I’m pretty well qualified to tell my gang of urban warriors about this. I’ve had some close calls I can assure you. My survival is self evident, since I’m still here writing rather than haunting you lot from beyond a watery grave. I’m good at this.
Let me see. The first time I must have been about three years old. My family had gone out on the traditional annual Round Table picnic, accompanied by the traditional annual deluge. It rained every bloody year. During a gap in this particularly apocalyptic rain, I was allowed out of the car we’d all been confined in for about a decade (or so it seemed to me) to go for a wander, as long as I wore my wellies; it was that sort of picnic. I fetched up at the edge of a stream, which while generally nothing but a rill, was by then a raging torrent of muddy water, branches, general detritus. Because I’m foolish I decided to ford it and see what was on the other side.
If you’re only about 3’ tall and you drop into 4’ of rapidly moving water, and you’re wearing wellies, there’s only one way to go, and that’s down. Fast. Fortunately, although I couldn’t really swim at that age, I had some of the moves off, having been taken to the local pool by my bro. I didn’t panic, I just struck upwards, and got my head above water. The biggest problem now was the overhang where the water had undercut the bank. I let the current drag me downstream while I steadied myself by holding onto tussocks of grass and tree roots. Finally found a place where the bank would have been fairly negotiable were it not for the fact that wellies full of water weigh about the same as a pair of old fashioned diver’s boots. Egress was not easy, but I made it. I found as I emerged that there was a good deal of excitement on the bank, as someone had seen me do my vanishing act. There I was, and the next second, there I wasn’t. Of course I was by now a fair way downstream from where everyone was frantically scanning the water for me. My mum was pretty relieved when I popped up in her midst and finally broke down into hysterics. I wasn’t alone in that behaviour.
Next time? About seven years old I suppose. Trying to teach myself to dive without using my hands. I didn’t work out on the first attempt that without your arms to steer you, you have to bend your back into a reverse banana shape to start bringing yourself up towards the surface and thus avoid smacking your head on the bottom of the pool. I know that now. Didn’t know that then. I was pretty dazed, but my inherent sense of self preservation got me to the top again, albeit haemorrhaging quite a lot from my mashed nose. Blood goes a long way in water, doesn’t it? Just as well there were no sharks in Hathershaw Baths’ plunge pool.
Then when? About 1985? No, 1986. In Makarska in Yugoslavia. The weather was unseasonable. It was hot and sunny, but with some very fierce katabatic winds roaring down off the mountains. I decided to go for a swim, even though the sea was carrying white horses. Walked in up to about my knees and a gale force gust of wind poked me in the chest so hard I flipped over backwards, stopping my descent again with my head. Saw a few stars, swallowed some water, but I got away with it.
A very good year for not drowning was 1992, on the beach at Bogmalo in Goa. The beach was a perfect horseshoe between two small headlands, and the waves came in such a way that they broke simultaneously across the whole width of the beach. The water just reared up and flopped down in one big ‘Flump.’ Perfect for body surfing and boogieboarding. Yes, I appreciate your concern that I was nearly forty and should really have grown out of such puerile behaviour. I was doing just fine till I misjudged the breakpoint and got buried under several tons of water. I really didn’t know which way was up. I felt strangely peaceful as I contemplated the end. Then the stirred-up sand in the water cleared enough for me to see which way the bubbles were going when I exhaled, and I just followed them to the surface. Lungs close to bursting, but otherwise unhurt, and remarkably Zen about the whole episode. A couple of day later some poor soul was not so lucky. He swam stupidly close to the rocks of one of the headlands, got caught in the undertow, pulled onto the rocks, and that was that. I never in my life want to hear again a scream like that of his wife when the lifeguards finally got him out. Never.
Then there was the episode when I was on a wreck dive in the Maldives… I got away with that one too. Obviously.
I remember when I got away from drowning. I was going out on a tube thing. I couldn’t swim as I was seven or eight at the time and I didn’t learn to swim until I was 14. Anyhoo, I was on this tube, and I was a lot smaller than the whole in the middle and as such I fell through. I went under the water and saw all these fish. I started waving to them, and these two mermaids came up and looked after me. They gave me this breathing mask and took me to their underwater palace where I met their father. He told me that when I was older I could marry one of his children. As long as it was one that was at a legal age.
Okay, so I fell through the centre and my uncle grabbed me straight out. I think I may have seen fishes, but it was a long time ago and it may be my mind playing tricks on me
Are you on drugs, Forbes? Go and see Matron
Of course I’m on drugs. I have been for about 20 years. I think it’s time to ride my pegasus into the waterfall of Timotei
You need professional help, Forbes. You’re confined to the san for the timebeing.
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I think I will have the Cyclops
Stand outside and not come back in
I won’t go under water again
For fear of waking the Kracken
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timoteij
Now I can see why the woman was yelling in the shower. I think I definitely need to wash my hair with Timoteij
Indeed a very attractive prospect…
I’ve never had a fear of water. While the sea might be nasty when it it isn’t calm – well you have to know not to go beyond where you can stand if you don’t have any flotation devise. Now the local community pool is a tad trickier. I was playing Marco Polo with my children when they were young…one needs not to be fooled by the blue bottom of the pool – I took a dive in the shallow end trying to elude capture. Not the smartest thing to do, I soon realized after I gave my noggin a healthy (or rather unhealthy) whack, that if I wanted to continue breathing I really ought to get my head above water. I found out at that moment that one can slow time, as things did seem to go in very slow motion. To make a long story short…I did end up getting stitches not quite the jagged lightning mark like Harry Potter (this happened way before he was even thought of)…But being that it was close to the hairline and the doc did very tiny stitches…you can hardly see it.
Thanks for the link to Timoteij…my first thought was that ‘it’ was some sort of myth I’d missed out on. Can’t say I’ve ever heard them sing either. But then you do have to be careful of sirens luring you out to sea…
I thought I was the only dummy with a death wish
I’d never heard of, or indeed heard, Timotej either, but pictures of nice looking blondes keep Alastair quiet for a bit, which is no bad thing. You are right though; it surely sounds like the name of a Siren
By the way, you get a namecheck in my blogpost today
Hey there Mr. Fluffy, Here’s an award for you.
http://rendezvouswithrenee.com/2013/04/26/wordpress-family-award-yes-we-are-a-dysfunctional-bunch/
Thank you. I haven’t been called dysfunctional for a while
All the best people are. Giggle.