I would also like to give a shoutout for the local heritage days, it’s that time of year again already.

Not only will St Andrew’s Church be open for the NCT Bike Ride, it will also be manned so that visitors and locals alike can go and have a nose around and learn something of its history. You will not be disappointed.

It is also King’s Lynn’s Heritage Open Day on Sunday, when many premises not usually available to the public will be throwing their doors open so that we might go and take a peek. Providing I can still walk, I will certainly be doing this.

I will report on how we got on next week.

<Robert pictured in front of the yachts in Nelson's Dockyard Antigua>

FOLLOWING IN LORD NELSON'S FOOTSTEPS
It's been a few weeks since the last instalment of our Caribbean trip, so with the charity bike ride chapter nearing it's end, allow me to pick this one back up and revisit our trip to Antigua back in January.

Having moved to Norfolk from south of the county line nearly ten years ago now, I have come to like, and even love, many things that the North Folk have to offer.

Although I cannot betray my sporting loyalties – what is it, yellow and green should never be seen – most other aspects of life in my adopted county are most pleasing.

There are only four borders, one with Suffolk, one with Cambridgeshire, one with Lincolnshire and, by far the longest, with the sea.

It is the sea that provides the romanticism. Famous sons of Neptune have originated from this rural land. George Vancouver, who trained under Captain Cook, was later let loose to chart the northwest coast of North America. John Fryer, sailing master of HMS Bounty, was set adrift by Fletcher Christian and his cronies, and, of course, Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson.

As a young officer Nelson was posted to the Caribbean, often known as the fever isles, to help with ridding the seas of a French pestilence, privateers and pirates, who preyed on the cargoes of sugar and spice, and all things nice, being shipped back to the motherland.

It was most important to keep up the supply of sugar in particular. Britain was addicted, and successive governments feared rebellion should the masses not be able to get their fix. Notwithstanding addiction, the taxation levied on these hugely lucrative loads was the only thing that kept the Krapauds from invading our shores.

And so it was, we were in a taxi crossing the island of Antigua, from St John’s in the north, home to a seemingly infinite number of cruise ships, to English Harbour in the south, the onetime home of His Majesty’s Dockyard in the region.

It has now been rechristened Nelson’s Dockyard, which is now part of, to give it its full Sunday name, Nelson’s Dockyard National Park. I am still astounded to think that Nelson hailed from the tiny little village of Burnham Thorpe, not to be confused with its infamous neighbour, Burnham Market, aka Chelsea‑next‑the‑Sea.

I am not sure what he would have thought of the modern incarnation of the North Norfolk Coast. Perhaps he might have liked it. After all, he had climbed the social ladder right to the top, so the gentrification of the area might well have received his approbation.

It is recorded that he never deliberately eschewed his roots, often dropping back into the Norfolk vernacular when angered or excited. Apparently, back in those days it was hard for others to understand. I have some sympathy, except I believe I am fully versed in the language now, to such an extent that our children, from the Essex‑Suffolk border, think that I sound Norfolk. I am not sure that women and men from this corner of the realm would necessarily agree.

I was delighted to discover that he had connections with Ipswich. He held the ceremonial positions of High Steward and High Sheriff of the town. His uniform was a blue jacket with white breeches.

I daresay it is a long shot, but could that be the reason that is the uniform of the only Premier League team in East Anglia? Well, I’m going to take that. Leave you to muse over that one.

Nelson got as far as purchasing an estate in the area for when he hung up his sword and pistol. Alas, that moment never came thanks to a French sharpshooter at Trafalgar. Many say he was too conspicuous prowling the deck of HMS Victory in his much‑decorated blue and white.

His wife, Fanny, and his father, Edmund, did live at Roundwood Farm. In the end, Fanny thought better of this. I am sure tongues must have been wagging, and she moved to Exmouth. The last years of her life were not really imbued with happiness. After all, her husband, despite his pious start to life, had a dreadful reputation for philandering.

Interesting what the attraction was for this short, one‑eyed and one‑armed weedy‑looking bloke. Well, Lady Hamilton, what attracted you to the millionaire seafaring hero?

“What’s your name?” I asked of our taxi driver.

