The Mercy Page #4

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The recording level needs

to be tweaked down a bit.

Hello, hello. Try that.

Er, so here I am, in the North Atlantic

in the middle of November,

making tape recordings for the BBC.

I've been at sea now

for very nearly 14 days.

On my way to a rendezvous

with Cape Horn.

'The thing that most people

associate with small boats

'is glorious afternoons in The Solent.'

Pretty girls in bikinis,

lounging about on the decks

of some vast schooner,

while men stand

with natty yachting gear,

clasping the wheel with a pipe

clenched firmly between their teeth.

'Unhappily, I've never encountered them.

'Everything on this boat is wet.'

Not damp. Wet.

'Condensation forms on the roof, drips

in your ear when you're trying to sleep,

'every hole is a potential leak,

'and the noise of the wind is continuous,

and often deafening.

'A great deal of pressure

falls on the man alone on a boat.

'It explores his weaknesses

'with a penetration that very few

other occupations can manage.

'I've never put out to sea in such

a completely unprepared state in my life.

'I have problems still.'

But I have a fairly long spell

in the trade winds ahead,

'in which I will endeavour

to get this boat ready...

'...for her great ordeal

in the Southern Ocean.'

(Squawks)

(Hissing)

(Squeaking)

(Light buzzes)

(Indistinct radio)

(Clicks switches)

Oh, no! Not this!

(Hallworth) '"Silence due engine

compartment flooded. Stop.

'"Stripped... What's that?...magneto,

replaced coils."'

"Stripped dried-out generator.

"Overhauled brush gear. Stop.

"Going on toward Madeira."

Madeira's Portugal.

I know where Madeira is,

thank you very much.

Right...

Honestly, he's got, what,

a transmitter and a phone.

All we get is this.

Where's the storms?

Where's the sea monsters?

Maybe he's making

more careful notes in the logs.

- What is this? Stripped mag... what?

- Magneto. The generator, I believe.

Should we say anything?

He's headed for Madeira at least.

Are you serious?

He's been headed for Madeira

for, what, the past three weeks.

Hasn't he?

The others are rounding Africa.

(Scraping and clanking)

Blast! No, Donald, you're not on holiday.

Not north! What is wrong with you?

(Sighs)

What the hell is that?

(Crowhurst) 'The float has

proved to be quite vexing.'

And I still haven't found

a satisfactory answer

to the problem of getting air

into the main cabin

without letting in a lot of water.

So I worry about suffocating in my sleep.

Not, not to mention

the, erm, the electronics.

It's been hard to finish when one is busy

bailing out water all day to stay afloat.

'At the back of mind

there's still the nagging suspicion

'that the starboard float could split.'

You sound discouraged, Don.

Very disheartened.

These matters would've been

better resolved on dry land.

And if the goal was

to highlight certain advances,

the trimaran as the Caravan of the Sea

and so forth,

we're not putting our best foot forward.

Over.

'Is that it then?'

Are you calling to say

it's time to retire?

'Looks like we're at that crossroads.'

Every day out here

is a crossroads, Mr Best.

Over.

'Shall I inform your family and Rodney

of your decision?

'Are you turning back?'

Don?

Actually, I'm calling to say

that I fully intend to press on.

Would you relay that to my wife?

Tell her all is well.

Listening out.

(James) 'Can't we come with you?'

(Crowhurst) If anyone comes

on the boat with me, I'm disqualified.

Has to be me and me alone.

What happens

if there's a storm, like this?

Then I'll be in the storm.

Won't you get scared alone?

You know, whenever I get scared,

I'll just think of the next time

we're able to be together instead.

'Whenever you get scared,

I want you to think about the same thing.

'People who are thinking about

the same thing are always connected.

'No matter how far apart they are.'

(Glass clinking)

(Glass shattering)

(Clanking)

Oh, good God. Not the buoyancy bag?

(Sighs) Oh, God.

(Clanking continues)

(Creaking)

(Grunts)

(Clanking stops)

(Exhales deeply)

(Breathes heavily)

(Clanking)

(Crowhurst) 'My buoyancy bag

is now broken beyond repair.

'So if I capsize...

'...that will be it.'

(Wind howls)

(Creaking)

(Water splashing)

'There's so much wrong

with the boat in so many respects.

'My chances of survival,

if I continue into the Southern Ocean,

'would not be better than 50-50.'

(Clare) 'Shall I give Daddy

the present now?

'This is something to remember us by.

It's just a little bit of home.'

Goodness me. It's...

- (Whispers) It's a toaster.

- Ah.

- Course it is.

- (Chuckling)

How splendid.

We all thought when you're sitting

down to have your breakfast,

a million miles from here,

it will be as if we're all there with you.

Do you like it, Dad?

It's from all of us. We all chose it.

Well, it's good reason

to keep the generator in working order.

Thank you.

I think Daddy likes his toaster!

(Radio buzzing)

(Phone rings)

(Operator) 'Mike, Zulu, Uniform, Whisky,

Teignmouth, Electron.'

This is Portishead radio.

I regret to inform you there is no answer.

'Would you like me to ring your wife

back later with a message? Over.'

Would you tell her... that I'm well?

Out.

'If I turn back, I face certain ruin.

'The loss of the company, the house.

'And that is a prospect

not to be contemplated.

'I can't go on...

'...and I can't go back.'

I'm here.

What if I tell them I'm...

...here?

Would they believe me?

What a bloody awful decision.

(Morse code machine beeping)

I think you should

take a look at this.

(Clare) "Hurtled south 172 miles."

(Hallworth) Crowhurst continues

to streak south,

leaving his difficulties behind.

He got it sorted. He's on his way now.

Saturday, 172 miles. Sunday, 109.

'Monday, 145.

'Even the porpoises are left

breathless by his speed.'

(James) '243 miles?'

A new single-handed record.

That's faster than Chichester!

Having passed the Equator

and into the springtime,

Donald Crowhurst is somewhere

in the South Atlantic

averaging an astounding

170 miles a day.

The speed of the Teignmouth Electron

is nothing short of electric.

Sure you want "electric"

and "electron" in the same sentence?

Oh, give over.

Is nothing short of electric, as his

daily totals surpass all the competitors,

even those of the great

Sir Francis Chichester himself.

- Sir?

- (Hallworth) 'There. Send it.'

- Seen the latest on Donald Crowhurst?

- Donald Crow who?

The last Globe entrant.

Bloke from Teignmouth.

Oh, dim recollection.

Just received this from his press agent.

Turning into quite a story.

Faster than Chichester?

Remarkable.

Er, give me 500 words

on this Donald Crowhurst for tomorrow.

Mm-hm. Thanks.

(Pencil raps)

(Reporter) 'What sort of attitude

is required to sail a boat solo?'

(Crowhurst) 'Well, I think

one's psychology has to be fairly stable,

'and one has to be constantly aware

of the risks one is running.'

And a willingness to improvise

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