Ladies… you are an inspiration to all of us working mothers. Setting a goal, training hard and working together as a team with good humour, even when things get very tough. With best wishes to you all from a sunny but chilly Hampshire. X
Well done all of you. A tremendous effort. You are amazing and an inspiration to us ordinary folk. Well done and keep digging deep. Best wishes.
Reading your entry at 00.39 gives me the inspiration and kick I need that the pain I feel right now is nothing in comparison to the courage you all have to keep rowing. Thank you.
In what has been one of the most depressing and bleak periods of my life, the one thing that has put a smile on my face has been reading about you four amazing ladies. Thank you for being a constant source of hope and inspiration.
Absolutely amazing. Our friend has been inspired to do this for his fortieth, literally because he saw your story and was blown away! What an achievement. Stay strong, stay brave, stay a team.
I don’t have a bad day while you’re out there!!!! Take care, keep smiling and rowing. You are my heroes.
It’s hard at the time, as is any great achievement, but one day you will all look back on this and walk 2 inches taller for the rest of your lives. Wishing you all a great journey. It’s what life is all about. You are encouraging SO many people to live a better and more fulfilling life than you can possibly imagine. Hope the weather is kind. Keep smiling.
Fantastic blog and your adventure has motivated me to do something that little bit crazy :-) Maybe not as adventurous as what you guys are doing, but something special :-) Keep going, girls. Everyone is very proud of you and I’ve been telling all the Aussies about you! X
It is amazing to hear of what you are going through, you are fantastic. I was reluctant to go out for a run tonight (windy, wet, cold, just didn’t want to go), but thinking of you and what you are achieving changed my attitude sharpish and I shifted my butt out that door! Take care. Here’s to fair winds to Antigua!
Fantastic to read your blog. Am addicted to your progress! First thing, before letting out the dogs, I check your speed and position and then throughout the day! Well done, girls. You are doing brilliantly! So proud of you.
Keep going, ladies! You have no idea the effect you are having on us all. So inspiring and proud for women everywhere. We are thinking of you all. Hang in there. The Prosecco is chilling! Sending you love – Jeannie. Eat, sleep, row, repeat! xxx
Amazing, inspirational, strong team of women. You’re excellent role models for my teenage daughter. Well done, from Leeds, Yorkshire. #thisgirlcan
Really inspiring, watching you all. I am nervous about travelling alone, yet seeing all of you conquer so much has given me a kick up the backside. Stop feeling sorry for myself and get up and on. Well done. Incredible. Best of luck with the next challenge, whatever that may be.
Girls, u r shamazing!!! U have inspired me… Have signed up for beginners rowing course. Watch out – that record of yours is looking shaky!
The level of support out there was humbling, and we’d had no idea!
‘A friend of mine sent me a text, saying, “I can see you on Yellow Brick, you’re only a few miles out. Bet you never get this message,”’ said Frances, ‘and so I replied instantly. She said, “Oh, I’m crying now!” It was really lovely.’
‘I texted Lucy because Lucy and Henry weren’t in Antigua,’ said Helen. ‘So I texted them to say we’d be there in the morning, just so they didn’t hear it from anybody else. I wanted to let them know that we had done it and that we were safe. Lucy was in her French lesson when she got the message to say that we were nearly there. She replied saying how proud she was of me and how happy she was that we were all safe. She said she’d let Henry know. I then got a message from the mum of the boy sitting next to Lucy in French, who’d obviously passed on the news! She was apparently in tears at the joy of our arrival! It was a very special moment. I was incredibly impressed with the way my children had coped with such a huge change in their lives. They were my inspiration. Both their parents had gone away at the same time, which had not been part of the plan, but they had not moaned, complained or anything. They had just got on with it in a positive way. I was extremely proud of them. And could not wait to see them when I got back.’ Helen later found out that one of Henry’s teachers had been moved to tears reading what Helen had blogged about her children - coincidentally, just as the teacher was marking Henry’s schoolwork.