“Nine, man.”

“Nine? How come? Assuming it isn’t your given name.”

There then followed an explanation that was, fortunately, quicker in the telling than in the evolvement of the nickname. When he was a young boy, Nine would be able to sniff out cooking food from just about anywhere on the island.

His friends very quickly realised that he had the smell of a dog so, quite logically, they called him canine. In time this got shortened to just Nine, which is what he is left with today.

“Is it still pertinent today?” I enquired.

“Yeah, damned right it is, man. I love me food, man.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s your real name?”

“Me Christian name is Anderson, man.”

I observed it was the same as a great Antiguan fast bowler of the 1970s, one Sir Anderson Montgomery Everton Roberts. Antigua boasted loads of world‑class players back in those days including Curtly Ambrose, Vivian Richards and Richie Richardson.

Readers of my novels will realise that one of the characters, when forced to change his name for his own protection, chose the moniker Curtly Vivian Richardson. Please visit the website to learn more.

As is always the case with foreign taxi drivers, especially the men, they eventually get onto the subject of football. Wherever you are in the world, assuming they follow the English game, you can usually put your mortgage on them supporting Manchester United.

Every now and again it might be Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool or City. I can guarantee it will never be Burnley or Bournemouth or Brentford. So shallow, aren’t they.FOLLOWING IN LORD NELSON'S FOOTSTEPS
It's been a few weeks since the last instalment of our Caribbean trip, so with the charity bike ride chapter nearing it's end, allow me to pick this one back up and revisit our trip to Antigua back in January.

Having moved to Norfolk from south of the county line nearly ten years ago now, I have come to like, and even love, many things that the North Folk have to offer.

Although I cannot betray my sporting loyalties – what is it, yellow and green should never be seen – most other aspects of life in my adopted county are most pleasing.

There are only four borders, one with Suffolk, one with Cambridgeshire, one with Lincolnshire and, by far the longest, with the sea.

It is the sea that provides the romanticism. Famous sons of Neptune have originated from this rural land. George Vancouver, who trained under Captain Cook, was later let loose to chart the northwest coast of North America. John Fryer, sailing master of HMS Bounty, was set adrift by Fletcher Christian and his cronies, and, of course, Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson.

As a young officer Nelson was posted to the Caribbean, often known as the fever isles, to help with ridding the seas of a French pestilence, privateers and pirates, who preyed on the cargoes of sugar and spice, and all things nice, being shipped back to the motherland.

It was most important to keep up the supply of sugar in particular. Britain was addicted, and successive governments feared rebellion should the masses not be able to get their fix. Notwithstanding addiction, the taxation levied on these hugely lucrative loads was the only thing that kept the Krapauds from invading our shores.

And so it was, we were in a taxi crossing the island of Antigua, from St John’s in the north, home to a seemingly infinite number of cruise ships, to English Harbour in the south, the onetime home of His Majesty’s Dockyard in the region.

It has now been rechristened Nelson’s Dockyard, which is now part of, to give it its full Sunday name, Nelson’s Dockyard National Park. I am still astounded to think that Nelson hailed from the tiny little village of Burnham Thorpe, not to be confused with its infamous neighbour, Burnham Market, aka Chelsea‑next‑the‑Sea.

I am not sure what he would have thought of the modern incarnation of the North Norfolk Coast. Perhaps he might have liked it. After all, he had climbed the social ladder right to the top, so the gentrification of the area might well have received his approbation.

It is recorded that he never deliberately eschewed his roots, often dropping back into the Norfolk vernacular when angered or excited. Apparently, back in those days it was hard for others to understand. I have some sympathy, except I believe I am fully versed in the language now, to such an extent that our children, from the Essex‑Suffolk border, think that I sound Norfolk. I am not sure that women and men from this corner of the realm would necessarily agree.

I was delighted to discover that he had connections with Ipswich. He held the ceremonial positions of High Steward and High Sheriff of the town. His uniform was a blue jacket with white breeches.

I daresay it is a long shot, but could that be the reason that is the uniform of the only Premier League team in East Anglia? Well, I’m going to take that. Leave you to muse over that one.

