Tanga Yacht Club

The only persons present were Allison Maudsley and the cleaning staff. Allison was setting out bowls of flowers on the tables and supervising the cleaners so Ern mistook her to be the housekeeper. It transpired that all the lady members took turns with these chores.

She was apparently well-informed as she spontaneously answered all his questions. She suggested that we come ashore for drinks and dinner that evening to meet the rest of the members, which we did, and they gave us a warm welcome. We were pleasantly surprised at how little we were charged for temporary membership fees, drinks and a delicious home-cooked meal.

The following morning Godwin knocked on the side of the yacht to attract our attention. He pointed towards the beach and there was Allison waving for us to come ashore. The previous evening I'd mentioned that we'd like to see the town and enquired as to whether there was any sort of public transport or taxi service available. Unfortunately there wasn't but she undertook to arrange something for us. There she was now with her two small sons David and James and all her plans in place.

Her husband Steve had provided a pick-up and driver to take us wherever we wished and, much to our embarrassment, refused to accept reinbursement. She'd decided to tag along to ensure that we found the best items in the right places at the correct prices. We visited the market, the butchery, the grocery store, the bakery and a ladies' hairdressing salon where I indulged myself with a long-overdue haircut.

At the time it was difficult and expensive to obtain bottled drinking water north of Durban. Consequently I'd been drawing water from our 1200 litre freshwater tank, boiling it on the gas stove and decanting it back into the bottles we'd saved. Dear Allison collected up our empty bottles, took them home and got her cook to do the boiling and re-filling for us.

For the duration of our stay we went ashore every evening for sundowners and dinner and on each occasion would return to the yacht with aching stomach muscles from all the belly-laughs we enjoyed with them. It was so good getting to know these delightful people and it appeared that the feelings were mutual. It was apparent that few cruising yachts called there so, being isolated as they were, they probably welcomed an injection of fresh faces.

Johnny Venter, a South African expat, came out to the yacht with Godwin one morning bringing us a load of grapefruit. We were very grateful as it's the finest fruit to carry on board because it keeps good for a long time. Bob reciprocated by giving him some biltong (jerky) and Johnny did cartwheels as this is unobtainable in Tanzania and he hadn't tasted any in years.

Gephard and his wife Lyn had a pet mongoose which constantly climbed all over her and entangled itself in her beautiful long blonde hair. I developed a rapport with Simon, an avid reader, and discovered that we had a common passion for a South African author John Gordon Davis. Simon was surprised to learn that for years John's books had been banned in South Africa as he scathingly attacked and condemned the "apartheid" system. He was even more surprised to hear that it was actually a criminal offence for South Aficans to be in possession of JGD's literature. I recounted to him how each time I returned to South Africa from a trip abroad I would sneak one of John's books into the country and pass through customs with a pounding heart. Had it been discovered I could have been apprehended.

The Commodore, Dick Blakeway, appeared to be rather pompous and overbearing at first but we soon realised this was all a veneer. There were whispers that he and Ol' Charlie had been locked in a vendetta for more than ten years. They never addressed each other directly but frequently raised their voices to sling off, pass scathing comments and slate each other. Initially we found it embarrassing but it was so hopelessly juvenile that before long we too joined in with the laughter.

Ol' Charlie, aged ninety-three, must have been quite the lad in his day. He was a real old flirt, forever charming and complimenting the ladies. He boasted that he'd been married nine times and gossip from the girls revealed that his current wife was a local lass in her early twenties who'd borne him a child - now a three year old toddler.

One day I noticed him sitting at the bar-counter writing away laboriously. Later he took a seat at our table and handed me a pile of used bar slips, the backs of which were covered with pencilled scribblings. This proved to be a subjective lyric which he'd composed to read at an A G M address on one of the many occasions when he was Commodore of the Club. It reads as follows:-

"At the sign of the leaping Dolphin the expatriots gather 'round
determined to enjoy the sunshine - and a beer (when their wives aren't around)
They come from many a country, there's Dutchmen, Germans and Swedes
there's Scots and some Welsh and Geordie's - and many other half breeds.
The members have many religions like Hindus, Muslims and Seikhs,
Some profess to be Christians like Catholics and Orthodox Greeks.
Some journey to Mecca to worship, or weep at the Jew's wailing wall,
But some like ol' Charlie and Blakeway - have no religion at all!
But somehow they all get together at Annual General Meeting time
and to listen to some of the orations, is as good as a pantomime!
So come back sometime and rejoin us, if only for just a day
and I'm certain you'll find the welcome the same -
and you may find good reason to stay!"

On Saturday Steve and Allison took us out for the day. We lunched at the Panora Motel and then drove on to their home. Once again we experienced the nostalgic feeling of driving in an English countryside. Their house was a double-storied thatched Tudor with stables, an orchard and a garden filled with huge knarled oak trees.

We walked along a shady country lane to the school, where we met the entire neighbourhood. There was a game of volley ball on the go and everyone joined in for a turn to play. Later we returned to their house for dinner afterwhich they drove us back to the Yacht Club. It proved to be a truely magical day out and a welcome break from the yacht.

Late one afternoon Ol' Charlie sat on the patio sipping his beer and gazing out to sea with his rheumy old eyes. Dick was standing close to the open doorway slinging off loudly and hurling the customary insults. "Look at the stupid old codger! Probably got the bloody sulks again, hey?". Quietly one of us said something like, "Shame Dick, let him be"; another added "Everyone gets a bit cantakerous at that age"; then "We'll probably all go down that road one day" - or words to that effect. He sat silent for awhile then suddenly rose and walked outside and we wondered whether we'd said too much.

But through the glass doors we noticed him take a seat beside ol' Charlie and place an arm around his shoulders, whereupon they began talking together quietly. Shortly after they were perched side by side at the bar counter, happy as sand boys and clinking glasses, yarning away and laughing raucously. All eyes in the club were downcast and there wasn't a dry eye amongst us. Rightly or wrongly we stole a little credit for the reconciliation.

Sadly, on Wednesday evening 2 August our sojourn came to an end and we were given an over-indulged farewell party. The entire gang escorted us to the top of the steep steps leading down to the beach. Everyone was singing as Bob, Ern and I descended arm in arm. One of us lost our footing and the three of us went down together - landing on our bottoms! Shrieks of laughter from the top of the steps as well as from us! Fortunately we suffered no injuries.

Needless to say we had a late start the following morning and by the time we'd readied the yacht it was 13h30. As we lifted anchor we heard shouts from the shore. Looking up towards the Clubhouse we saw them - every last one of them, waving farewell with the bright-red cloths from the restuarant tables. In unison they screamed "Goodbye". We returned the salutation with a few healthy blasts on the conche. Godwin paddled furiously alongside in his effort to escort us out of the bay but the spiteful "fat lady" kicked in her engine and left him far behind.

On reflection, we shall always remember Tanga as our happiest and most festive stopover. Furthermore, Tanzania was the only country we ever visited where there was no form of official corruption whatsoever.