Aluredian
43
Travel piece
by George Bayless, 61
Stricken with fatigue, a myriad of lights on the
dark horizon grew slowly brighter as the
consolation of the end of my trip grew nearer, a
familiar slog of almost ten hours across the
English Channel from Portsmouth to Cherbourg.
The sheer length of such a journey renders it
monotonous, and whether drifting under sail or
droning under the dull sound of the engine, an
inevitability of painfully slow progress was ever
the case.
To spare a cyclic description that would have
been reflective of the voyage, I progress to our
entrance of the harbour, with night having
fallen, and the opening in the Napoleonic wall
was negotiated through bleary eyes. As we
glided into the marina silence was predominant
in the cool night air; only the quiet sounds of
other boats creaking on their moorings travelled
across the water.
The morning would reveal interesting
surroundings of a docked nuclear submarine
and a grand building, once an early train
station now turned maritime museum. Though
once having secured a berth I was quick to
descend into blissful sleep. And somewhat
ironically, though I now rested on 'foreign'
shores, my surroundings were extremely
familiar, given that this was by no means my
first trip, though it is the menial first leg to
more novel destinations.
Jason Chau GCSE
Alice Davies A2
Isabelle Arliss A2
Charlotte Smyth GCSE