Nelson got as far as purchasing an estate in the area for when he hung up his sword and pistol. Alas, that moment never came thanks to a French sharpshooter at Trafalgar. Many say he was too conspicuous prowling the deck of HMS Victory in his much‑decorated blue and white.

His wife, Fanny, and his father, Edmund, did live at Roundwood Farm. In the end, Fanny thought better of this. I am sure tongues must have been wagging, and she moved to Exmouth. The last years of her life were not really imbued with happiness. After all, her husband, despite his pious start to life, had a dreadful reputation for philandering.

Interesting what the attraction was for this short, one‑eyed and one‑armed weedy‑looking bloke. Well, Lady Hamilton, what attracted you to the millionaire seafaring hero?

“What’s your name?” I asked of our taxi driver.

“Nine, man.”

“Nine? How come? Assuming it isn’t your given name.”

There then followed an explanation that was, fortunately, quicker in the telling than in the evolvement of the nickname. When he was a young boy, Nine would be able to sniff out cooking food from just about anywhere on the island.

His friends very quickly realised that he had the smell of a dog so, quite logically, they called him canine. In time this got shortened to just Nine, which is what he is left with today.

“Is it still pertinent today?” I enquired.

“Yeah, damned right it is, man. I love me food, man.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s your real name?”

“Me Christian name is Anderson, man.”

I observed it was the same as a great Antiguan fast bowler of the 1970s, one Sir Anderson Montgomery Everton Roberts. Antigua boasted loads of world‑class players back in those days including Curtly Ambrose, Vivian Richards and Richie Richardson.

Readers of my novels will realise that one of the characters, when forced to change his name for his own protection, chose the moniker Curtly Vivian Richardson. Please visit the website to learn more.

As is always the case with foreign taxi drivers, especially the men, they eventually get onto the subject of football. Wherever you are in the world, assuming they follow the English game, you can usually put your mortgage on them supporting Manchester United.

Every now and again it might be Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool or City. I can guarantee it will never be Burnley or Bournemouth or Brentford. So shallow, aren’t they.

<The Dockyard Museum, Antigua>

The Ladybird series of history books are, in the main, responsible for my interest in the subject and, indeed, Nelson featured in one of them. He served in Antigua for three years from 1784 as a captain with orders to see off French proxies set on destroying Britain’s international trade.

Many of the privateers doing Paris’ bidding were Americans, which seems so strange now given the US Government’s loathing of modern‑day proxies.
Do you know what, the entrance fee was only US$30 for the pair of us. I think that represents exceedingly good value. On entering through the portal of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, I was beyond excited.

I was like a child – hate the word kid, it belongs to a goat – going to Lapland to meet Father Christmas. Just standing there and taking it in. Breathing in the air that many Royal Navy sailors did over two hundred years ago.

If a ship had put into port for repair there was a good chance that its officers would take the road to St John’s where they would be entertained by the best that Caribbean society had to offer. The ordinary seaman did not go short of entertainment, though.

Grog shops and chop houses were aplenty in the small settlement. Sometimes they might go on the ran‑tan with the Shirley Heights garrison. The former fort is now a very popular tourist attraction with spectacular views across the harbour and the sea beyond. It made it very difficult, nigh on impossible, for Britain’s enemies to creep up on the anchorage without detection.

One writer of Napoleonic Wars seafaring fiction, Julian Stockwin, maintained at the end of one of his books that if the great man were suddenly brought back to life and dropped in English Harbour, he would recognise it immediately.

Maybe so, but I think he would look dumbfounded as he gazed at the luxury yachts that now occupy the marina. To be fair, he might well be more familiar with the blacksmiths’ shop, the sail loft, the carpenters’ workshop, so on and so forth.

Despite the modern tributes bestowed upon Nelson by today’s Antigua, it was a relationship that was based on a mutual dissatisfaction in the other. On its part, the merchants and gentry of Antigua took against the little captain as he was enforcing Britain’s Navigation Act, which forbade her dominions from trading with France and its allies, particularly those odious Americans.

The fledgling nation could make Antiguan merchants very wealthy, but Nelson was there to stop such treacherous behaviour among the colonials. On his part, dear old Horatio thought English Harbour and, who knows, Antigua in general, a vile hole. How things have changed.

