LITMIR.BIZ

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wall calendars and the occasional tray of dodgy perfume had earned him enough commission to find a place on board.

      Fast becoming his chief partner in crime was Andy Howe, fresh out of Westminster School and university. Backed by his parents, Andy energised the boat with the enthusiasm of an on-heat spaniel and his flashing smile and ready friendship proved deeply infectious. His parents were no doubt expecting that the trip would enrich his education, but they had not bargained for the fact that Mr Baba would be sharing the bunk opposite their son for eleven months. A tragedy, especially when one considers the cost of a private education.

      Anna Kellagher kept the girl-power momentum rolling and, like Andy, she seemed to enjoy a ceaseless supply of energy and enthusiasm for any and every task, no matter what time of day or night. A research scientist, she brought a constantly analytical mind to every problem on board and was quick to offer a solution to any problem that presented itself. The job could go on hold for a year and she was happy to rent out her London flat while she was away. As a result, she was homeless too. All across the fleet of clippers, parents who had long celebrated the day when their house was their own again, suddenly found that the kids were back in town.

      The Fire Service had said goodbye to Alan Wells with the usual gold watch affair. But after years with his beloved brigade, Alan was adamant that an immediate departure to the bowls club was not for him. So while the other early retirees went for their flannel fittings, Alan was at the chandler’s getting kitted out for a final adventure way more alarming than those found on Blue Watch.

      I added my cashed-in career to the single-minded list of personal sacrifices on board and was joined by the final member of the team.

      Watching this curious collection of individuals with an incredulous eye was Akira Sato, a talented sailor from Yokohama in Japan. Aki had read about the race in a Japanese yachting magazine, applied for a place and flown to the UK for an interview. His sailing credentials were impeccable, his agility on a boat second to none, his fitness and age perfect, but his English was, unfortunately, dreadful.

      This was a race crewed primarily by English speakers and clear communication was of obvious importance. In a crisis it was essential and lives might even depend on it when the shit found the fan – an inevitability at some point over the next eleven months.

      Sadly, Aki was turned away, and as he left the Buckinghamshire office, eight thousand miles away from home, he tried to recall how to arrange a taxi and a train ticket back to the airport. But, like everyone else on board, Aki had the same determination and was not going to be beaten. He managed to order a taxi and negotiate the rail system back to Heathrow.

      But, instead of returning crestfallen to continue his white-coated role researching cosmetics in Japan’s industrial heartland, he took a flight to Canada, begged a bed from some friends, resigned from the job that had made his parents so proud and set about learning the language.

      Two months later he was back in England and in front of the MD of Clipper Ventures once more. ‘Now will you take me?’ he asked in impeccable English, and was warmly welcomed on board. And now that Aki was with us, Ali Baba set about quickly expanding his vocabulary by teaching a medley of songs dear to the Arsenal faithful.

      We had yet to sail an ocean in serious anger, but already here were a bunch of people who inspired intense levels of respect in each other, and wherever you looked there was a bigger sacrifice and a larger effort from someone else.

      As you would expect from a skipper in such a race, Stuart Gibson’s sailing credentials were impeccable. Not only was he a sound sailor, he was also a good teacher and a well-balanced manager. This last quality was essential when the team needing management was the mixed bag of strong-willed personalities already described. For each of us, the environments where we were the experts, the people in control, the people making decisions, had been replaced by a totally new way of living and working.

      Ellie had been the boss when an ambulance, its blue light flashing, arrived at her A&E department, and she had taken control of injured patients and weeping nervous relatives. Anna had run her team of scientists with a rod of iron as they peered into microscopes and deepened their understanding. Alan had been at his happiest when the alarm sounded and the Blue Watch team swung into action down the pole, each knowing the job he would have to do when his much-missed appliance arrived at the shout. Ali was the one who made the decision about how much he would charge for a page of advertising and who he would target next.

      None of us knew anything about living together, crammed within the confines of a sixty-foot length of fibreglass. Our lives had never centred around the narrow bunks, with no separate cabins or snore-proof doors, that were now the core of our home. And as the boat went to sea on practice sails to try to turn a group of individuals into one cohesive, finely tuned team of round-the-world sailors, we all struggled to acknowledge each other’s skills and new-found abilities. We were all experts, we all had an opinion, and, as we watched someone else attempting to complete a task, we all had better ways of doing it. As a result, a steady stream of helpful advice was offered on anything and everything taking place on board.

      The furling of a sail, the process of putting a reef in the mainsail, the packing of a spinnaker, the coiling of a rope, even how much water to put in the kettle when it came to a tea break, were all tasks enthusiastically debated. And while we were all quick to offer lots and lots of advice on everything, we were distinctly uncomfortable about receiving it. Tell a strong-willed person that there is a better way of achieving a goal and more often than not their views will become more firmly entrenched and more and more obtuse.

      I saw a whole series of glorious parallels with the boardroom I had left behind, as our early behaviour mirrored the attitudes that exist in work places the length and breadth of the country.

      Stuart was the man who faced the daunting task of managing this powder keg of personality, and in addition to ensuring that his charges made it around the world faster than anyone else, uninjured and still speaking, he had other highly charged emotions that dominated his every waking moment.

      Clipper had approached him with the offer of skipper, but the chance to complete the trip that all sailors dream of was at odds with a rather more pressing responsibility. Back home in north Wales, in a small stone cottage overlooking the sea from a gentle hillside, lay a tiny bundle of kicking, gurgling blue-eyed baby who had been born into the world at the same time as I had been celebrating my departure from work. Overseeing baby Ben Gibson’s every move was his proud mother, and as she watched her first-born suckle contentedly at the breast, her mind was filled with the thought of losing her husband for the best part of a year – the first and most important year of their fine young son.

      Stuart’s decision had been a desperately hard one to make. Liz Gibson came out of the same mould as Anne and was adamant that if the opportunity was presenting itself, then he should grab it with both hands. Liz is a local GP and an immensely practical and honest thinker. Baby Ben would not be aware that his father was not around and as long as he was fed, warm and dry, then the child would be blissfully unaware and blissfully happy. And while Stuart could accept that fact, he still desperately wanted to be a part of that first year. To see his son grow, smile his first smile, utter his first ‘Da-Da’ and take his first step. And while Ben did not have a clue of his dad’s impending departure, Stuart most certainly did. Like any first-time father, he was racked with guilt and, despite Liz’s eager support, still had his doubts.

      We secretly wondered if he might even pull out before the start and did as much as we could to persuade him to stay. We showered gifts on him for the impending christening; we worked harder than any other boat to prove our eagerness; we offered him breakfasts and dinners, drinks in the bar after training and an ever-present eagerness at the sights, sounds and experiences that he would lead us through as we discovered the planet. In the end it was probably a close-run thing, but Stuart stayed, and in between the pangs of guilt he began to demonstrate the skills and qualities that would inspire such devotion and loyalty.

      I returned to work to fulfil my last two days behind a desk in London, and felt comfortable as the office floor gently rolled from long days at sea. After I had completed the King’s Cross route for the last time and sunk slowly into

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