a snow-storm and Bill Soloman, (the Harbourmaster,) had taken him in and put him to bed. He was retrieved next day. The name may have been D. Valentine. Certainly Dave was amongst those present on that occasion.

1948 was memorable for the enormous winds of Easter which found us storm-bound in Yarmouth for three days. I spent some of my most uncomfortable days tied to the Coal Wharf quay whilst others lay in the yacht station. The occasion was made bearable by the landlord of the White Swan, Bill Burton, who played the piano, as we danced and drank till three. Nevertheless it wasn't one of the best Easters.

As recorded the club was formed in the previous year and we started a routine which continued with amendments until now. We always sailed for a fortnight at Easter. Journeys were by coach, picking people up at places like Peterborough, and sometimes getting the wrong train and going to the West instead of the East. The fleets grew to considerable size, but the rivers were not so popular and moorings were no problem. The Yare and the Waveney became favourite rivers and almost always we were through Yarmouth and on to Breydon by day two. No one carried a motor and the intricacies of using tides and negotiating Breydon Bridge were part of the fun. Waiting for an hour on the Coal Wharf was routine. So was having a drink in the round bar on the corner where the landlord used to say, 'It'll be low tide then, I'm thinking.' His name was Paddy.

Then we sailed for a Whitsuntide week which was considered a soft option to train young skippers. It was not always so. And of course we used the whole of the summer break if possible. Sometimes we went first to Cambridge and set out from Banhams in Elf, Harmony and two large dinghies Denny and Eddy. We took tents and camped wherever we could find a bank. All of the rivers, Ouse, Little Ouse, Lark, Wissey and Old West were visited and once we went through Denver Sluice and sailed the Hundred Foot to Erith. It was on the Ouse at Ten Mile Bank that we adopted 'Publican's Panacea', a mixture of light ale and mild, as a club drink. In the dark days when brewers were brewing less and less real ale and particularly bitter, this drink saw us through the drought and the horrors of some of the local Norfolk Ales. Fortunately the attempt to fool the English drinker with keg beer saw the birth of Camra and a spectacular campaign to bring us to our senses. Boys from Fakenham joined the party then; one, Rex Wade is with us still.

One particular year I remember. We sailed on the Ouse for a fortnight and changed over either at the 'Cutter', Ely, or in Cambridge. A coach arrived and brought thirty or so boys from Leicester. This took the Ouse party home and a further coach took us to Burgh Castle, the home of Capt. Kirton. We had our camping equipment and Cecil's 'White Bell', and arrived at Burgh Castle on Friday evening. After a meal we were looking about rather aimlessly when around the bend came the Pride of the Yare, heading for Yarmouth. We hailed her and begged a lift and happily enough she tied up alongside one of the Captain's hulks, (later sunk in the search for Atlantis), and took us aboard.

We spent the night in Yarmouth and walked back to Burgh Castle. Next day we struck camp, took the coach to Horning and picked up Amorita, two Hornets. four Moons, two Moths and Blue Skies and sailed for three weeks.

In the period up to 1951-2 there were shortages and we had ration books for essentials and points for tinned foods. The home-made cake was introduced and the mandatory tea towel. I had the job of collecting the ration cards doing a deal with a grocer and butcher and sharing out the bulk order. Eating was important and in the beginning, with only two primus stoves and a couple of saucepans, not easy. A good deal of training and encouragement went on and I could name a number of people who now think proudly of themselves as epicures who got their first urge to cook squatting in the well of a yacht over a smoky primus. Later on someone invented calor and things were easier. Not always though. We have had our moments. On the Moon, for instance, at Cantley with Martin Anderson in charge, or in Hope when I was knocked unconscious by a ferocious fire storm which blew me from the well to the forepeak.

Writing of Hope recalls a rather fine period in our history. Hope was a 39 foot yacht of pre-war vintage, sloop-rigged with a magnificent spread of canvas cut almost Gunter-style. Inside she had two double-berth cabins and a forepeak to take a skipper. She could sleep up to eight or nine Green Wyvern sailors. It was Cecil who saw her lying at Burgh Castle named Danube. She was for hire though no-one dared take her out. Except us. Cecil was the first to charter her and the first week pretty nearly exhausted him. She was very badly in need of drying out and a good scrape down: we dubbed her the 'Hell-Ship'. (We had nicknames for many of our fleet. Wallas Eaton was always on Cold Comfort Farm and Jack Plumb on The Golden Canoe. Just jokes!)