It wasn’t all bad for the young naval officer. When on a cruise he put in on Nevis. Here he met his Fanny, Frances Nisbitt, the niece of a local plantation owner. They were married in 1787.

Things went well for a while. The relationship started to turn sour when he was sent to Naples and she refused to accompany him. He also got fed up with Fanny bemoaning every little affliction that came her way. He soon fell for another, Lady Emma Hamilton.

When Emma found herself in the family way, the couple did everything they could to disguise the true parentage of their daughter. There was even one chap, a fellow admiral, who agreed to claim the child as his own.
I think they might have got away with it but for some reason, only best known to themselves, they named the little girl Horatia. Why would you do that if you wanted to conceal the truth. I think I would call my bastards anything but Robert or Roberta. Each to their own, though!

Before leaving the dockyard, I must mention its first‑class museum. It is housed over both floors of Admiral’s House, which would not have been familiar to Nelson as it wasn’t built until the mid‑nineteenth century.

It is a delightful building boasting a wraparound veranda in the colonial style, perfect for enjoying a rum punch at the end of a stressful day. It is a fascinating tour in a splendid environment. Memorabilia of the man himself, maritime and seafaring knick‑knacks, and archaeological treasures from pre‑Columbian times.

Honestly, you could spend hours around it and still have loads left to see. A sudden explosion of sound split the solemness of the museum. It came from the marina as a huge crowd welcomed in a single‑handed rower completing the trans‑Atlantic crossing.

I featured one such madman in an earlier episode when we passed him mid‑ocean as we steamed our way to the Caribbean. It was going to be emotional as the man’s wife and children had flown out to welcome him in. Now, as we have seen, men go off to sea for all different reasons. Look at Nelson. I’m just saying, that’s all!

We took the scenic route on the way back, in and out of plantations, no longer producing sugar, but such tropical delicacies as avocado, mango and nutmeg. Small villages and hamlets were dotted throughout this luxuriant land, fringed by its many beaches, 365 in all, one for each day of the year.

Even with my eyes I could make out how wonderfully spectacular they were. Dazzling white sand between verdant forest and azure sea. Is there any way of improving such scenes. I am not sure that anything is better for the soul.

True, I had to imagine the last bit because what sight that is left to me only really sees in black and white. Every now and again I get a flash of a bright, rich colour in my periphery vision. I am blessed with memory that many visually impaired do not have. I count myself lucky.The Ladybird series of history books are, in the main, responsible for my interest in the subject and, indeed, Nelson featured in one of them. He served in Antigua for three years from 1784 as a captain with orders to see off French proxies set on destroying Britain’s international trade.

Many of the privateers doing Paris’ bidding were Americans, which seems so strange now given the US Government’s loathing of modern‑day proxies.
Do you know what, the entrance fee was only US$30 for the pair of us. I think that represents exceedingly good value. On entering through the portal of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, I was beyond excited.

I was like a child – hate the word kid, it belongs to a goat – going to Lapland to meet Father Christmas. Just standing there and taking it in. Breathing in the air that many Royal Navy sailors did over two hundred years ago.

If a ship had put into port for repair there was a good chance that its officers would take the road to St John’s where they would be entertained by the best that Caribbean society had to offer. The ordinary seaman did not go short of entertainment, though.

Grog shops and chop houses were aplenty in the small settlement. Sometimes they might go on the ran‑tan with the Shirley Heights garrison. The former fort is now a very popular tourist attraction with spectacular views across the harbour and the sea beyond. It made it very difficult, nigh on impossible, for Britain’s enemies to creep up on the anchorage without detection.

One writer of Napoleonic Wars seafaring fiction, Julian Stockwin, maintained at the end of one of his books that if the great man were suddenly brought back to life and dropped in English Harbour, he would recognise it immediately.

Maybe so, but I think he would look dumbfounded as he gazed at the luxury yachts that now occupy the marina. To be fair, he might well be more familiar with the blacksmiths’ shop, the sail loft, the carpenters’ workshop, so on and so forth.

