The Munich Dilemma
by Sinbad

Chapter 1

It was the wind. On some days you could depend on it, it blew steadily and consistently across the marshes, and on the shallow lake formed by the flooding of a disused gravel pit the four little sailing dinghies, the property of Milhampton School, their sails taut, could tear backwards and forwards across the water, each crewed by two boys. But not today. Today the wind was fickle. It blew and then died, blew again from a slightly different direction, died again, and the boys were having trouble controlling the boats. In dead calm, one boat, its hull painted dark blue and with varnished topsides, wallowed in the water, its mast pointing skyward and waving side to side in response to movement in the boat, and its sail sagging and flapping listlessly. The helmsman waggled the tiller from side to side, making swirling eddies in the wake, and producing very slight forward motion, at the expense of the boom swinging erratically across the boat, causing the boy and his crewman to duck and duck again as the big wooden spar swung over their heads.

Eventually the wind picked up a little and the sails filled. The boat heeled over slightly and began to move and the boys settled to the task of making the most of this little breeze. Fully engaged in their task, the helmsman watched the luff, the front edge of the mainsail, adjusting the mainsheet, the rope that controls the angle of the boom to the hull, so that the sail didn't flap at all at the leading edge. The crew was doing the same with the smaller sail in front, the jib. They forgot, for the moment, one of the first rules of dinghy sailing, and that is to watch the wind. Little ripples on the surface of the water ahead of them which had been running one way, began to run another way. Suddenly the burgee, the little flag at the head of the mast, swung around, and a moment later the boom did the same. The wind, which had been holding the boom firmly out over the water on the port side of the boat, suddenly blew from a new direction and filled the sail from the other side. Instantly and with enormous force the boom swung across the boat, hit the helmsman hard on the side of the head and knocked him clean out of the boat into the water. The crewman was protected from being struck by the boom because he was further forward in the boat and the helmsman still had hold of the end of the mainsheet so the boom was held back from swinging fully round. However the boat was now without a helmsman, and the momentum of the boom's swing followed through to cause the boat to swing wildly to port and topple as the wind caught her tall sail on the wrong side. The crewman found himself standing on a floor that had been a wall moments before, and as water poured over the side into the boat he sank into the water, feeling the cold clutch at his chest and cause his breathing to catch as he sank down into the water.

He didn't panic. He'd capsized before, once even deliberately. But he'd seen the boom knock his friend out of the boat and he knew he had just moments to find him in the water and check on his condition. If he was unconscious and face down in the water he would drown. He looked around him. The boat was lying on its side, the mast and sails flat on the water. There was a tell-tale lump under the mainsail about two metres away from the boat. Instantly he ducked under water and launched himself towards it, pushing off from the boat with his feet. The water was murky and he couldn't see but he cannoned into a shape that felt right, and grabbed hold, and, kicking for all he was worth, pushed the solid mass in the direction he hoped would take it beyond the sail into open water.

They surfaced and the unconscious form was revealed to be breathing steadily. He was floating face upwards, his lifejacket holding his head above water.

Panicking a little now, he called out: “Ricky! Ricky, wake up!” - but there was no response. Despite his seventeen years he began to cry, the reality of the situation impressing itself upon him. He had to get his friend to dry land, the teacher in charge would take over from then. But he was too far out to call and there was no other boat near. It was up to him. Okay, think. How do I do this?

He took hold of his friend's lifejacket at the back of the neck and tugged, swimming on his back and towing Ricky back to the boat. He maneuvred the unconscious body into the boat and tucked his legs up into the hull. Ricky was now lying out in the water but inside the boat. Next he unfastened the main halyard, the rope which holds the mainsail up to the top of the mast. Once it was loose, he tugged at the front edge of the mainsail and it began to collapse along the mast, bunching around the boat over the boom. Once the sail was mostly down, he checked that Ricky's face was still clear and that he could breathe, and he had to fight with the sail to get clear of the boat.

He swam around past the boat to the other side, where the hull stuck up out of the water, and found the centreboard, lying flat on the water, sticking out of what should be the bottom of the boat's hull like a diving board. He clambered up onto it until he was standing up above the water, on the centreboard. His weight began to have an effect on the boat and he could see the far end of the mast begin to rise a little from the surface of the lake. But it didn't rise any further. He wasn't heavy enough. He reached over the edge of the hull to find a rope, any rope. He caught hold of a good fat rope what was floating on the surface of the water. The Jibsheet. That would do. Standing up again, he pulled the rope taut and walked to the far edge of the centreboard and then leaned out beyond it, holding himself from falling by pulling hard on the rope. It worked – the boat began to right itself. He held on until it was about half-way upright, and then he couldn't keep his feet from sliding off the varnished wooden surface and he slid back into the water, feeling again the icy grip on his chest.

The boat came vertical on its own, the buoyancy chambers in the sides sufficient to hold it more-or-less upright. It had scooped Ricky up out of the water as it came up, and now the boy was lying in the bottom of the boat, which was waterlogged but mostly upright, tilted to starboard with the weight of the unconscious boy.

Remembering the routine, the other boy swam around to the stern of the boat and climbed in from there. If he'd climbed in over the side he'd probably have capsized the boat again. His first action was to check on Ricky. Again he called: “Ricky, talk to me! Ricky! Wake up, man!” - and he gripped his cheeks in his hand and waggled his head side to side a little, until he remembered the wound on the side of his head, now beginning to show a swelling and a bluish mark under the skin. He let go and tried to settle the head against the cushioned collar of the lifejacket in a way that he hoped would be comfortable. Ricky's eyelids flickered and his friend caught the tiny movement. “Ricky? Ricky, are you conscious? Can you hear me? Ricky – talk to me!”

