My stomach was in knots as I made my way down to the seafront on Saturday morning. This was it. My big moment. I’d been training for over a year, but I’d really been building up to this for twenty-six years since that stormy night when I lost Dad and nearly lost my own life.
Chief was waiting for me outside the lifeboat station and he greeted me with a strong handshake. ‘How are you doing, Mouse?’
‘Bricking it.’
‘You’ve got this, son. We’d never have put you forward if we didn’t think you were more than ready.’ He clapped me on the back. ‘Come on then, let’s get you sorted.’
As he led the way into the building, I took a backwards glance towards the Old Town. I could just make out the roof of Lighthouse View near the top. Nanna hadn’t lived long enough to see me start my training but she’d been there every step of my journey before that, cheering me on while I progressed through an intensive course to overcome my fear of water and keeping me strong each time I took a backwards step. She’d joined me at early bird swimming sessions at the pool and undertook a steady breaststroke up and down the slow lane while I built my strength and speed in the fast lane. She gave me a surprise Christmas gift of a lifesaving skills course with one of the pool lifeguards and I took to it so quickly that when a position became available for the children’s afterschool classes I jumped at it, eager to put myself in the best possible position to join the RNLI. At least Nanna died knowing I was on a mission, and it would happen.
‘What made you want to join the crew?’ Gavin, the assessor, asked after I’d kitted up and the introductions had been made.
I glanced at Chief, who gave me an encouraging nod. Stand tall, shoulders back, eye contact, and just say it. ‘When I was nine, my dad drowned trying to save me…’
‘That’s a powerful incentive to join,’ Gavin said. ‘Sorry for your loss, but thank you for channelling that traumatic experience into something good.’
‘Jaffa and Simba will be your crew today,’ Chief said. He clapped me on my back again, then Gavin and I made our way over to the ILB. They’d both have my back and they’d follow my guidance to the letter, willing me to pass out.
Sharing my story with Gavin didn’t seem nearly as hard as sharing it with Chief when I enquired about volunteering, or with the rest of the crew when I first started.
I wished Hollie knew and kicked myself for not sharing it with her the other night, but I’d seen the fear in her eyes. She wasn’t ready and I wasn’t going to insist she hear my sad story just because it fit in with my timetable. She’d shared more and more memories of her dad and brother, mainly from childhood, so I sensed it wouldn’t be too long. Just as well because, from Monday, assuming I passed my final assessment, I could be paged at any point when Hollie and I were together. I needed to explain that I was an RNLI volunteer before that happened, even if that meant I didn’t explain why I’d joined up.
We were in the middle of a scenario when the pagers went off. Gavin turned to me and shrugged. ‘Sometimes happens that way. We’ll keep going with the assessment but it’s now a real-life rescue.’
I radioed the station for details. The coastguard had received a 999 call from a member of the public reporting an empty kayak in the sea at North Bay. Reports of empty vessels usually indicated a casualty in the water. As I steered the ILB up the coast to North Bay, adrenaline pumping through me, I hoped we’d find the casualty fast and that they were wearing decent kit and a lifejacket. On a choppy sea in late November, the right kit could mean the difference between life and death for a casualty in the water.
It didn’t take long to find the casualty, but the rescue was a challenging one. After being capsized by a rogue wave which then separated him from the kayak, he’d had an exhausting swim against the current to the giant boulders that acted as sea defences. He’d gashed his leg when clambering to safety and, suffering from hemophobia – a fear of blood – he’d had a panic attack. Thankfully he’d been wearing a thick wetsuit or there’d have been a severe case of hyperthermia to cope with, too. It was tricky getting close enough to the rocks without damaging the ILB but we’d practised this sort of manoeuvre plenty of times during training nights so I had the expertise and I had the support from Jaffa and Simba.
We finally retrieved him and his kayak (to avoid a false alarm), transferred both safely to shore, and moved the casualty to a waiting ambulance as he was going to need stitches.
I thought I’d be nervous throughout the rescue because of the assessment, but everything I’d been taught by Chief and the crew, coupled with my nursing background, helped me stay calm and completely in control of the situation.
I was buzzing with adrenaline when we returned to the station. A real-life rescue and I was now officially a helmsman. Nanna would have been ‘tickled pink’, to use one of her favourite sayings.
I had a debrief with Chief and he shook my hand. ‘Pleasure to formally welcome you as crew. You did a great job today.’
‘Thank you. I loved it. I’m so grateful to be part of the team and I promise to work hard and never let you down.’
‘Just keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be fine. Off you go and celebrate and we’ll do drinks with the crew on Monday.’
My entire body ached as I traipsed up Ashby Street, but I was chuffed to bits and couldn’t stop grinning.
Irene must have been watching out for me because she rushed out of Seafarer Lodge with Pickle hot on her heels. ‘How did it go?’
‘I passed out. Officially crew!’ I’d done it! I’d honoured Dad’s memory.
‘Oh, young Jake, I’m so proud of you.’ She launched herself at me. Irene wasn’t usually demonstrative like that, so I knew how much it meant to her. ‘Have you got time for a brew?’
‘Do you have biscuits?’ I asked, bending down to stroke Pickle.
‘Always.’
‘Then let me get showered and changed and I’ll be back round.’
‘So proud,’ she repeated, making her way back indoors with Pickle.
I chuckled to myself as I unlocked the door to Lighthouse View and rolled my stiff shoulders. What would Hollie’s reaction be? I was itching to tell her how I’d spent the day and to let her into that part of my life. Would I have the chance to do that tonight?
Before I went upstairs to shower, I removed the Rubik’s Cube from the glass bowl and, taking a deep breath, inserted the final piece. Tears rushed to my eyes and I could barely breathe as I flopped down into the chair. Another major achievement! After all these years of battling, I’d finally come through the other side. My broken mess was whole again and it would never have happened without the two strongest and most inspiring women I’d ever met: Nanna and Hollie. And a lost shih tzu.