Despite the modern tributes bestowed upon Nelson by today’s Antigua, it was a relationship that was based on a mutual dissatisfaction in the other. On its part, the merchants and gentry of Antigua took against the little captain as he was enforcing Britain’s Navigation Act, which forbade her dominions from trading with France and its allies, particularly those odious Americans.

The fledgling nation could make Antiguan merchants very wealthy, but Nelson was there to stop such treacherous behaviour among the colonials. On his part, dear old Horatio thought English Harbour and, who knows, Antigua in general, a vile hole. How things have changed.

It wasn’t all bad for the young naval officer. When on a cruise he put in on Nevis. Here he met his Fanny, Frances Nisbitt, the niece of a local plantation owner. They were married in 1787.

Things went well for a while. The relationship started to turn sour when he was sent to Naples and she refused to accompany him. He also got fed up with Fanny bemoaning every little affliction that came her way. He soon fell for another, Lady Emma Hamilton.

When Emma found herself in the family way, the couple did everything they could to disguise the true parentage of their daughter. There was even one chap, a fellow admiral, who agreed to claim the child as his own.
I think they might have got away with it but for some reason, only best known to themselves, they named the little girl Horatia. Why would you do that if you wanted to conceal the truth. I think I would call my bastards anything but Robert or Roberta. Each to their own, though!

Before leaving the dockyard, I must mention its first‑class museum. It is housed over both floors of Admiral’s House, which would not have been familiar to Nelson as it wasn’t built until the mid‑nineteenth century.

It is a delightful building boasting a wraparound veranda in the colonial style, perfect for enjoying a rum punch at the end of a stressful day. It is a fascinating tour in a splendid environment. Memorabilia of the man himself, maritime and seafaring knick‑knacks, and archaeological treasures from pre‑Columbian times.

Honestly, you could spend hours around it and still have loads left to see. A sudden explosion of sound split the solemness of the museum. It came from the marina as a huge crowd welcomed in a single‑handed rower completing the trans‑Atlantic crossing.

I featured one such madman in an earlier episode when we passed him mid‑ocean as we steamed our way to the Caribbean. It was going to be emotional as the man’s wife and children had flown out to welcome him in. Now, as we have seen, men go off to sea for all different reasons. Look at Nelson. I’m just saying, that’s all!

We took the scenic route on the way back, in and out of plantations, no longer producing sugar, but such tropical delicacies as avocado, mango and nutmeg. Small villages and hamlets were dotted throughout this luxuriant land, fringed by its many beaches, 365 in all, one for each day of the year.

Even with my eyes I could make out how wonderfully spectacular they were. Dazzling white sand between verdant forest and azure sea. Is there any way of improving such scenes. I am not sure that anything is better for the soul.

True, I had to imagine the last bit because what sight that is left to me only really sees in black and white. Every now and again I get a flash of a bright, rich colour in my periphery vision. I am blessed with memory that many visually impaired do not have. I count myself lucky.The Ladybird series of history books are, in the main, responsible for my interest in the subject and, indeed, Nelson featured in one of them. He served in Antigua for three years from 1784 as a captain with orders to see off French proxies set on destroying Britain’s international trade.

Many of the privateers doing Paris’ bidding were Americans, which seems so strange now given the US Government’s loathing of modern‑day proxies.
Do you know what, the entrance fee was only US$30 for the pair of us. I think that represents exceedingly good value. On entering through the portal of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, I was beyond excited.

I was like a child – hate the word kid, it belongs to a goat – going to Lapland to meet Father Christmas. Just standing there and taking it in. Breathing in the air that many Royal Navy sailors did over two hundred years ago.

If a ship had put into port for repair there was a good chance that its officers would take the road to St John’s where they would be entertained by the best that Caribbean society had to offer. The ordinary seaman did not go short of entertainment, though.

Grog shops and chop houses were aplenty in the small settlement. Sometimes they might go on the ran‑tan with the Shirley Heights garrison. The former fort is now a very popular tourist attraction with spectacular views across the harbour and the sea beyond. It made it very difficult, nigh on impossible, for Britain’s enemies to creep up on the anchorage without detection.

