In 1971 there was a time I was dying. In a yacht on a lake. And my brother saved me. I was a young girl in my yacht with my brother. We " canned out " and I, like my brother, fell into the dark and cold gloom of very troubled water.
It did not matter where it happened, but that it happened.
We were going to die. Cold water. Deep, cold, dark and endless water. Yet we were saved. Through determination, love and hard work.
I had been a keen sailor for a few years. After all, growing up on a lake meant that my pastimes would have something to do with water sports.
We went water skiing. Great fun as long as you didn't get the dreaded rush of water into your nether regions. That was not only painful but also very embarrassing but great entertainment for the lads. I learned early on that a bikini was not the best suit to wear whilst traversing water at high speed.
I went rowing. My little dinghy would take me out onto the lake and I could spend hours drifting and being content in my own company and that of a good book.
One summer, a young lad was staying with his grandparents .... just down the road from me. He had a P Class yacht. A little thing. And we went sailing in it. My days of rowing were over. I suppose that I decided to trade in wind power ( puff puff ) for wind power.
I asked my parents if I could have a yacht.
They obliged.
And so it was that I abandoned my " fossil fuel " ( for, after all, are we not carbon based? ) for wind-powered transportation over the lake.
But one day out sailing with my brother, things went wrong.
I was about 15 years old. We tipped over. All my training went out the window. You know the ones... when we deliberately tipped the yacht and practiced righting it. This day, things went badly wrong.
My legs got tangled in the sheeting – the ropes that control the sails – and I sank below the yacht into the depths of the lake. I was wearing a parka and it filled up with water. I was drowning. I was going to die.
I can still remember the swirl of the water and the cold grave that I was confronting. All these years later. My vision was gone; the water so dark and dense; my movement was becoming limited due to the cold and I was immersed in a deep darkness that I have never seen before or since.
I was dying. Suddenly, I felt a tug at my feet.
Someone was down in the cold water and trying, in the darkness, to get me free of the ropes. Someone held my hand and emerged out of the water. Pushing me up into the upturned cabin of the yacht. “Don’t worry. We are going to be OK.”
It was my brother.
My parka was weighing me down. My feet were entwined. He was supporting me in the upturned cabin of the yacht.
The lake water was cold and it was dark and had limited visibility – yet he dived down and repeatedly tried to release my feet from the rope.
We were both cold and, even today, all these years later, I can remember with clarity, that we were both fighting for our lives.
Only my brother did not have to.
He was free.
He could have swum away and said that I was lost. Drowned. But he did not. He kept diving down and coming up. He worked his arse off to save me. And he did.
He freed my legs from the ropes and held my hand and swam with me to safety on the top of the upturned yacht.
I cannot help but think that we are drowning right now. Seriously.
Our feet are caught in the sheeting and we are being pulled under.
Where is our big brother? Isn’t our government supposed to be our big brother?
Not OUR BIG BROTHER.
1984 is usurping 1971 and, for myself, I prefer MY Big Brother to current government's BIG BROTHER government. Or many of our State Governments in Australia and America.
Thanks brother, you saved my life, and God bless you.
Brothers look after you. They do not spy on you, betray you or leave you to drown.
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