……’$15,000 Sports Council grant some years before………..Well, anyway, Ben and Joan were out tandem surfing one day and, ummm, ah…………………………

Watch for the next exciting episode!

Will they pull off their inside- the-

tube-loop together? Will Ben stab

Joan to death with his credit card?

What will happen to the Oceanic? And

what will the Wasters say? In case

they don’t say anything, you can

finish the story yourself. Start here:

Eventually the full 5 parts to the tale was printed in Wessex Surf Clubs magazine Tube News in Aug 1984 and here is is;

The Exlife File

A Tale of Guts, Thunder and Surfing – by SW & DP

Part One: A Future For The Past?

In the year 2025 the Isle of Wight is a piece of soil, roughly triangular in shape, about 10 miles wide. During the late 1980′s a rapid an unexpected shift in weather patterns led to dominant and very vigorous areas of low pressures tracking east-north-east along an imaginary line from the Azores to Denmark. Complete meteorological nonsense, but who cars?

Ocean swells of unprecedented size and consistency washed out large areas of land from the Needles right through to St Catherine’s so that, in the year in which we speak, the ‘back of the Wight’ as it is known today, has long since succumbed to the relentless erosive power of the sea. Science knew no solution; councils (even Liberal ones), were powerless to resist; the Nettlestone Ladies Circle had a debate about it; and even the mighty National Suss saw all its hard-won lands being washed away by an endless procession of 25 foot close-outs. Fie and lackaday!

The local surfing population, however marvelled at their luck. Between 1987 and 1992 there were only fourteen days without waves, and their only problem was that after particularly violent swells they never knew how the coastline had changed and where they might find themselves tubed next……

Well, medical breakthroughs had become commonplace by the end of the century, so that the invention and production of ‘Exlife’ – the Elixir of life itself – did not create much of a stir. The water supply had long since been laced with all sorts of potions from aphrodisiacs to wart curatives, and society accepted with a shrug when the news broke that Exlife imbued the drinker with increased longevity and a partial return to youthful vigour. But for Rex and Rita, one-time hosts of the long lost Sun Inn, Exlife was the best thing since the ten dollar litre. Aged in the extreme, they snatched at the chance to restore their youth, so that over 90 years old, and with the faculties restored, they took on the stewardship of the ‘Oceanic’, a floating boozer anchored on roughly the same site as the old Sun before it was reclaimed by the sea.

Local Surfing was not left in the soup during this period of explosive development. Members of the Wight Association of Surfing Tube Riders, (W.A.S.T.E.R.S. for short), had multiplied to over 250 by the time Rex and Reet rejuvenated themselves with Exlife. The backbone of their clientele at the Oceanic was mainly wasters who dropped in, and then dropped in for a demi-litre between sets, or rather more at night, to rap about the day’s waves and watch the late, late surf show being performed under the arc lights outside. The Oceanic boasted the very latest in hydro-kinetic technology, (which only really meant that it floated), and it was permanently anchored in the deep channel inshore from Needles reef – artifically laid down with a $15,000 Sports Council grant some years before………….

Well, summer 2005 was a scorcher. Tourists flocked to the Island in unprecedented numbers, stretching the hyperfoil services to the limit. Some may think it strange that the idea of a road link with the mainland in the form of a bridge or tunnel (which had, incidently had its first real public airing  as long ago as 1982), had never actually come to fruition. But the plain fact of the matter was that, with erosion continuing at such an alarming pace, there wouldn’t be any Island to link with before long, so the authorities dismissed the idea asa waste of effort and went off to play golf instead. They would have more than enough to occupy them before much longer, anyway…….

However, this trans-Solent hassle did nothing to dampen the Slicks annual ‘beano’ to the Isle of Wight. Mick Slick drank to his heart’s content in the Oceanic; his wife Daph, spent the entire time horizontal on the beach getting as tanned as possible (but only so she could crow about it to the neighbours when she got back home); Darren and Karen, their teenage kids, took advantage of cheap board hire and thrashed it out in the soup with the masses; and Gran Slick spent the time engaged in a mixture of all three. It was with great regret, therefore, that they swayed off back to London, drink-drunk, sun-drunk, and surf-drunk respectively, but more especially as Gran had fallen in with the locals, had decided to retire to the Island, so it meant leaving her behind. Trading the Big Smoke for the Big Stoke, she called.