At sunrise we saw land for the first time in two and a half months.
‘It does not look real,’ said Janette, staring. ‘It looks like somebody has just dropped a piece of land there in the middle of the ocean. It looks completely out of place, cluttering up the horizon.’
We had 10 miles to go as we packed up our things and gave Rose a final tidy. She was about to meet her public, so we wanted her to look her best. We were also trying to occupy ourselves as we waited for the support boat to escort us in. Helen had been trying to raise ABSAR for the last few hours on the radio. We’d all been listening to her flirting with other boats on the emergency channel 16. It was good to hear that after nine weeks on the Atlantic she had not lost her touch.
And then we saw it. The rescue boat coming towards us over the horizon.
‘There they are!’ Janette’s voiced cracked. ‘Over there!’
‘Oh my God!’ Niki stood on the deck, her hands over her mouth. It was impossible to believe it was nearly over. We could see some people waving on the deck. Not long now. Our on-board radio crackled down below in the office. Frances leapt at it.
‘Hello, ladies!’ said Carsten over the radio. ‘Congratulations! Welcome to Antigua! You are world record holders! You are the oldest women’s crew to have ever rowed the Atlantic! How do you feel?’
He’d been the one who’d pushed us off all those weeks ago in La Gomera. And his was the first real voice of home that we heard.
We were ecstatic! We were leaping about in the boat, hugging and kissing each other. We had done it! Against all the odds, all the doubters, we were officially the oldest women to have rowed the Atlantic. It was an extraordinary feeling.
‘And you’ve come twenty-second in the race!’ exclaimed Carsten.
‘Twenty-second?’ asked Helen.
‘Yes, well done!’
‘I knew 22 had to come in somewhere,’ said Helen. ‘It wasn’t the date, it was our position!’
We were giddy, we were shaking, we were crying, we were hugging each other. We’d done it! We’d made it all the way across. We’d finished. Well, almost…
There was the small matter of rowing into the harbour first!
So we settled down for one last push. With Janette, our skipper, at the helm we set sail for the port. None of us had any idea what to expect.
‘We were really worried while we were on the Atlantic that there would be nobody there to see us in,’ said Helen. ‘And I had a dream that we rowed into this industrial marina with nobody there. We were saying we were so late coming in that no one’s going to be there.’
Three miles left… Then two miles… We were rowing three up, as we couldn’t wait to get there. Carsten was on the radio alongside us, shouting words of encouragement. Then, as we neared the harbour, the sea teamed with little RIB boats buzzing about us. On board were groups of people filming, taking photos, shouting and waving at us.
The official finish line for the race was a staging post just before we entered the harbour, which was marked with buoys. The foghorn sounded as we crossed it, there was cheering from the surrounding boats and we stood up and hugged each other again. We had actually done it! We were handed champagne, the Yorkshire flag and huge signs saying, ‘We’ve just rowed the Atlantic!’ and then we lit flares while we posed for photographs!
‘It was so emotional,’ said Janette.
‘It hit you all at once,’ said Frances. ‘And then suddenly we realised… SHIT! Our hands were on fire!’
Seriously, on fire. Not just a little bit bur
nt. Really quite badly burnt by the flares we were all holding – completely incorrectly, of course: upside down (the instructions were in Spanish).
‘We were so emotional and happy we didn’t feel it at first,’ said Janette. ‘And then suddenly the pain hit us! We were burning our own hands!’
They dropped the flares as Niki brilliantly leapt at the medical kit and pulled out the burn cream, hurling it at Janette. She and Frances slathered their hands with the stuff before we got back on the oars. We still had to enter the harbour. With half the crew’s hands dripping with Flamazine, we powered around the corner as best as four middle-aged mums who’ve just rowed an ocean possibly could. The noise was incredible. All these horns started blasting, and we could hear the crowds cheering. Then one of the many super-yachts moored up started to play ‘Here Come the Girls’, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ and ‘Ladies’ Night’ at full blast over their sound system. We heard people shouting our names and we saw all these faces. It was magnificent and disorientating at the same time.
