The Hiscocks were key figures in the 1950s and 1960s, professional voyagers who made reality of what many dreamed. In the saloon of the small yacht Wanderer III I scribbled as Eric and Susan Hiscock talked modestly on their return from their second circumnavigation.
I interviewed Alan Villiers, one of my heroes, a square-rigger in human form, who had made a life as a seaman-writer in the twilight of the windjammers. ‘Don’t you go putting that in the paper,’ he’d growl, always pleased that I did. I used to call on Uffa Fox, designer and nautical celebrity, for news. Later, my remit as a junior reporter included naval affairs, boat-building and champagne ship launches. Growing up by the sea, I was a summer amphibian, a winter beachcomber and an observer of warships and great liners. He picked me up, hoisted me over the gunwale and scrambled aboard as the boat reared thrillingly over the crashing waves.
I was 4, sitting with my mother on a shingle beach, when Father appeared in a boat rowed by his fellow Royal Marines and vaulted like a Viking into the surf.
My mother paled at the sight of salt water.
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