It was not just the sun, waves or holiday euphoria which persuaded Gran Slick to hanf around, so much as her new-found friends and their unique attitude to life. Also, it will be remembered that Exlife worked ‘miracles’ and this was the biggest single enabling factor of all. For the locals’ part, they liked her – and everyone agreed it was good to see the old trout stoked. None of this is to say that they abondoned their native style for the surfing cult. Exlife rejuventaed the body, but they still conducted themselves according to their age….well, mostly anyway. Sundays they would congregate on the beach by the band stand, genteely sipping a few pre-surf cocktails, while the strains of the palm orchestra, borne aloft by a light offshore, wafted out across the morning sand to the line up. It is true that gran Slick tended to prefer a few litres at the Oceanic with the lads, but felt she ought to socialise with her peers as well. To both these groups of people, she was something of an enigma, and so her fame began to spread – not least because of her rapidly increasing ability in the waves, which, as the more cynical (and less capable) amongst them remaked, correlated closely with her booze consumption.

Now, it will be realised that the whole south coast, not just the Isle of Wight, was something of a retirement hideaway for folks all over the country. Moreover, those most likely to benefit from Exlife came from the same age group. None of this really occured to Gran Slick, or if it did, it didn’t bother her. Why should it? She was having the time of her life! Keeping wet all day with her mates, learning to appreciate the pattern of tide and swell, two-stepping the night away with the palm orchestra under a red harvest moon, getting more razzed than was proper, but simply surfing it off the following morning…. it was an idyllic existence.

But the forces of nature cannot be easily be tampered with. Little did Gran Slick, or indeed anyone, know that the very substance that had made it all possible – Exlife, the exlixir of life itself – was soon to wreak a most terrible revenge.

Part Two: ‘Arry Devo.

Through the door of the Oceanic, into the smoke, beer fumes, and general boozy hubbub, past the bar, under the videostat screen and into the back room, through a door ambiguously labelled ‘This Room Is Available For Private Functions – Enquire At The Bar’.

Inside, an intense game of shove-dollar is in progress. We enter the scene during the beer break, eavesdropping on a conversation between to crusty locals.

‘Where’s ‘Arry tonight?

‘Sill ol’ bugger devoed yesterday’

‘Oh! My missus said she saw a video report about the government trying to sort it out. Sounds like the usual crap to me…..’

Here he tails off, realising his gaffe.

Part Three: Shoob-Dooby-Doo-Whap, Devo-Do-Wap.

Autumn. The sun again moving away from the Tennyson, or what was left of it after the sea had done its work. Exlife coursing through the veins of the Southern Water Underground Authority, and then down the throats of the population. Gran Slick improving her surfing performance with every tide.

In the meantime there were a number of very strange incidents, dotted around the country, which, notwithstanding, hardly even made the local press.. In Aberdeen a respectable solicitor on the verge of retirement ‘disappeared’. The only clue was a large brown mass of material on his office floor.Likewise, a middle aged housewife in Oxford just vanished, apparently. In the post that day had been notification that she had won first prize in the state lottery. The bewildered husband discovered the evidence on the front doormat on arriving home from work: atacky brown mass just inside the door, and the lottery ticket resting neatly on top. These two examples were repeated perhaps half a dozen times more in places a far afield as Penzance and Thurso, Aberystwyth and Cromer.Over a matter of weeks the incidents increased in frquency, made national news and became the talking point in every house in the country.Doctors, Scientists – in fact, all the best brains in medicine – were baffled. There were no common factors to the phenomenon, since it was no respecter of age, sex, class or geographical location. All, that is, except one: the mysterious Brown Mound. Very soon it took on the proportions of an epidemic, there was an emergency debate about it in Parliment (and the Nettlestone Ladies Circle), and eventually it was disclosed that the sudden demise of all these innocents was due to the hitherto undetected side-effect of Exlife. Obviously, the emergence of this most embarressing fact caused problems. The pharmaceutical industry was in uproar; MegaPharm, the offending company, lost credibility overnight, shares plummetted and the board of directors left the country on masse, whilst the Exlife Project Director jumped off the Telecom Tower along with his entire team of research chemists. Um-hmmm!

Perhaps more embarressing still was the unpalatable discovery that these so called Brown Mounds were found to be composed entirely of human waste material..