“Chris? What happened?”

The young man began to cry again. Wiping his eyes on his sodden sleeve, he smiled through the tears and replied: “She gybed, and the boom caught you on the side of the head on the way across. You were knocked right out of the boat and then she capsized. Are you alright? Does it hurt? Can you get up?”

Ricky held out a hand and Chris took it. They each gripped the other's wrist in a firm hold, and Chis pulled steadily as Ricky sat up and then began to push himself up to a standing position. Half-way up, he suddenly went pale and sat down hard on the centre thwart. “Ow. That hurts bad. Chris, my head hurts, I can't stand up. Can you cope?”

“You just sit there. I'll soon get you home and dry. Would you rather lie down? You could probably stretch out on the side thwart if you poke your legs under the transom.”

“No I'll be fine like this. Give me a bailer and I'll try to get rid of some of this water.”

The two boys worked together, sitting beside each other on the wooden bench that ran across the middle of the boat, the centre thwart, and scooping up water in bailers, miniature coal-scuttles made of plastic.

After about ten minutes, the water level in the boat was just a few centimetres. Ricky had begun to feel queer and had given up bailing, and Chris had continued on his own, beginning to feel panicky again as he saw Ricky looking green.

Once the bulk of the water was out of the boat, Chris took stock. The jib was still in place, flapping in the breeze, the mainsail was a big mass in the boat getting in their way. The wind had been steadily pushing the boat towards the lee shore, and Chris didn't want to get stuck on the shore there, where it would be difficult to get away. The wind was not very strong and he took the decision to set the mainsail again. He found the halyard and pulled. The mainsail began to rise up the mast. He needed to work quickly, the size of the mainsail would give the wind a bigger surface to push and would speed the boat towards the wrong shore. Also if the boat were to swing around, the wind could catch the sail and blow the boat over again. He needed to get the sail fully up the mast and then get to the tiller and get the boat under control. Several times he had to stop pulling at the halyard to untangle the luff of the sail so that it would slide up its groove in the mast smoothly, but he got the sail adequately in place before long. Now the boom was swinging around wildly and Ricky, still sitting on the thwart, kept a hand on the spar so that it wouldn't be able to take him by surprise again.

Chris sprang aft to the transom and took the mainsheet and tiller. The boat was sailing backwards as the wind blew at the sails. He swung the tiller away from him and the boat began to turn until it was diagonal to the wind. He kept both main and jibsheets slack so that the sails didn't fill but continued to point away from the wind. Once the boat was broadside on to the wind, he cautiously pulled in the main sheet. The mainsail began to fill with wind and stopped flapping. The boat began to move forward. Chris knew that she would be difficult to control with the jib flapping, but he couldn't control two sails and the tiller with only two hands. He looked at Ricky. He didn't need to say anything, Ricky understood and took the jibsheet and hauled in until the jib was pulling, balancing the mainsail so that the boat would steer more easily. They were moving. Chris kept the mainsail a little loose, ready to let go at any time in case the wind got up. With the water in the bottom, and with Ricky unable to move quickly, the boat would be over again if the wind blew hard, unless Chris could spill the wind out of the sail quickly.

They got back to the jetty where their teacher met them and held the boat while Chris helped Ricky out. He explained what had happened as best he could, and then got back in the boat to furl the sails and prepare it for storage while the older man helped Ricky to the minibus. He returned and helped Chris haul the boat out of the water on its trolley, and they pushed it into its place in the dinghy park and fixed the tonneau cover over it until next week when it would be used again.

Chris went and sat in the minibus with Ricky. Mr Jeavons was the deputy head of the English department as well as a P.E. teacher, and had the task of driving the minibus for the eight boys who'd been allowed to do sailing as a sport in the sixth form rather than one of the mainstream sports. Chis and Ricky thought he was a terrible English teacher but that no longer affected them. Ricky was doing English at 'A' level but the 'A' level group was taught by Mrs Simms the head of department. Chis was doing Physics Chemistry and Maths, so apart from sailing would have had no contact with Mr Jeavons. Both boys liked him immensely out of class, he was a friendly, helpful, tolerant man who took an interest in the boys and tried in small ways to make their lives happier. Both Ricky and Chris had been targets for the school bullies in their first years at Milhampton, and while many of the teachers stood by and allowed it to happen, Mr Jeavons had tried to prevent it and several times had caught someone at it and punished them. Now Chris was six foot tall and broad-shouldered and sturdy, but Ricky was yet to have his growth spurt and, at only just over five feet was lagging seriously behind his class mates in size. Despite his seniority he was the butt of cruel taunts and a bit of jostling in the queues for meals, and Chris was used to having to look out for his friend.

Mr Jeavons stood on the jetty and blew his whistle hard three times, then paused and blew it three times more. That was the signal for the boats to come back to the jetty. He would normally have given them another half hour before calling an end to the day's sailing, but Ricky's accident had changed things. When the first boat arrived, he explained that he was leaving with Ricky and Chris in the bus for the hospital, and that he would return to take them back to the school. They could have another half hour on the water and then they must haul the boats out and have them parked and covered by the time he returned. They would have to wait in the clubhouse if he was delayed.

He left the boys to relay his message to the crews of the other two boats and drove off to the hospital.