Well it was April 1992. I'd bought a Princess 35 in 1990 and had it moored next to Wally and Sandy's Princess 45 at Port Solent. I was always in awe of the 45, which you must remember was considered a BIG boat in those days. I found one for sale in Guernsey. it was a 1990 model and had done just a few hours. The very nice gentleman that owned it had always been into sail and had been everywhere with his wife, but when she became ill, he decided to move from sail to power. He didn't gel with it and so sold it. I was over the moon. I'd got a 2 year old low hours Princess 45, with all the bells and whistles, and for the right price as well. One problem! How the hell was I going to get it back from Guernsey? I certainly didn't feel at that time that I had the experience to bring it back on my own. Of course, Wally was the obvious choice. He agreed, and as you probably know, was always game for a trip like that. I left it to him to advise on when the weather would be favourable for the trip. After a few days, I got the nod from Wally and we departed from various places to assemble in St Peter Port. I went over there with my Mom and met up with a couple of yachtie friends of mine from motor racing, named Dick and Sue. They were hardened rags and sticks people and were looking forward to cross channel trip in a big powerboat. Now I should have realised it was going to be an interesting trip when my Mom and me were on the plane, coming into St Peter Port. The cross wind was so bad the pilot couldn't get all three wheels onto to tarmac. I remember the nose wheel and port wheel went down ok, but the plane just hung there with the starboard wheel a good couple of feet off the floor. It was one of those noisy yellow things you still see that they use for all the channel island trips. Eventually, when it seemed like he was doing about 20mph, the thing plopped onto the ground. "It's a bit windy isn't it Philip?" my Mom said (Those that knew her will know she always called me Philip)"Nah" said I. "Just a gust". As we walked away from the plane, I thought to myself, 'I hope Wally's got this right'. The next day we assembled at Victoria Marina to start the trip back. Wally always came very well equipped with any trip like this. He had his own charts, GPS, and anything you could wish for. He was always totally self sufficient and very professional. So the trip started Ok. It was a bit windy as we headed north, but Wally assured us we'd got wind with tide behind us and it was going to be fine. As we got nearer to the Alderney Race, it got worse and worse. We went from 24 knots, down to 20 knots, then 18 knots. We couldn't go any quicker, it was just too rough. Eventually, we were down at 15 to 16 knots, riding up hill to the crests, then surfing downhill picking up speed as we went into another trough. I was at the helm, on the flybridge. At the worst point, I remember the waves were level with the top of the flybridge. I said to Wally, "Don't you ****in' move! My bottles gone!" He said "Nah! You're alright. I'm worried about your Mom, so I'm going down to check she's alright. A few minutes later, he arrived back on the bridge, laughing his head off. "What's so bloody funny??!" I asked, still thinking to myself that people have died here in calmer seas than this. "Your Mom", he said "is running round with a bucket after yer yachtie mates, making sure they don't puke all over yer new carpets" I was astounded, as was Wally. My Mom, who then was 73 and not accustomed to boats, was totally unphased by the horrendous conditions and was just worried they were going to ruin the carpets. My mates were a sort of green colour. I know that Wally and my Mom always had a mutual respect for each other as a result of that day, and they had both spoken of it numerous times since. Eventually, as we headed north, the seas calmed down to a more reasonable state and we picked up speed for an uneventful crossing that saw us back in Port Solent for a few well earned sherbets in what was then The Plantation Wine Bar. I think we all learned something that day. Dick and Sue learned they weren't as hardened as they thought they were. My Mom learned that she had sea legs she didn't even know existed, and I learned that whenever I was doing a long trip, I was going to take Wally with me! I think Wally learned not to judge a book by it's cover. He thought, and he admitted to me later, that my Mom was going to be a problem. Little did he know the problem would be the hardened sailors. I always look back on that trip with a feeling of satisfaction. As you can imagine, I've dined out on the story a few times. The more wine I've drunk, the higher the waves and the stronger the winds, but the base story, the truthful unexaggerated version, is shown here. Sadly, neither my Mom or Wally are here any more. My Mom loved that boat, and the boat that followed the 45. I have no doubt that her love of boating was as a direct result of the enthusiasm and professionalism that Wally showed that day. He just had an aire of confidence about him that helped me overcome my fears, and continue on to be a boat owner of 23 years duration, and still going. I miss them both! Phil Weaver