During these awful weeks of accusation, finger-pointing and counter-accusation, the Exlife Effect, as it offcially became dubbed, continued unabated, Contrary to first assessments of the effect, which said it struck without warning, in certain parts of the country there was a ‘softening’ of the process so that the victim had ample warningof his demise in the familiar form of rather too many visits to the toilet. This might have been due to the hardness of the water in which Exlife was dissolved, (as was the case with Southern England), but everyone was too busy working on an antedote to worry overmuch about that.

In addition to the national chaos, there was a further diruption on a local level. Sparks flew as never before in the hallowed chamber sof the IWCC when it was discovered that council officials had accepted a bribe from a leading tissue manufacturer who wanted to secure a massive contract – this was one of the many emergency measures implemented to relieve ‘distress’. Another included a massive injection of capital into the ‘public amenities’ building programme…… none of which was helped by the striking sewage workers whon demanded a huge wage rise due to the increased workload.

The final insult to the human race came when a government spokeman sheepishly reported on the videostat that Exlife itself was not really at fault, but that confusion had arisen due to a mistake in the mass of written material which inevitably accompanies any major project – and then stammered ‘excuse me’ and rushed off camera looking very full in the face. The blunder had arisen when an overworked secretary made a mistake when typing out the formula for Exlife, for filing in the company vaults. Complications erose because MegaPharm also produces Exlax, an old herbal remedy with an entirely different function to Exlife, and it appeared that the secretary had confused the two.

Meanwhile, the Effest was beginning to pass into local parlance as ‘devoing’ (from the definitive ‘to devo’) or ‘getting the DV’s', both bastardisations of the official work ‘devolving’, first mentioned in a useless government Brown Paper called the ‘Evolution of Devolution’ Hence also the Devo Squad, (coloquially, ‘DS’), which consisted of local task forces empowered to shovel the remains of the victims into plastic sacks and cart them off to collection points for eventual analysis, in the exhaustive search for an antidote. Researchers declared that it was not enough to simply withdraw Exlife from the water supply because once in the digestive system it affected one’s metabolism almost indefinitely, so all they could do was carry on prodding specimens into test tubes and hope for the best.

Part Four: ‘Fiddling While Rome Burns’

“At Least”, said Gran Slick cynically, one autumn day in the line up. “I’ve got an excuse for soiling my suit now, can’t blame it on all those darned outside sets!” “Well your new suits due soon, anyway Gran”, replied one of the other surfers. “Yep”, she answered. “Any day now. One of those Gulskin ones with ‘D’ Seal. Brillian! I reckon we’ve got a responsibility to wear turdproof suits these days…. just a tick, what’s that?… OUTSIDE!” and then, looking down, and with a curl of the lip, “Oh no, not again!”

Yes, pollution at sea was yet another worrying ramification of the Effect – for water folk, at least. It was all very well for devo on land where one’s remains could be disposed of gracefully, but in the water it was a different matter. Even in the early stages, those smitten with the Effect on land always had a sporting chance of reaching a public amenity in time, and ‘do the bizz’ in private. But in the ocean…. It didn’t concern Gran too much: ‘Que Sera’ an all that. Local surfers just carried on in their more or less unflappable way, handling each new swell better than the previous one and since the chill autumn days were now on them forsaking the palm orchestra for the warm atmosphere of the Oceanic whenever they needed refreshment. Strangely, none of their number had done the Big D yet, and though a few pessimists thought it was inevitable, sooner or later, they mainly put their resistance down to an inherent fitness.

It was around this time that great interest was aroused by an archaeological find on a dig on the south west coast of the Island. Bronze Age Skeletons were found encased in a stratum of sandstone about 30 metres up from the beach. At the same time, a descendant of the crank 20th Century Von Mescalin advanced the theory that a human holocaust of a similar nature had occured deep in the deepest past and that the Effect was therefore subtely but indelibly etched into the DNA of the species. Hence, it was only a matter of time and favourable circumstances for the cycle to begin again. Certainly, the Bronze Age finds on the south west coast lent weight to Von Mescalin’s unlikely theory, since the position in which the skeletons were discoveredsuggested that the victims had been deep in a spitting primordial tube at the time of their demise – and that they quite obviously had devoed in the excitement, fright – or a combination of both. Von Mescalin also advanced a meto-scientific theory that environmental conditions then were being duplicated now – ie, massive storm disturbance at sea – and confidently predicted that an absolute mother of a swell was, without doubt, due.

