Mother Hen
This voyage report from our grant recipient Daisy paints a picture of what is really involved in being part of a crew when it becomes a family. Daisy was sailing from Hartlepool to Blyth and back and was accompanying a group of young carers.
Hartlepool – Blyth – Hartlepool – August 2026
The first day we decide to stay in Hartlepool and get our new recruits settled into the boat. We run briefs and play spoons, and experimented with new knot ideas. At night, I make hot chocolates and dim the lights – a tradition that would see us through the week. A surprise to us all, everyone goes off to bed on their own accord. We sleep well that night.
It is a bright sunny morning when we set off from Hartlepool. I had started my day with some amateur dramatics – we were learning how to use winches, and I was a sail.
I still believe my flappy sail was Bafta worthy.
We head out into the breezy North Sea and begin to make our way to Blyth. That evening I learn how to lasso a mooring line onto a pontoon cleat, which I discover is more effective if you throw in a little ‘yee-haw’ whilst you’re doing it.
We then take the kids to the park…correction. The kids take us crew to the park.
As the sunlight begin to fade behind the grey northern overcast, we begin a conga back to the boat and settled in for a few pages of the ‘Mechanical Operations Handbook.’ They are asleep within seconds – but we are all rather entertained.
On our way to the beach the next day, I meet a celebrity. The one and only, Bluey.
He has come all the way from Australia to join us on this sunny day in French Wales (at this point, I have managed to convince a few of our green sailors that we were in the French district of Wales).
This was the same day that Ben stole my sunglasses and became ‘Ben Shady.’
It was the birth of a legend.
That night, we watch the solar eclipse on the deck. But some of us are not impressed…
‘Is that it?’ Sandra scowls.
It’s not like it happens every forty years.
Well, time flies when you’re having fun. Before I know it, I am a father.
I had clocked it earlier on in the week than Sa-aargh was calling me ‘Daddy’ – but I figured it was just how my name sounded in her accent. And then she asks, ‘can you be my Daddy?’ and it was real. My old life is gone. Carefree no more. I’ve got ten wee Scottish children to provide for.
It starts…
‘When does a joke turn into a Dad joke? When it becomes apparent…’
This is just one of the many, many brilliant Dad jokes I break out as Daddy Cool.
Outraged, my children then turn on me with foam swords.
We’re flying towards Hartlepool now. Everyone sits on the windward side and hang our legs over the side. A big wave rides over the deck. I am soaked. My camouflaged Mr T trousers drenched.
I pity the fool who didn’t wear their foulies.
That night, I make the kids hot chocolates, and they forgive me for my indiscretions. I need to lock in now – they’re starting to prefer mother (our bosun Shawn).
It’s the last day. The moment arrives that every parent has to face, but I’m not ready from them to go. They get on the coach, and I hope that I’ve raised them well, and that they will look after one another. I’m going to miss our bedtime stories with Mummy (or Mumma-fication as he later became known). I’ll miss my long conversations with Big Ben about baking and Derby, and baking in Derby. I’ll miss watching Sandra walk around with a fluffy blanket around her waist, and singing to the Grease soundtrack with Icy as we are doing the washing up. The silent terror of braiding Kayce’s hair and hoping I’m getting it right.
Who will play uno with me now? Who can I tell my brilliant dad jokes? Who can I dap now that Ben Shady is leaving?
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do as a parent is let go – the world is theirs now.
