It was upon a cold and frosty morning in early November, that Sinbad left his home in South-East Cornwall and headed for the sea.
He had missed the ocean waves, the reassuring roll of the ship under him as it made passage, and the danger – my, how he had missed the danger.
At thirty-seven, Sinbad was an old hand; a leader, not a follower; and experienced with his own ships as with those of others.
Travelling light, with just provisions for the journey to port, Sinbad walked with a jauntiness to his stride that had not been present as of late.
He left behind his small family and not a few worries; but, if his time was successful, he would bring back a veritable treasure chest of provisions to see them all right.
‘If’ he returned.
It was never certain that a voyage would be a success or that a vessel leaving port would ever return, laden or not.
And, it was November – not the best time of year by about three months either way.
Sinbad was not, however, thinking of the possibility of a date with Davy Jones’s Locker – the very real possibility that is present with every ship upon the sea.
Sinbad’s stride was strong and certain.
The port awaited his arrival; Davy Jones checked his appointments book – and smiled.