However, none of this took precedent in the media over the central problem of neutralising the Effect, and about the only groups to take much notice of Von Mescalin were those who stood to lose (environmentalists, National Suss etc.), or those who stood to gain (archaeologists, Von Mescalin himself, Gran Slick and friends). What coverage the philosophers ideas did receive  was mainly negative, the official view being that the old fool ought to address himself to more pressing problems instead of farting around in dusty archives with weather charts and back issues of Wight Water, Tube News etc. in order to research his theory. it was also “reprehensible to fiddle while Rome burned”, but all Von Mescalin could say to that was “I’m tone deaf and Haly pisses mme off”.

Part Five: Devologue of Disaster

Gran was on her thrid litre of the lunchtime session on a late December Sunday, killing time during a very rare flat spell. After two days without waves she was a bit edgy, a bit bored. At least she could keep herself in trim by paddling out to the Oceanic instead of taking the amphibus like everyone else. Anyway, it was low tide right now, and the meteocast was about due, so she had the landlord switch the videostate to BBC 9 and settled back with a fresh booze to watch it. Most of the other wasters were there too, jaded and surprised at the lack of swell, so they all clustered around the screen in anticipation of what the meteocaster had to offer. Two days of calm seas were almost unprecedented  in living memory, and so there was an air of expectancy in the bar of the Oceanic that afternoon: surely it couldn’t go on much longer. Could it?

Anticipation boiled over into delight at the infra-red satellite image which flickered onto the screen – for there, like some global whirligig, lay the deepest, most vigorous depression they’d ever see: it was so-oo-o low! So Von Mescalin was right! This was the big mother of a swell he’d been predicting all along. The moment the meteocast was over, there was a second of stunned silence and then the air was buzzing with cat-calls, loud conversation , hoots, round buying and general euphoria as they began to psyche each other up for the appoaching surf. Plans were made, wagers agreed on, strategies discussed….. that right there was an improptu party at the Oceanic, and no-one would have guessed that, only a few hous before a air of despondency had been hanging over the place.

Monday was awful – like waiting for payday, holidays, the sneeze that never comes and the right wave to try your stick out on, all rolled into one. By evening time everyone was convinced it had to be on the next days tide, about midday. So they waited and waited; minutes turned into hours,each one five times longer than the last, interminable, dragging, endless…..

Tuesday it wass there!! Already it was overhead and building with every set, solid liquid lines marching towards the remnants of the coast. Cool, passive blue consealing awesome power, honed to perfection by a steady north easterly breeze. The depleted island under a pale canopy of winter sun, braced for another onslaught. Nobody ever say such a frenzied rush to go surfin’ as there was that morning at the beach.

Ever got your foot stuck down you wetsuit leg? Tripped over your leash running down the cliff? Had an expectant, thumping pulse before pushing off into the soup?So did they, all of ‘em: Gran Slick almost over the top with it all. DV’s, erosion, Exlife; all forgotten in the headlong rush into the water, so anxious were they for their stoke.

Hands and arms dipping and pulling through cold, thick water, stroking through the medium, head up and eyes in the horizon – watching and ready to react. The board feels right, fresh flakes of wax floating off in its wake: Todays the day.

Gran Slick and the others paddled swiftly out on the rip, taking them under the shadow of the Oceanic, where spectators clustered at windows and out to the artifical Needles Reef, over half a mile from shore. There was much friendly rivalry this day – part of the psyching up process – as everyone laid claim, in advance, to the biggest wave, deepest tube, steepest re-entry; but Gran had become a little detached form it all. To tell the truth, she was just a bit worried. Today was testing time; after her meteoric rise to surfing fame in only a few months, Gran Slick felt she needed to pull out all the stops to maintain respect and keep the kudos flowing.

All the time the swell was building and with each outside set they responded by paddling further out after each wave. It was really pumping – 10, 12, 15? – and yet still not maxed out! Gran’s first few waves were much needed tasters, confidence boosters which were ridden with a competent, if not an explosive finesse. Back at the line up after her fourth such wave, things went quiet for a while – a lull. A false sense of security was just beginning to settle over the area when a call of ‘outside’ sparked off a frantic scratching towards the horizon. This was the Big One! Gran Slick’s insides churned as the realisation dawned that she was directly in line for it as it loomed up before her. No backing out now – this one had her name on it. Blood, Exlife and adrenalin sand in her ears as she swung the board round, paddled deep and hard twice; jumped to her feet and rocketted downwards, fighting the uprush of wind on this waves’s face. A deep, sweeping bottom turn, way out onto the flat, as the fortex threatened to engulf her at any moment, and then another arcing turn off the top sending a sheet of spume high into the air.