One writer of Napoleonic Wars seafaring fiction, Julian Stockwin, maintained at the end of one of his books that if the great man were suddenly brought back to life and dropped in English Harbour, he would recognise it immediately.

Maybe so, but I think he would look dumbfounded as he gazed at the luxury yachts that now occupy the marina. To be fair, he might well be more familiar with the blacksmiths’ shop, the sail loft, the carpenters’ workshop, so on and so forth.

Despite the modern tributes bestowed upon Nelson by today’s Antigua, it was a relationship that was based on a mutual dissatisfaction in the other. On its part, the merchants and gentry of Antigua took against the little captain as he was enforcing Britain’s Navigation Act, which forbade her dominions from trading with France and its allies, particularly those odious Americans.

The fledgling nation could make Antiguan merchants very wealthy, but Nelson was there to stop such treacherous behaviour among the colonials. On his part, dear old Horatio thought English Harbour and, who knows, Antigua in general, a vile hole. How things have changed.

It wasn’t all bad for the young naval officer. When on a cruise he put in on Nevis. Here he met his Fanny, Frances Nisbitt, the niece of a local plantation owner. They were married in 1787.

Things went well for a while. The relationship started to turn sour when he was sent to Naples and she refused to accompany him. He also got fed up with Fanny bemoaning every little affliction that came her way. He soon fell for another, Lady Emma Hamilton.

When Emma found herself in the family way, the couple did everything they could to disguise the true parentage of their daughter. There was even one chap, a fellow admiral, who agreed to claim the child as his own.
I think they might have got away with it but for some reason, only best known to themselves, they named the little girl Horatia. Why would you do that if you wanted to conceal the truth. I think I would call my bastards anything but Robert or Roberta. Each to their own, though!

Before leaving the dockyard, I must mention its first‑class museum. It is housed over both floors of Admiral’s House, which would not have been familiar to Nelson as it wasn’t built until the mid‑nineteenth century.

It is a delightful building boasting a wraparound veranda in the colonial style, perfect for enjoying a rum punch at the end of a stressful day. It is a fascinating tour in a splendid environment. Memorabilia of the man himself, maritime and seafaring knick‑knacks, and archaeological treasures from pre‑Columbian times.

Honestly, you could spend hours around it and still have loads left to see. A sudden explosion of sound split the solemness of the museum. It came from the marina as a huge crowd welcomed in a single‑handed rower completing the trans‑Atlantic crossing.

I featured one such madman in an earlier episode when we passed him mid‑ocean as we steamed our way to the Caribbean. It was going to be emotional as the man’s wife and children had flown out to welcome him in. Now, as we have seen, men go off to sea for all different reasons. Look at Nelson. I’m just saying, that’s all!

We took the scenic route on the way back, in and out of plantations, no longer producing sugar, but such tropical delicacies as avocado, mango and nutmeg. Small villages and hamlets were dotted throughout this luxuriant land, fringed by its many beaches, 365 in all, one for each day of the year.

Even with my eyes I could make out how wonderfully spectacular they were. Dazzling white sand between verdant forest and azure sea. Is there any way of improving such scenes. I am not sure that anything is better for the soul.

True, I had to imagine the last bit because what sight that is left to me only really sees in black and white. Every now and again I get a flash of a bright, rich colour in my periphery vision. I am blessed with memory that many visually impaired do not have. I count myself lucky.The Ladybird series of history books are, in the main, responsible for my interest in the subject and, indeed, Nelson featured in one of them. He served in Antigua for three years from 1784 as a captain with orders to see off French proxies set on destroying Britain’s international trade.

Many of the privateers doing Paris’ bidding were Americans, which seems so strange now given the US Government’s loathing of modern‑day proxies.
Do you know what, the entrance fee was only US$30 for the pair of us. I think that represents exceedingly good value. On entering through the portal of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, I was beyond excited.

I was like a child – hate the word kid, it belongs to a goat – going to Lapland to meet Father Christmas. Just standing there and taking it in. Breathing in the air that many Royal Navy sailors did over two hundred years ago.

If a ship had put into port for repair there was a good chance that its officers would take the road to St John’s where they would be entertained by the best that Caribbean society had to offer. The ordinary seaman did not go short of entertainment, though.

