Frank, an engineer by training from a garage-owning family, was a cautious seaman, planning each trip carefully and customising his boats to suit the conditions he was expecting to meet. He tackled trips that would terrify any 'normal' sailor: like sailing to Iceland or Norway of from Florida to Canada. I doubt that he enjoyed capsizing in the middle of the North Sea but that did not put him off planning similar voyages when he was plenty old enough to know better. His books have inspired thousands of sailors.
Wanderer was initially retired to Greenwich but, in Margaret's words, found a new lease of life when she came to Falmouth, featuring in a number of exhibitions including Mad Dogs, and Englishmen? whose title was partially inspired by Frank's exploits. She received regular greetings cards and flowers from Margaret.
Frank and Margaret became volunteers and, in the early days taught us all how to talk to our visitors as they shared stories of their travels and the joy of sailing. One never quite knew when they were going to turn up but they would be there one morning, chatting away as though they had never left; stayed for a few weeks and disappeared as suddenly as they had come.
Frank's fame was legendary. In a stiff force 5/6 off Barmouth on a cold winter's day, wrapped up in several extra layers of clothing, he was hailed by another sailor, worried that the conditions were a bit extreme: 'Who do you think you are? Frank Dye or someone'. 'Yes', came Frank's simple and honest reply as he sailed through the surf.
Amongst the moments I cherish was sailing with Frank in the Museum's Wayfarer, Never Say Die. He refused to take the helm, assuming that I was a better helmsman (!) and simply enjoyed being out on the water. He was the perfect crew, politely dropping the mainsail at exactly the right time so that we gently glided into the pontoon under our own way. Nothing would keep Frank and Margaret from the water. When they were last here I asked how things were going and was told that they had been out sailing the previous weekend as usual, creek-crawling in Norfolk. This would have been fine in younger people and if it had not been February.
A postcard arrived from Margaret today: 'Just to tell you that Frank died peacefully in hospital yesterday. I was there and we talked about you all in Cornwall. He was wearied by the long hard East Coats winter and he hated inactivity. We sailed here as usual on Christmas Day ... Coming to Cornwall retained our happiest memories ...'
Let me end with the words of this quiet, modest, humble man:
'Offshore cruising in an open boat can be hard, cold, wet, lonely and occasionally miserable, but it is exhilarating too. To take an open dinghy across a hundred miles of sea, taking weather as it comes; to know that you have only yourself and your mate to rely on in an emergency; to see the beauty of dawn creep across the ever restless and dangerous ocean; to make a safe landfall - is wonderful and all of these things develop a self-reliance that is missing from the modern, mechanical, safety-conscious civilised world.'
Frank Dye, 28 April 1929 - 16 May 2010
Jonathan Griffin