Binoculars focussed on Gran Slick from the south west windows of the Oceanic; muted expressions like “Jesus she’s going for this one”, and “Nicely, Gran, shit or bust!” Gran Slicks board performing like a dream, foot to the floor out of the tube and accelerating away with nothing to lose….

She was riding intuitively, riding on nerves and instinct, with no time for thought or rational assessment. It was all happening so fast – yet she’d been on this wave all her life. The stoke was unbelievable! Every manoevre better than the last, flying out of the turns and, well, just plain rad! Ooo-ee!! The boys would love this one! As the wave humped up, steepening for its final attack, Gran Slick marshalled all her faculties – and pulled off the best re-entry of her short career, a vertical magic carpet ride which defied description.

A short career? Too short. Gran Slick glanced up and was horrified at what lay ahead. No time to react, Even less time for evasive action. Shit or bust, she’d said.

As the wave towered over, and threatened to engulf, the venerable floating boozer itself, Gran Slick slammed into the Oceanic – and devoed mightily all over the south west windows.

And so, many years later, long, long after the last particles of soil – all that was left of the once verdant Isle of Wight – had disolved into the ocean, it was still said of the legendary Grans Slick that she brought new meaning to that imortal surfing phrase, “ripping the shit out of it.”

The BBC Countryfile team turned up at Compton on Thursday morning in style with a lovely blue VW Camper from Isle of Wight Camper Van Holidays. Ellie Harrison met up with Scott Gardner of Wight Water and son of Geoff ‘Ned’ Gardner, (one of the first to surf on the Island back in the sixties) to have a surf lesson.

The car park was a busy place while the film crew got ready for the days shoot and Scott got Ellie set up with a board. Ellie got a few tips from Sid Pitman one of the first members of the Isle of Wight Surf Club that was formed in 1967.

The conditions weren’t ideal with strong onshore winds but the sun came out and there were waves and Scott went out and grabbed a quick wave showing Ellie how it’s done. After a few lessons on the sand and a some warm up excersises Ellie and Scott finally hit the water for the lesson.  After a couple of initial tumbles Ellie looked like she was getting the hang of it and having a blast at the same time. By the end of the lesson Ellie was up and riding waves and getting huge cheers from everyone on the clifftop (sorry I missed you standing up Ellie, I’d gone to pick up Archie’s surfboard).

Rob Drake-Knight from Rapanui (and recently ‘Come Dine with Me’ fame) went in the water as spotter for Jules Benham the BBC Countryfile researcher and water cameraman. After Ellie’s lesson some of the guys from the Isle of Wight Surf Club went out and grabbed a few waves too. I just got back in time to see Joe Truman take out a 1970′s Tiki single fin surfboard to try out.

Ellie then went onto speak with Matt Harwood (Chairman of the Isle of Wight Surf Club), Mart Drake-Knight (Rapanui), Alan Reed (British Masters Longboard Champion), Mark New with Betty Tricket about Archie’s surfboard and wetsuit from the sixties.

Alan Reed then got to take Archie’s homemade surfboard  for a surf. Archie had surfed until he was 74 and the board hadn’t been in the sea for 15 years. Betty was really looking forward to seeing the board in the water again and remarked as Alan started to paddle it out that it reminded her of seeing Archie paddling the board all those years a go.

Al came in after catching a few waves saying how well it rode and it was a really lovely moment when Betty walked up a agve Al a big hug. Archie’s surfboard got a lot of interest and many of the the boys said how the shape of the board was actually ahead of it’s time with quite a lot of rocker in it.

At the end of the days shooting I bumped into Steve Williams who remembered Archie when he used to turn up the beach in his old Ford Anglia and walk down past the wreck to catch  a few waves. The episode is due to air on the 12 February 2012.

