I was fourteen when we sailed into Falmouth. We were practically sea-gypsies and spent our time either afloat or in the small ports that dotted the coastlines of France, Southern England and Ireland. This was my first experience of a large, bustling port and I was almost overwhelmed.

My Mother sent me to to buy a salted ham and, as I made my way through the impossibly crowded streets, full of commerce and clamour, I was assailed on every side by strange sounds, smells and sights.

I was captivated and, that evening, as the Marie lifted off her keel with the rising tide, I slipped away. I knew that my Father, whilst he might curse me, would not want to miss the tide.

And that was how I ran away to land.