In the second week I, who was looking forward to a cosy week on a Moon with a trainee skipper, was drafted onto Hope as mate. We got on well but on the return journey to windward from Beccles the pre-war jib blew out. Sailing her without a jib was impossible so we rigged a dinghy sail forward and got her along. St Olaves Swing Bridge, dead on the nose and with the tide flowing was out of the question, so we downed everything including the mast and put two crew ashore to pull her through. They both fell in. However we got to the 'Queen's Head' where Alice Tennant, the landlady fed us and dried us out and served hot toddy.

In later days we always had Hope in the fleet. You weren't really a skipper until you'd seen service on her tiller. George Matthews, Tony Tomkins and Ivan Vesty all graduated via Hope. And of course, Monty Welford, who specialised in big boats, Hope, Belvoir and Belvedere. Capt. Kirton later installed an engine but it was very capricious: the throttle was operated by inserting a coal shovel near the carburettor. Hope remains a part of the saga as the boat where we held the late night parties. Up to thirty or so members would come aboard with tea-mugs to sing 'Sir Jasper' and 'Miss Otis' and The Green Wyvern Song, or less reputable ditties. We played 'Priest of the Parish' and 'Pig' with Bert officiating from the head. When it rained we had 'Buccaneer' sessions and the older members played poker or Nev Smith organised football ashore.

Pirate and Amorita moored alongside the old Cut lift bridge, around 1950. (Photo: Eastern Daily Press).

The fifties was a time of expansion and delight as far as sailing and the Broads was concerned. The fleets grew bigger and the quality of sailing improved by the year. Cecil spent much time teaching and training, and advising young skippers on mooring and setting sail. We sailed mostly in the South and 'changed over' at Beccles, The Cut, Brundall and Norwich. We made many friends on the river one of whom some of us still remember, Harry Young.

We first made his acquaintance at The Waveney Inn, not the establishment which now looks over the marshes, but a double fronted house with a pigsty doubling as a latrine in front. The room to the left was the bar; to the right there was a 'lounge'. In the bar there was a nickelodeon which played 'September in the Rain', in the 'lounge', a table and a few chairs and a very tired looking stuffed fox in a glass case. Harry served beer from a barrel. It was execrable and we drank from bottles. Later he moved to the Cambridge at Beccles and we went with him. He had some influence with the authorities. How else can we explain the fact that the pub rarely closed?

It was here that Cecil's skill at games, darts as it happens, became legendary. He needed double three for a game and someone had the temerity to doubt whether he could do it. 'Can't I?' said Cecil, 'I can do it blindfold!' He then turned round, cast the dart over his shoulder, to land it plumb in the middle of the double three.

We also liked to go where no-one else went. Thus we always went to Geldeston and drank at the 'Locks', then a picturesque cottage surrounded by trees and geese. Here Susan served the beer whilst 'Grumpy' Morris sat in his rocking chair and puffed a church warden pipe. Susan was a little fey. On one occasion I recall she insisted on being taken to the river to see the boats in the moonlight. All stays here had a touch of romance and we always went whatever the weather.

Of course one of our more spectacular ventures was the opening up of Rockland. We had always looked at the map with interest, at the two dykes and the large broad, but they were deemed unnavigable. In 1952 dredging took place and we decided to see what could be done. We got across the broad and into the last stretch of dyke. That was it. Heavy trees and shallow water prevented further progress. But the New Inn was there, kept by a relation of Harry Last, landlord of the pub at Coldham Hall. I rang the EDP and they came and took pictures. We have them still and a cutting from the Leicester Mercury recording the exploit. Hence the line in the song :'We have blazed the trail to Rockland'.

We have not lacked excitement over the years. There was Favourite destroyed at Buckenham: two tabernacles torn out 'like rotten teeth' on Beccles Bridge: Pirate sunk and irretrievably damaged on Reedham Bridge: Hornet sunk in the Chet: a Genesta just saved as the skipper called, 'Use the butter': Hornet's boom 'broke' on Breydon: two Moons dismasted on the Bure: finally a listed coal-shed demolished at Stokesby. No names of course. Fair's fair.

Of course there were times when the Wyvern flew at sea. Henry Irving led the way, first in Venture, his Hull shrimper and then in the William McCann, the last of the Hull sailing trawlers. Others followed though perhaps not with the same elan: the saga of Niz and Barry in Biddy is not well recorded though there is an account of the trans-Scotland voyage some years ago.

Many GW members will recall sailing Venture: the night crossing from Grimsby to Wells with haddock and poached eggs at 5 a.m. is green in the memory. Then there was the journey to Wisbech and a chance encounter with Fred Wilkinson last seen jumping through a window in a Beccles pub ... a lunchtime to log? Cecil and I crossed to Ebsjerg and boarded Venture to explore the 'Riddle of the Sands' waters, ending very happily indeed with pots of tea and kummel with the Frisians. There were many other trips and members should record them; they will not be enjoyed again.

