I never got my boat back.

My family were fishermen. They had been for centuries. When my father died, I was only seven; I never learned how to fish. When I was fourteen I launched my father's old boat. I hoisted the sail as I had seen him do; it all came as naturally to him. I was so excited on that day, I knew I would make my family proud, my mother was always telling me how wonderful my father was and hoping (very loudly I might add) that I would live up to the family name.

But, no, my first time on a fishing vessel was a disaster. I sat in the boat, watching my mother wave me goodbye (she had come to see me off), and somehow hoping that the sails would pick up a nonexistent breath of wind. I still don't know how she expected me to sail the boat on instinct.

After five minutes of this, my mother seemed to decide that I wasn't worth any more time, and turned to go home. It put a bit of a damper on my excitement but I knew I could do it.

That was until I realised that the boat was slowly sinking. I gave a very girly shriek and jumped onto the edge of the dock, except I didn't reach. One of my legs scraped painfully down one of the nails used for tying up mooring ropes and landed in the water. Thankfully I had been able to swim ever since I was small; I managed to get to the steps and was feeling sorry for myself when I remembered the boat. I turned around quickly and then looked on in dismay as the cabin slowly sunk under the surface. My friend eventually found me slumped against a fence, watching the spot where the mast had just disappeared.

I do not want to remember what happened when I got home. I have several bruise scars on my back to this day.

That night I was walking on the beach, wandering what I was going to do with my life. I slouched along in the moonlight, wincing every so often when my back or my leg gave a particularly painful twinge. When I reached the other side of the promenade, I collapsed onto a bench and stared out to sea. The half moon was shining and making patterns that danced in the water. A dark shadow crossed the path of the moonlight. In fact, it looked at if it was approaching me, slowly getting larger.

After awhile I realised what it was- the little lifeboat that had always sat on the edge of my father's fishing boat.

It washed up on the beach. It had a little water in it, but otherwise it was unharmed. I pulled it into the bushes and came back to it everyday. It became my favourite pastime to work on it. I replaced the wood but by bit, sanded and polished it until I was able to go out in it.

That boat was my pride and joy.

Fifty years later, I still loved the boat as much as much as I ever did, although I had started to hire it out. I lived in the house that I had lived in as a boy- my mother having passed away thirty years before. It was the middle of summer and the days were bright and sunny, but at night, storms blew over trees and whipped the sea into a salty spray. On this particular day I was sitting in the back room of my friend Geoff's shop working out how much money I had earned from boat hire in the last month.

It was very cold, one of the coldest summers on record and I was wearing a Jersey and thick woollen socks.

I heard the tinkle of a bell that told me someone had entered the shop. Five minutes later, Geoff came in.

"There's a man out there wanting to hire out your boat. Be careful though, he looks as though he might sink it!"

He said with a wink.

I went through into the main shop. Inside there was a big beefy man with a red face, a big moustache and not much hair on his head. He was wearing the look of a slightly mad person and carried a plastic carrier bag and a long thin case under one arm.

"Vernon Dursley"

He grunted, sticking out a pudgy hand which I shook.

"I would like to borrow your boat."

I looked him in the eye.

"Yes, you can hire my boat. It'll be £4.50 an hour."

"Fine"

We walked outside and down a small costal path to the car park. The only car there was a sleek black- very expensive looking, car. Three people were sitting in it, a very bony looking woman with wispy blonde hair and a horsy looking face, a very fat boy who looked very much like a pig, and, a little way away from the other two, a short, skinny boy with jet black hair and bright green eyes.

"Found the perfect place!"

Said Mr. Dursley

"Come on! Everyone out!"

They all climbed out of the car.

"Storm forecast for tonight!"

I honestly couldn't see why Mr. Dursley looked so pleased about it; he was grinning and rubbing his hands together. I was so preoccupied that I didn't notice what he said next.

"And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat."

A stab of annoyance passed over me. I walked over, pointed to the boat, and was about to point out that he would be HIRING the boat, while trying not to look rude, when he interrupted me.

"I've already got us some rations, so all aboard!"

The four people clambered aboard my boat. I noticed that the fat boy kept poking the smaller one in the arm.

I watched them row away until they reached a rock a little way out to sea. It seemed to have a small hut on it. I turned away and walked back into the shop.

The next morning, I was up at cock crow and waiting up by the beach by which the Dursleys departed. An owl swept through the sky and towards the hut. I'd never seen an owl at night before, let alone in the daytime. I was completely amazed. I took out a book and prepared to wait. The morning air was warmer than it had been all summer and reading was very pleasant.

About half an hour later, I looked up to see the boat coming back across the water, except only one of the people that had gone across in the boat was returning. The boy with the black hair was now accompanied by the biggest man I had ever seen in my entire life. He was at least three times as broad as a normal man and he had a length of straggly knotted beard. And, if that wasn't odd enough, the boat was rowing itself!

But, of course, I know what that was now. I know very well, but to be honest, I wish I'd never found out.

I wish I'd never found out.