British Hovercraft Corporation (B.H.C.) had an apprentiuce hostel and training centre located in the old Naval Hospital in Whippingham on top of the hill in East Cowes and near to Osborne House. There were dormitories, workshops and a drawing school in the old wards which was a row of long buildings connected by a covered walkway. The dormitories were probably a bit like old being in a boarding school with rows of beds along the sides and lockers in the middle. Each dormintory could hold about 30 apprentices.

This is where Alan Hunter, Geoff ‘Ned’ Gardner, Derek ‘Cosmic Leashes’ Thompson, Tad Ciastula, Dougie Clark and Bob Booth started their working lives as Apprentice Engineers. The other apprentices were either from the mainland or came from parts of the Island where there was no sufficient public transport to be able to get them to work on time so they stayed at the hostel. The apprentices were a mixed bunch with Islanders, ex public school boys and lads from the ‘Metal Box Company’ in Croydon, London and the ‘Metal Box Company, Carlisle, Scotland who did their first years apprenticeship at the Training Centre on the island.

It was a melting pot of different people, many of whom went onto great things. All around the hostel were the old Saunders Roe Test Centre, with test tanks, windtunnels and various works. At the back of the dormitories was a big tin shed which would always be a hive of activity. The apprentices would spend their free time working on there own personal projects from bikes, motorbikes, scooters, cars, fly by wire model aeroplanes and shaping surfboards. This tin shed was just as essential to their learning as the Training Centre was.

Alan remembers that Tad’s father was a designer on the Saunders-Roe Skeeter, a two-seat training and scout helicopter. The Skeeter has the distinction of being the first helicopter to be used by the British Army Air Corps.

The apprentices were paid very little and out of their wages was taken rent/keep for staying at the hostel too. So on a friday morning they would trek over to Cowes to sign on as the government would subsidise apprentices wages. Some of the apprentices were lucky enough to do some cash work on a saturday morning reapiring hovercraft skirts for the Seaspeed Hovercrafts. Alan remembers being told of a story of when Tad was winching up a hovercraft to get at the skirts to repair them when the winch malfunctioned and tipped the hovercraft on end. Alan said if it had gone completely over the hovercraft would have been completely written off.

The apprentices were paid on a thursday and with what little they had, they would always be seen crossing the fields behind the hostel and around the back of the St Mildred’s Church at Whippingham and down to The Folly Inn. Geoff  ‘Ned’ Gardner was fondly remembered as a real character and for entertaining the other apprentices with impressions while they were at the pub. These were not your normal impressions but were amazing impressions of outboard motors. Alan remembers his impression of a Seagull Outboard Motor being started up particularly good.

Sunday nights were also spent at the Folly Inn, usually sitting out on the decking listening to the Goon Show on the radio and drinking scrumpy. On a few occasions Alan remembers Tad, Dougie, Derek and himself taking a couple of rowing boats from the slipway at BHC and rowing to the Woodvale Hotel in Gurnard for a few drinks.

Alan remembered buying a huge old Bilbo surfboard from Dougie Clark in about 1968/69 but admits he never really got into surfing. Dougie on the other hand wanted to make surfing his lifestyle, deciding to no longer wear shoes or socks as he wanted to harden his feet for surfing, and also decided he wasn’t going to wear a shirt and tie anymore, opting for a sweatshirt. The managers at BHC went absolutely mad but Dougie would not budge on the matter and insisted he would not wear shoes or a shirt and tie anymore.

In the tin shed/workshop at the back of the dormitories Derek Thompson brought in his old Lambretta Scooter anouncing that it looked really tatty and the spent weeks hand painting it in the workshop. When it was finished Alan says it was the most amazing paint job on a scooter he had ever seen. Derek jumped on the newly painted scooter and rode off down the road. After a few hundred yards one of the panels fell off and scraped along the road getting really badly scratched. Derek was gutted.

Tad and Dougie spent some of their time out in the old tin shed designing and shaping a knee board like the one George Greenough rides in Crystal Voyager with a scooped deck. Dougie also had an old 105E Anglia car and Tad and himself would always be driving off to the beach at Compton when they could to get waves or just to be at the beach.

In the dormitories Tad used to do this thing where he would stand on the edge of his bed and fall forward only putting his hands up in front of his chest to catch the fall as he landed flat on his bed. One day on the beach  when Tad went back to the car Dougie and Derek dug a huge hole where Tad had put his towel and then carefully laid the towel back down again over the hole. When Tad came back he stood at the bottom of the towel and dropped (just like he would on his bed), but this time he fell straight through his towel and into the huge hole. Alan says it was very dangerous and Tad was lucky not to have broken his neck, understandably Tad was furious.