Grog shops and chop houses were aplenty in the small settlement. Sometimes they might go on the ran‑tan with the Shirley Heights garrison. The former fort is now a very popular tourist attraction with spectacular views across the harbour and the sea beyond. It made it very difficult, nigh on impossible, for Britain’s enemies to creep up on the anchorage without detection.

One writer of Napoleonic Wars seafaring fiction, Julian Stockwin, maintained at the end of one of his books that if the great man were suddenly brought back to life and dropped in English Harbour, he would recognise it immediately.

Maybe so, but I think he would look dumbfounded as he gazed at the luxury yachts that now occupy the marina. To be fair, he might well be more familiar with the blacksmiths’ shop, the sail loft, the carpenters’ workshop, so on and so forth.

Despite the modern tributes bestowed upon Nelson by today’s Antigua, it was a relationship that was based on a mutual dissatisfaction in the other. On its part, the merchants and gentry of Antigua took against the little captain as he was enforcing Britain’s Navigation Act, which forbade her dominions from trading with France and its allies, particularly those odious Americans.

The fledgling nation could make Antiguan merchants very wealthy, but Nelson was there to stop such treacherous behaviour among the colonials. On his part, dear old Horatio thought English Harbour and, who knows, Antigua in general, a vile hole. How things have changed.

It wasn’t all bad for the young naval officer. When on a cruise he put in on Nevis. Here he met his Fanny, Frances Nisbitt, the niece of a local plantation owner. They were married in 1787.

Things went well for a while. The relationship started to turn sour when he was sent to Naples and she refused to accompany him. He also got fed up with Fanny bemoaning every little affliction that came her way. He soon fell for another, Lady Emma Hamilton.

When Emma found herself in the family way, the couple did everything they could to disguise the true parentage of their daughter. There was even one chap, a fellow admiral, who agreed to claim the child as his own.
I think they might have got away with it but for some reason, only best known to themselves, they named the little girl Horatia. Why would you do that if you wanted to conceal the truth. I think I would call my bastards anything but Robert or Roberta. Each to their own, though!

Before leaving the dockyard, I must mention its first‑class museum. It is housed over both floors of Admiral’s House, which would not have been familiar to Nelson as it wasn’t built until the mid‑nineteenth century.

It is a delightful building boasting a wraparound veranda in the colonial style, perfect for enjoying a rum punch at the end of a stressful day. It is a fascinating tour in a splendid environment. Memorabilia of the man himself, maritime and seafaring knick‑knacks, and archaeological treasures from pre‑Columbian times.

Honestly, you could spend hours around it and still have loads left to see. A sudden explosion of sound split the solemness of the museum. It came from the marina as a huge crowd welcomed in a single‑handed rower completing the trans‑Atlantic crossing.

I featured one such madman in an earlier episode when we passed him mid‑ocean as we steamed our way to the Caribbean. It was going to be emotional as the man’s wife and children had flown out to welcome him in. Now, as we have seen, men go off to sea for all different reasons. Look at Nelson. I’m just saying, that’s all!

We took the scenic route on the way back, in and out of plantations, no longer producing sugar, but such tropical delicacies as avocado, mango and nutmeg. Small villages and hamlets were dotted throughout this luxuriant land, fringed by its many beaches, 365 in all, one for each day of the year.

Even with my eyes I could make out how wonderfully spectacular they were. Dazzling white sand between verdant forest and azure sea. Is there any way of improving such scenes. I am not sure that anything is better for the soul.

True, I had to imagine the last bit because what sight that is left to me only really sees in black and white. Every now and again I get a flash of a bright, rich colour in my periphery vision. I am blessed with memory that many visually impaired do not have. I count myself lucky.The Ladybird series of history books are, in the main, responsible for my interest in the subject and, indeed, Nelson featured in one of them. He served in Antigua for three years from 1784 as a captain with orders to see off French proxies set on destroying Britain’s international trade.

Many of the privateers doing Paris’ bidding were Americans, which seems so strange now given the US Government’s loathing of modern‑day proxies.
Do you know what, the entrance fee was only US$30 for the pair of us. I think that represents exceedingly good value. On entering through the portal of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, I was beyond excited.

