The Voyage of the HMS Indestucktable

With school out for summer, my best friend John and I were ready to seek adventure.
Our usual array of activities included joining pick-up football (soccer) games, roaming around the neighborhood streets, and playing in the various parks of our English hometown, Bath. On this morning in the early 1960s, our perambulations took us to the river Avon, at the time a sewage infested, chemically polluted waterway. We were oblivious to its noxiousness, having spied a broken raft which to the minds of two youngsters signaled the adventure we were looking for. We were sure we could construct a raft better than this one – a sturdy platform from which we could float gently down the river, leaving it for our swimming and diving pleasure. Previous adventures had taken us hacking through dense jungle (overgrown bushes) with a Gurka knife and swinging across raging torrents (small creeks) using a grappling hook and rope all “borrowed” from John’s father’s war relics…but I digress.

We dismantled the old raft, cutting the old ropes with our penknives and smashing the dilapidated wooden frame, contributing freely to the junk flowing down the river. We saved three still intact drums and carried them back to John’s house. The next task was to find sturdy wooden planks for the deck. After a thorough but initially unsuccessful search of a local tip, we discovered an old broken fence along the perimeter. But how to retrieve such useful pieces of timber? We couldn’t just snap them off. Going home for lunch (dinner as we called it then) was a strict requirement of my mother’s, so that she could check I was still alive, not in jail, and certainly not doing anything dangerous. As we headed back, it occurred to me that a saw would be just the thing for our endeavor. Surreptitiously, I obtained one from my father’s workshop and hid it in the garden to be picked up in the afternoon. It worked like a charm. Two panels were cut, and we now had the wooden deck for our raft. Over the next few days, we built Her Majesty’s Ship suitably named “The Indestucktable,” a formidable vessel which we proudly displayed to our siblings. By now, you have probably guessed why our ship was called the HMS Indestucktable – yes, John missed out the “r” and added a “k.” But it was too late to change; we were anxious to launch and begin our adventure floating peacefully down the Avon, perhaps as far as Keynsham or even Bristol, some 12 miles or so downstream.

We then faced our first major setback. The unstable raft overturned at the slightest rocking motion with just one person on board. A crew of two was out of the question. We moved to Plan B, challenging our engineering boat-building knowledge. With a flash of inspiration, outriggers came to mind and once again it was off to the tip, saw in hand, to claim more planks and hopefully find two additional drums. Another success: we had our supplies and spent a day or two enhancing the river-worthiness of the raft. The final product could not be described as elegant, being in the form of a giant cross supported by drums and bound together with various ropes, but it was ours.

Furthermore, the maiden voyage was in sight, and excitement mounted as we carried the massive contraption down to the river. As we reached the riverbank, a degree of anxiety set in regarding personal safety. We proceeded to that Wilbur and Orville moment: Who would make the inaugural trip? As luck would have it, it fell to me to test the river-worthiness of the remodeled HMS Indestucktable. We launched to great fanfare, well, much cheering and shouting from the two of us. John then walked along the tow path carrying my clothes while I, in my swimsuit (also hidden from parents), drifted out into midstream. It was just as I hoped, as I watched the landscape pass by peacefully – the gas works with its huge grey domes, the WWII bomb crater where we used to ride old bikes, the large factory where my father worked — all seemed quite pleasant. However, as I floated under the Ha’penny Bridge it soon became apparent that the raft could not be steered with anything approaching accuracy and a real threat was looming as I reached a fork in the river. To the left, the stream flowed faster, eventually dropping over a steep weir, while to the right it moved gently through a small canal towards the safety of a lock.

John, “Aim for the canal, aim for the canal!”

Me, “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

I am still around so you know the outcome.

I finally drove the raft into the canal bank relieved, wet, and chagrined that our relaxing rafting experience was not going to happen. John helped me to dry land, and we immediately moved on to Plan C. We decided that scuttling the HMS Indestucktable was our only choice, so we removed the outriggers, speared holes in the drums, and ceremoniously pushed the contraption out into the canal to join the other debris. As she sank into that sewage-tainted water, we duly saluted the end of another adventure…and moved on to the next.

Graham A Tobin, born and raised in Bath, England, survived various childhood escapades to attend and eventually teach at several British and American universities, retiring from the University of South Florida as a professor emeritus of geography. His research, which focused primarily on human dimensions of natural hazards and disasters, took him around the world. He continues to travel and currently explores his passion for photography.