‘All these little RIBs were coming towards us with people in them. There were faces, faces everywhere. All smiling, all cheering,’ said Janette.
There were so many little boats crowding around us, so many people yelling and waving and crying. It was completely overwhelming. The blasting horns, the cheering crews lined up on deck on the huge yachts. We didn’t know where to look, what to take in, who to wave to.
‘In one of the tiny boats were my sister, Jane, and her husband, Ricardo. I didn’t notice them at all!’ said Janette. ‘In the same boat as them was a couple we’d met in La Gomera, Ruth and John, who’d sailed down to Antigua to meet us. I didn’t know my sister and her husband were going to be there, so I’m waving at Ruth and John, and Ricardo and Jane are sat in the same boat as them, but I didn’t see them. The whole thing was very surreal.’
Slowly we came in, weaving our way through all the little boats, listening to the wall of sound. Janette was still at the helm, grinning broadly. On the quay we could see our families waving and crying. They had Yorkshire Rows banners and T-shirts. We were desperate to get there. Finally, as we pulled in alongside the quay, Janette threw the ropes. No one can remember who caught them. We were all so overwhelmed; we were moored up, about to step onto dry land, at last.
‘We were all dying to leap off the boat,’ said Frances, ‘but we had to sit there while people took more and more photos. And then we were released.’
Niki and Frances leapt off the boat first. ‘I could just see Mark and the children on the quayside and made eye contact with them as I came in,’ said Frances. ‘Then I got off and gave Mark a huge hug. And then I hugged the children. Apparently they’d been arguing before I arrived. They’d said, “Who do you think she’s going to hug and kiss first? You don’t want to be third, do you?” So it was fortunate that I did a double hug and hugged them both at the same time!’
‘I was so disorientated,’ said Niki. ‘I was like a rabbit in the headlights. I was so excited to see Gareth and the children, but I found it very hard to speak. I just wanted to keep hugging them all. I had spent the entire journey dreaming of this moment when we were all together again. With the attention and the crowds, I think I was completely bewildered. We were all looking around like we could not believe it. It was a sensory overload.’
Janette was the next off the boat. ‘It was hard to walk. Ben came towards me and put his arms around me, and I held on to him so tightly, as if I’d never let him go. I was sobbing and sobbing, shaking all over, and he just kept saying, “It’s OK – you’re here, I’m here, it’s OK”.
‘When I did eventually let go of him a bit, he said, “Look who else is here!” and there was my sister Jane and her husband Ricardo. I’d had no idea. I let go of Ben and threw my arms around Jane, saying, “I can’t believe you’re here – oh my God, thank you, thank you for coming”. I couldn’t really stand; Jane and Ben were holding me up.’ ‘It was very powerful to watch,’ said Helen.
‘I was still on the boat and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Janette crying. I have never seen anyone cry like that before.’
‘I was so, so relieved,’ said Janette. ‘I was utterly relieved. I had done it. I had brought them all home safely. It felt like a mammoth weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had been responsible for other people’s mums and wives, and I had really felt it. If we had not made it, it would have been my fault. We were safe. Those girls were safe. That was my sole purpose. If it didn’t work out, if something went wrong, I was the skipper and I was the one going down with the ship. I was the one who had to keep everything together.’
So Janette wept and wept. ‘I think my sister was a little surprised!’
Helen came off the boat. ‘Neither my husband nor my children were there,’ she said. ‘Richard was in the Isle of Man with his new job and my children had exams – Lucy had her GCSE mock – so my mum very sweetly came on her own. It was lovely to see her. She’s 81 years old!’ So apart from her mum, there was no great reunion for Helen. ‘It was odd. I came off the boat and just started chatting to people. I said hi to Bella and Olivia, from Row Like a Girl. I have to admit I was a little jealous of those who did have their children there, but Lucy’s education was more important. I’d see them all soon and it was lovely to spend some time with my mum, and in the end, perhaps it made the next few days a lot easier.’