People still talk with awe of the voyage from the Faroes to Hull in the hulk of the William McCann, followed by the rebuilding, the decks from a disused dance hall and the masts from surplus telegraph poles. Nevertheless she sailed again and sometime, somewhere her story should be told.

From the outset club ranking was established. It has changed but little. The Skippers'Meeting is still there and I can recall all core members and some not so active as the subject of comment. Sadly but perhaps just as well, the original Red Book was lost in the post. Or was it? The stability of the club and the later immigration into Norfolk of so many members is a tribute to the sound sense which the first officers brought to bear on the task of ensuring continuity, and as has been said elsewhere, fellowship.

The club was of course almost entirely male dominated. Before male chauvinism was recognised as a social evil it didn't occur to us to think of female membership. Not that some of our sailors were not girl oriented. I remember well an angry father in Oulton waving a shot-gun at some of our younger stallions who were showing too great an interest in his admittedly nubile daughter.

As time went by so our network spread. To Southampton (Craig Barlow), to Newcastle, London and Liverpool (Tony Tomkins, John Elders, Trevor Stent, Roger Hewitt), to Nottingham, Norfolk, Doncaster (myself) and to Immingham (Jonathan Winterton). Some of course, dropped out: some re-appeared later. As the years passed members brought girl-friends and wives. Inevitably children and grandchildren sailed with the fleet. Time for re-organisaton of the structure arrived and so, enter the ladies. This was natural development and the club as it now is looks different from what it was. This is not to regret the past. 'Different' doesn't always mean 'less good.'

Another change occurred in 1958. I was in Singapore from 1956-8 flying the flag in a GP14 in the harbour. When we came home I heard of the purchase of Vanessa, Sparklet and Sabrina came next, and then Favourite, Stella Genesta, Helena, Pan and Force Four. White Violet was also acquired about this time, by Nev Smith and proved a splendid training boat for young skippers. The care and maintenance of our boats became part of people's life-style and winter a period of hard work and recuperative drinking. All sorts of legal and insurance topics became important and here we had the help of Len Bromley who sailed with me in the 50's and remains a source of assistance and guidance. Still sailing of course, in Ariel. Since then the boat list has grown and includes Puck, Modwena, Shruff, Wisp and Farthing, (home-built by Dick Farrar).

We needed administration and our Secretaries have been few but indispensable. Bert and Cecil at first, (they ran everything), then Nev Smith, Tony Tomkins, Pat Dennis, Peter Newton who also for a time owned Sparklet, Andy Christie, Phil Marshall (who followed Dick Farrar as the owner of Modwena) and Andy Gordon. The post passed into the capable hands of Cameron Campbell, one of the survivors of the Newcastle intakes and, later still, Pip Thompson. We also needed a treasurer and who better to follow Dave Snutch than Roger Pearson? For an editor and keeper of archives the indefatigable Robin Jackson.

I cannot write in detail of the period 1970-96 since, although I have remained active, it has not been possible to sail long weeks as in the past. I am aware, however, of what is happening. Cruising goes on and includes weekends. We race in regattas and run our own races, 'Round the Island' and 'Cecil Howard Memorial Trophy'.

It is worth recalling that the Round the Island Race which we first ran in 1983 had its origins in an enforced stay at Reedham, ('The Ship' always in those days). It was in 1951 or thereabouts that, having a day to spare we thought of a race and Bert and I dreamed up a Round the Island race to be run from a start line on Pearson's yard with similar rules to those we have today. It was a very calm morning and some ten or so skippers anxiously worked out times and tides, setting off eventually in little or no wind. Bert and I watched the race from the railway bridge above 'The Ship'. When we came down for a drink we saw to our amazement that one Moon had not sailed: the skipper, Johnny Taylor. Posed in Napoleonic attitude on the quay, he watched all boats drifting in and then, as the wind rose, cast off and won the race by an hour. Quite good opposition too when you look at the early membership books!

We still hold regular parties and our home ground, the Yare and Waveney, is rarely without our burgee flying. (This incidentally was designed in 1947 by Merillion and we still hold the original drawings). Our rules and code of conduct are a model to anyone who cares to emulate us.

Finally we can be proud of one other aspect of Green Wyvern life. Our contribution to the economy of the area over the half century has been, to use the politician's word, substantial. Literally, I imagine, hundreds of people have sailed the rivers having first been invited to sail with the GW. They have hired boats, bought boats, used boatyards, shopped and spent large sums of money. They have even revived a defunct sailing club. Thankfully also there are many publicans, live or dead, who have good reason to be grateful to Green Wyvern Sailors.

EGW
1996

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