I was like a child – hate the word kid, it belongs to a goat – going to Lapland to meet Father Christmas. Just standing there and taking it in. Breathing in the air that many Royal Navy sailors did over two hundred years ago.

If a ship had put into port for repair there was a good chance that its officers would take the road to St John’s where they would be entertained by the best that Caribbean society had to offer. The ordinary seaman did not go short of entertainment, though.

Grog shops and chop houses were aplenty in the small settlement. Sometimes they might go on the ran‑tan with the Shirley Heights garrison. The former fort is now a very popular tourist attraction with spectacular views across the harbour and the sea beyond. It made it very difficult, nigh on impossible, for Britain’s enemies to creep up on the anchorage without detection.

One writer of Napoleonic Wars seafaring fiction, Julian Stockwin, maintained at the end of one of his books that if the great man were suddenly brought back to life and dropped in English Harbour, he would recognise it immediately.

Maybe so, but I think he would look dumbfounded as he gazed at the luxury yachts that now occupy the marina. To be fair, he might well be more familiar with the blacksmiths’ shop, the sail loft, the carpenters’ workshop, so on and so forth.

Despite the modern tributes bestowed upon Nelson by today’s Antigua, it was a relationship that was based on a mutual dissatisfaction in the other. On its part, the merchants and gentry of Antigua took against the little captain as he was enforcing Britain’s Navigation Act, which forbade her dominions from trading with France and its allies, particularly those odious Americans.

The fledgling nation could make Antiguan merchants very wealthy, but Nelson was there to stop such treacherous behaviour among the colonials. On his part, dear old Horatio thought English Harbour and, who knows, Antigua in general, a vile hole. How things have changed.

It wasn’t all bad for the young naval officer. When on a cruise he put in on Nevis. Here he met his Fanny, Frances Nisbitt, the niece of a local plantation owner. They were married in 1787.

Things went well for a while. The relationship started to turn sour when he was sent to Naples and she refused to accompany him. He also got fed up with Fanny bemoaning every little affliction that came her way. He soon fell for another, Lady Emma Hamilton.

When Emma found herself in the family way, the couple did everything they could to disguise the true parentage of their daughter. There was even one chap, a fellow admiral, who agreed to claim the child as his own.
I think they might have got away with it but for some reason, only best known to themselves, they named the little girl Horatia. Why would you do that if you wanted to conceal the truth. I think I would call my bastards anything but Robert or Roberta. Each to their own, though!

Before leaving the dockyard, I must mention its first‑class museum. It is housed over both floors of Admiral’s House, which would not have been familiar to Nelson as it wasn’t built until the mid‑nineteenth century.

It is a delightful building boasting a wraparound veranda in the colonial style, perfect for enjoying a rum punch at the end of a stressful day. It is a fascinating tour in a splendid environment. Memorabilia of the man himself, maritime and seafaring knick‑knacks, and archaeological treasures from pre‑Columbian times.

Honestly, you could spend hours around it and still have loads left to see. A sudden explosion of sound split the solemness of the museum. It came from the marina as a huge crowd welcomed in a single‑handed rower completing the trans‑Atlantic crossing.

I featured one such madman in an earlier episode when we passed him mid‑ocean as we steamed our way to the Caribbean. It was going to be emotional as the man’s wife and children had flown out to welcome him in. Now, as we have seen, men go off to sea for all different reasons. Look at Nelson. I’m just saying, that’s all!

We took the scenic route on the way back, in and out of plantations, no longer producing sugar, but such tropical delicacies as avocado, mango and nutmeg. Small villages and hamlets were dotted throughout this luxuriant land, fringed by its many beaches, 365 in all, one for each day of the year.

Even with my eyes I could make out how wonderfully spectacular they were. Dazzling white sand between verdant forest and azure sea. Is there any way of improving such scenes. I am not sure that anything is better for the soul.

True, I had to imagine the last bit because what sight that is left to me only really sees in black and white. Every now and again I get a flash of a bright, rich colour in my periphery vision. I am blessed with memory that many visually impaired do not have. I count myself lucky.