In fact, the next few days were very odd indeed. Straight off the boat, we were taken to be photographed and interviewed. None of us could walk – our calves were so withered and our balance so confused, after all those days at sea, that we lurched around like four drunks on a hen night. Carsten and all the race officials had to support us, hold us up, as we walked. In our first interview all you can see are our confused faces and rictus smiles as we hug each other and sway from side to side in perpetual motion. At some point in the chaos and the hugs and the questions, Janette and Frances were handed some ice cubes to help with their very badly burnt hands.
The confusion and the melee continued; there were hundreds of people asking for photos, slapping us on the back. There appeared to be people from Yorkshire everywhere. ‘Hey, we’re from York!’ we heard. ‘We’re from Bradford! We’ve been waiting for days for you lot to come in!’
And after we’d spoken to a litany of cameras, answering the same questions over and over – were we proud? Amazed? Stunned that we’d made it? And would we do it again? – Janette and Frances were taken to a medi-centre to have their hands bandaged. And Janette promptly collapsed.
‘I had a giant wobble,’ she said. ‘My legs gave way under me and I very nearly passed out. It was the shock of finishing, the release of responsibility and perhaps my severely burnt hands.’
While Frances and Janette were being bandaged, Helen and Niki ended up eating a slap-up brunch on their own at the restaurant on the harbour where everything was laid out with proper napkins, knives and forks, and little pillows on the seats.
All we really wanted to drink was Coca-Cola – there was something about the mixture of bubbles and sugar that was exactly what we craved. So we did! Some very thoughtful friends of Frances arrived at the quay with a giant cooler of joy, packed with champagne (plus flutes), beer and gallons of chilled coke. Lovely. And just what every transatlantic rower ordered!
We were also desperate for a bath and some quiet time to reflect. Our sudden re-emergence into the real world was proving to be a lot more difficult than we’d anticipated. The noise and the speed with which everything was moving were completely disorientating. We had not thought there would be so much interest; we hadn’t realised how many people would want a piece of us and how many questions there would be. We were constantly being asked to comment on something we ourselves had yet to digest.
‘I didn’t want to speak to anyone initially about the row,’ said Niki. ‘I had so many thoughts going through my head, so many emotions I was trying to deal with. I found it very difficult to communicate. I just wanted to hear
all about what Gareth and the kids had been doing – it seemed so long since we’d had that chance to talk.’
It was that age-old thing we were all too familiar with, of trying to be all things to all people, and just ending up being ripped in half.
While Janette and Ben had sensibly booked into a small place in English Harbour, where all the action was taking place and where we had to be for all our media commitments, the rest of us were in an all-inclusive resort on the other side of the island.
‘When we got to the hotel, everyone knew who we were,’ said Niki. ‘Our families had been there a week already, and so everywhere we went everyone wanted a chat and a photo. I wanted to see my parents, my children and my lovely husband, but at the same time it was all so very overwhelming.’
‘We were all a bit down and a bit odd,’ said Helen. ‘And frankly a little bit off-kilter. Personally, I was just desperate for a bath and to wash my hair.’
We all went into our own separate (luxury) bathrooms. Frances dyed her hair, Janette gave hers a deep conditioning treatment, Niki had a blow-dry and Helen stood under the shower, pouring coconut oil all over her stiff block of hair, hoping and praying she could get it to move in any way at all.
Helen’s hair was a disaster. ‘I could cope on that boat with 40-foot waves, the hurricane, two hours’ sleep and everything. I just could not cope with what happened to my hair.’
Back on day two of our journey, Helen had made a fatal error. Unlike the rest of us, who’d opted for plaits and who, despite the increasing filthiness of our hair, had continued to brush it and plait and re-plait it, Helen, as she simply could not bear to touch her own dirty mop, had tied it up in a bunch and left it.
Four Mums in a Boat Page 24