Paradise

Everyone is drawn to Davenham.  People say, “There’s something about her...” She has a strong personality. 

I still cannot believe she belongs to us.  I hope I will always not quite believe it.

When she was on the outer mooring and close enough to the pontoon to do it, I stroked her hull every time I passed; the Captain always kissed it when we departed. I talk to Davenham all the time to reassure her that we treasure and will look after her.  He does too.

Boat Husband has a long connection with Davenham; he first went to see her in 1997 when she was up for sale.  We had become land-dwellers again after our time with Thankfulness .  How strange it was, living within straight brick walls, on all sides hooverings and elephant’s feet above and sirens wailing and the un-neighbourly transience of bed-sitting and renting; no seagull cries (they hadn’t encroached inland then, those marine pigeons, menacing swoops of white feathers and sharp beaks who now scavenge and lunge through the urban landscape), no squadrons of Canada Geese flying overhead at dusk.  

For a while there was correspondence between the then owner, a Mr Richard Ferris -who had restored Davenham and tried to set up a preservation trust - and Boat Husband but the timing was wrong, the banks un-giving.   And so we continued dreaming until, last September, the Captain and Davenham were reunited.                                        

I told you it was a love story.



Terrifyingly moody sky.



I walk around the deck every day, hardly able to believe that this is my home and my address so beautiful.  The scene changes almost by the moment, the river enthrallingly and terrifyingly moody, the sky enormous with moods to match.

This is our address:



 The Ensign
by John



Some of our neighbours
by John

Davenham’s girth is prohibitive.

She belonged to us but we were homeless. I had phoned most of the marinas in London but, unable to fit through the locks and too large for most of the marinas anyway, we were limited to the tidal rivers. It seemed as though the commercial docks or ports might be our only option. We imagined the three of us, vagrant on the waters of the world. We needed a safe haven for Davenham, even if it meant we couldn’t all be together.  We would have accepted a berth on the Sea of Tranquillity.

Stefan – who knows every creek and shipyard in Europe – confirmed that finding an abode would be a problem but, while we were having a post survey drink in the pub, he made a phone call:

“There’s a boat – a little ship – can you accommodate her?”

The captain and I drove to the marina, (I wont tell you at what speed) high on that amazing, “Yes”.  

There was a large space and Davenham could inhabit it.  We were elated.  

So, repaired and with hull freshly bitumen-ed, our Little Ship was tugged through the night to the River Medway.  Neither the Captain nor I could sail with her and when we next saw her….



by Kip
(flying the ICI flag)



  ...it was in Paradise.