Alan remembers one day Ned getting a really nasty gash across his head that needed stitches after pulling into a barrel at the bay.

Another surfer Alan remembered was a girl called Merry Hughes who went off to the south of Fance and Biarritz for a whole summer. When she returned from France Alan says that all of a sudden she got lots of attention from the boys as she had blossomed into an absolute stunner.

I told Alan that I’d been in touch with Tad and was hoping to speak to Bob Booth soon too but wondered if he knew the where abouts of some of the other apprentices. Alan says he remembers Dougie Clark heading off to Morroco to teach English language but hadn’t heard from him since and the last time he saw Derek Thompson was at Alexandra Palace at a Wind and Surf Exbo in the late 80′s advertising his leashes and Mountain Bikes. At the same show he said Tad had a special booth where he was shaping boards, which would have been about the time of Vitamin Sea surfboards.

Alan said he always used to try and keep in touch or at least find what the old apprentices were upto and it was great to see the write up on Tad and Sue and that they were still living the dream.

Alan also remember one day down at Little Hope Beach waiting for the waves to pick up when Carrots came flying down the hill right from the top on his skateboard until he hit the curb at the bottom and ended up in a heap.

A couple of weeks a go I got a great email from Tad and Sue. Tad had managed to persuade Sue to dig out some old pics from the 70′s for us to use here on the website and this is what Tad had to say.

Sue and I have been married 40 years this year. She is still the love of my life and has been my constant companion on everything we have done and the many places we have worked and travelled to.

Shots from  Summer 71 after Sue and I got married in June.

Trip to Biarritz and Portugal

Shaping shots from Portugal.

Some from Canaries 72/73 in tent on south of Gran Canaria.

You can see all the old crew Roger / Sandy /Keith Williams / Tad /Sue/

Dave Mercer don’t see Andrea but she was there (Fitted a new piston in their J 4 van in Spain)

Tony Mac was there – me and him on the park bench.

Really a long time ago – still surfing that will never change. Surfing  never dies –  it will always be a part of us.

Trip already booked to Bali for 3 weeks over Christmas we have a favorite place we always go. The waves are always great and Bali is such a special place. We have loved it from the first time we ever went some 30 years ago!! We will always go back there as often as we can. Working from Thailand it is an easy 3 hr. flight – we even take long weekends when the forecast is good.

Good luck with Freshwater Bay – total crap – greed is the very worst kind of evil.

Best regards

Tad and Sue.

After showing Tad’s pics to Keith Williams, Keith remembers a little more to the trip to France.

The restaurant photo was taken in the restaurant at the corner in Guethary by the traffic lights (later a double glazing outlet & then a Pizza parlour) taken soon after Tony & I arrived in late May or June 1973. I remember that it rained really hard during the meal with thunder & lightning and people eating outside had to abandon their tables to escape the torrential rain. I have a mental picture of baskets of soggy bread & glasses of diluted wine left on the tables outside.

There was another mass dinner on that trip at a little café up in the hills behind Baquio in northern Spain. I went up with Tad in the morning to warn the Senora that there would be 12 for dinner that night. As we went in there were a couple of seedy looking characters drinking wine at the bar & half a dozen flies circling above a table footie machine. That night, we took over a back room & all had steak (horse!), egg & chips all washed down with copious amounts of real Sangria. The bill was split 12 ways and came to 18/6 each….that’s 92.5p! Those were the days! In fact that was a bit of a ‘blow-out’ for us, as, when in Spain, we were living on about £2 per week

I remember the problem with Dave Mercer’s van. Tad & Sue turned up at Somo, where Tony & I were still camped, with Dave & Andrea one evening. Fortunately, I had a tent, ready for when my girlfriend flew out to join us some weeks later, so Dave & Andrea had somewhere to sleep. They were with us for about a week, waiting for a new piston to arrive.

We would like to say a great big thanks to Sue for digging out these great pics and sharing them with us.

The cartoon rules were the brainchild of South African artist and surfer Phil Smuts. They were re-drawn here by IOW Surf Club member Carl Dubois.

