Although 'Yonne' has an engine, that is only brought into use as a last resort because our friends are dedicated sailors.

After several enjoyable trips on the river, I was invited to join their party for an afternoon's sea-sailing, which is a very different cup of tea from pottering about on the river itself. I jumped at the chance, said goodbye to the family and climbed aboard.

The water was choppy and there was a stiff breeze, so with the sails billowing above our heads we sped towards the estuary. Soon the coast was left behind and it seemed as if we had the entire expanse of the North Sea to ourselves. The Skipper's wife and I prepared tea in the cabin and after a hearty meal we went on deck to take turns at the tiller, or help our host to re-adjust the sails in readiness for the homeward run.

The choppy sea now had a heavy swell and the gathering clouds spoke of a coming storm, so we wasted no time in getting under way, it was exhilarating. Suddenly without a fractional warning there was a grinding bump, the vessel shuddered from stem to stern, crockery fell about in the galley and we came to rest with the keel firmly embedded in hidden sand.

The men tried every trick to refloat her, rowing out the anchor, using the engine and even a spot of bad language, but all to no avail; she just settled herself more comfortably for all the world like a little old lady in a rocking chair.

She was listing noticeably now and the tide was running away fast. Through the dusk we could see a small patch of glistening sand, which grew as we watched, fascinated, then it began to rain, steadily at first but presently developing into a torrent and high waves broke over the ship each increasing her list until by midnight she lay on her side in the sand with her hull exposed to the teeth of the gale.

We were now out on the sandbank huddled together waiting for the turn of the tide, all the time hoping and praying that the boat was undamaged. As if the slashing rain wasn't enough, lightning split the sky and the thunder rolled. Time seemed to stand still for us, there in the darkness with the storm enveloping us on every side.

I was cold, wet, miserable and desperately afraid. If this was to be 'my end', what would become of my precious family? Who would take care of them? What would they do if Mummy didn't come home?

Only our Skipper remained calm throughout this ordeal. He examined the visible parts of the yacht and checked the security of the dinghy as best as he could in the darkness; then with his sputtering pipe firmly clamped between his teeth he strolled about our little island just as if this were an everyday occurrence. By 3 a.m. the sea had begun to reclaim the land and he decided that it was time for us to board the dinghy.

We sat, uncomfortably close together, and waited whilst the storm spent itself. The sea came closer and closer where the sand had been, was now a mass of churning water, and with a lurch the overloaded dinghy became seaborne. Things happened quickly then, the yacht, with rapid, jerky movements, began to right herself, and within half an hour we were able to scramble thankfully onto her deck.

Without preamble the sails were set and with the assistance of the engine this time we headed for home waters. Dawn was breaking when we picked up the buoy and rowed over to the boathouse. The firm ground under my feet felt wonderful.

It was 6.30 a.m. by the time I reached home to find the whole family peacefully in the Land of Nod. My placid Ron, true to form, had imagined we'd been a little late getting in, and that our friends had persuaded me to stay at their home for the night. He hadn't worried, not for a moment!