Sailing to Purgatory
The final scene in this true adventure shocked the author, too.

‘The reader will be enthralled as Paul, former Fleet Street journalist turned professional yachtmaster, takes us along on his ‘swallowing the anchor’ voyage, his retirement from the sea.

'This self-confessed newish ancient mariner … has spent almost a lifetime sailing solo, as both an ocean going competitive yachtsman, as a DoT Commercial Yachtmaster, and during his circumnavigation to become a singlehanded Cape Horner ... Sailing to Purgatory has all the roller coaster elements of a heart stopping adventure — drama on the high seas, observing life ... undersea volcanoes, a love interest, and waves high enough to scare the pants off most of us.’ - Brenda Vowden, journalist, avid reader






Home from the outside ... St Helenans,
'Saints', round their South Atlantic
island in Midshipman,
en route for Stockholm.


















Enterprising forebears ... The house Paul's father designed, and the car his paternal grandfather designed and built.














Running repairs ... crewman Declan checks rig fittings on the superyacht, Midshipman, which Paul sailed from the Cape to Sweden.


















Sail power ... Gavin's Howe's beautiful yacht in the Mediterranean.



















Rescue in the Southern Ocean ... Yachting World's international edition this month features Paul and Captain Fantastic in its Great Seamanship series.


















Pat and Gerry Adamson, two wonderful supporters get Spirit of Pentax ready for her circumnavigation.















Home sweet home ... St Helena islanders, after a voyage round their island home on the superyacht, Midshipman.


















Baptism of a Cape Horner ... Lady Chichester names Spirit of Pentax in a ceremony at Brighton Marina.
















Homeward Bound 2 is prepared for her attempt on the longest open boat record.


















Tri trials ... testing Paul's entry in the singlehanded race across the Atlantic are great friends Ron Pell, Jerry Freeman plus a keen helper.


















Cover up ... Bob Abrahams works on cover ideas for Sailing to Purgatory.

















Stocking up for 18 months ... Last minute farewells before Spirit of Pentax and Paul left on the long route to become Cape Horners.
















Death of a racer ... Baltic Wind flounders after running into a container in the South Atlantic. Paul and a lady shipmate spent eight worrying days in a liferaft.

Who would keep mementoes of the worst days of their lives, you might well wonder. And you wouldn’t be wondering alone.

Image of part of  a Sailing to Purgatory webpage to illustrate the article.
Going to pot ... Glass wasn't to be trusted in the hands of UK's top security prisoners, so instant coffee was transferred into these undangerous pots.
I couldn’t agree with the feeling more.

And yet, I must rank among the greatest offenders of not-forgetting because I keep souvenirs of the years that I was held in UK’s most secure prison.

I confess

Did murderers and terrorists and others I mingled with in the occasional short out-of-the-cell breaks in HMP Belmarsh take souvenirs home?

I never asked.

However, there was quite a difference between my time there and theirs.

I was most certainly not guilty of the smuggling charge brought about me by a dishonest prosecution.

I say dishonest because their arguments before the jury were totally dishonest, and doubly so because I’m quite sure they knew I was not guilty, nor could have been.

And they won, which really means justice lost, and I was to lose my possessions, life-savings, and reputation as a solo Cape Horner ...
Their deceit arose from a quandary admittedly. They’d raided and rounded up an alleged drugs gangs, and imprisoned the lot.

However, they hadn’t one shred of evidence and soon it seemed they have to let them go.

They needed a sailor

They needed a sailor who had ventured near the Caribbean, where the prosection reckoned drugs came from that the alleged drugs gang sold.

On my swallowing the anchor voyage, to celebrate the end this Cape Horner’s professional sailing career, I sailed towards Blighty and came as close as the Bay of Biscay, about 1,100 miles from the South Coast.

The yacht’s mainsail tore in Biscay and I had to turn south for repairs.

That crooked branch of Customs learned about it, and decided to make me the ‘supplier’ of the alleged gang’s goods.

It was nonsense and the bureaucrats knew that, but they knew also how easy it is to convince a jury. And they won, which really means justice lost, and I was to lose my possessions, life-savings, and reputation as a solo Cape Horner.

Sadly, the wretched people in that former government department seemingly couldn’t have cared less. All they needed was a scapegoat, as my book, Sailing to Purgatory, reveals.

I was sentenced to 19 years, a year more than the Lockerbie bomber was serving, which I believe illustrates even more the grossness of an unreliable justice system.

Murderers and terrorists

Some of the years were passed in the prison that takes multi-murderers and terrorists, Belmarsh, and at the time – and maybe now – prisoners were not allowed to have glass containers. Jars were seen as a likely weapon.

I liked coffee, and the instant coffee I bought from the prison shop was transferred into little plastic pots.

To remind me of the failure of the justice system and of those weird years among top terrorists and killers, plus a few officers who turned out to be pleasant fellows, I kept all of the plastic pots.

And I took them away with me, and they remain on constant use at home. I never use one without recalling the years in that extraordinary corner of South East London and the many good fellows who work there.

Thanks very much for visiting the mostly Tuesday and Thursday blogs for my adventure writing. The blogs (as they call 'em) are introduced each time on Facebook Facebook dot com/Sailingtopurgatory,

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