1. Don’t Drop In

The surfer closest to the breaking part of the wave has the right of way. Always check your inside. To see you didn’t see anyone is inexcusable. This practice is highly dangerous on critical waves.

2. Don’t Hog Waves

With your greater paddling power you’re able to get far more waves than other surfers. Learn to share the waves and give a few. You will get more respect that way.

3. Maintain Control

Never attempt a manoeuvre when failure will cause you to collide with someone. Uncontrolled manoeuvres impress no one. 360s are dangerous in crowded situations. Use a fin at all times as well as seat belts and if inexperienced, a paddle cord

4. Don’t Paddle Out Thru Break

Go around, it’s safe and won’t spoil someones ride.

5. Be Polite

Trading insults and derogatory remarks only creates unnecessary incidents. Keep your cool and be nice.

6. Don’t Endanger Others

Often when you want to take off someone willbe paddling out and be in your way. Alternatively you can see a critical section ahead where, if you wipe-out you will land on top of someone. YOU MUST NOT PROCEED. Let that wave go and wait for another.

7. Share The Sea

If you want to lose the tag ‘Boatman’ you’ll have to play the game according to surfers’ rules. They were there first, so learn to give more than you get. Organised competitions will allow your ability to grow and you’ll learn to share the waves. Join your local club.

On a more serious note Surfing Etiquette signs are going up at Surf beaches all around the world. With surf equipment from body boards to SUP’s becoming cheaper and more accessible and surfing becoming increasingly popular safety and common sense in the water is starting to become an issue.

Betty on their motorcycle at Compton during the 1950's

Archie knew to stay in the water for any length of time they would need wetsuits and so found he could order all the material needed to make their wetsuits from a company near Portsmouth. The kit came with everything you needed, the wetsuit rubber material, zip, the eyelets and hooks and the very strong glue. Betty still remembers Archie measuring her up for her wetsuit which she still has today.

Betty's Wetsuit

Betty also still has the second wetsuit that Archie made for himself and remembers that this kit also came with a pattern and the wetsuit rubber was also lined which made it easier to get on and off and more comfortable.

Archie's 2nd Wetsuit

With the left over bit of material Archie made a little wetsuit for his daughter Sarah. Sarah remebers the trips to the beach with the big wooden surfboard above her head on the sidecar.

Betty & Sarah with wetsuits and surfboard

Here is a great picture of Betty wearing her old wetsuit and sitting on their surfboard in the sea at Compton.

Betty sat on their surfboard wearing her original wetsuit at Compton

After several meetings with the South Coast Surf Club guys at various venues over time, they said it would be a good idea to have a strictly South Coast competition, held on the Island.

Having organised  several club competitions, the committee thought it would be just a case of more of the same. So it was for the first year, but by the 2nd or 3rd years people from other clubs were  expecting a more professional approach following the British Surfing Association’s guide lines with ‘proper’ judges etc, not the ad-hoc arrangements that had suited us over the years.

I should mention at this point that, in addition to the South Coast Surfing Club there was the Wessex Surf Club, a club from West Wittering, the Ordnance Survey Surf Club from Southampton, Brighton Surf Club, the London Surf Club,  Hayling Island Surf Club and the East Kent Surf Club all clamouring to take part. What had started as a bit of fun rapidly deteriorated into grumblings and protests about the somewhat amateurish  organisation over the course of 3-4 years. This was a shame because the majority of visiting surfers actually enjoyed their visits to the Island.

At the first contest, I was fortunate enough  to progress as far as the semi-finals with local knowledge playing a major part in my success. There were many others from the Island who took part over the years, but I believe the most successful was Sid, who made the final one year. Maybe the time has come, with local surfers getting towards the top of the UK rankings, to reprise this South Coast only event.

by Keith Williams

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Below are some Newspaper clippings from 1969 mentioning the up and coming South Coast Surfing Championships. The picture below shows three very well known Island surfers Sid Pitman, Roger Cooper with one of the first surfboards he ever shaped and Rory Angus, finalists of an IOW Surf Club Contest. The article mentions the next big surfing event to take place to be the South Coast Surfing Championships with teams coming from Bournmouth, Brighton and Middlesex.

The first three in the championship (from the left); Sidney Pitman, Roger Cooper (holding his home made board) and Rory Angus

The article below also mentions the South Coast Surfing Championships and that mainland surfers had competed in the Annual IOW Surf Club Championships.