Danish Dansk English English

WELCOME

On 1. August 2016 we took a deep breath. Then we threw the mooring lines and sailed out of Humlebæk harbor.

A month later we reached Travemünde. We unstepped the mast and sailed into Germany. When we had sailed across Europe (through the backyard so to speak) we came out into the Mediterranean - a few miles west of Marseilles.

We have been sailing here since.

We have got many new impressions and experiences. Overcome big and small challenges. Met different environments and interesting people. Learned a lot. Traveled far away from Heron during the winter months. Been worried (mostly fortunately without reason). Changed plans (almost constantly) and had joys and sorrows.

On this site we have described our journey through stories, films and tweets

Route and logbook

The logbook is on the "TIMELINE" tab

In the middle of paradise

Reading time: 14 minutes Gouvia Marina is big. In fact, it is the biggest marina in Greece. It is well protected in a bay just north of Corfu Town. In Greek, the city is called Kerkyra, which is spelled Κέρκυρα with the strange Greek letters. Two buoys mark the beginning of the long and wide entry. On it

Read more >>

© 2016 HERON… dream without date

Vi laver en beretning eller film om vores togt ca. en gang om måneden.

You are welcome to join the list of readers who get the new on mail.

Stay tuned

Do not worry. Your email address will not be passed on and you may unsubscribe at any time

Dear Victor

It is with great sadness that Pia and I have received the message that your father has passed away.

We are currently in Greece and do not have the opportunity to attend the funeral, which we assume will take place next week.

We have talked a lot about your father and about our friendship with him.

I got to know your dad when he moved to Bumblebee. He started in 7. grade. Same class as my sister Karin, who was two years older than me.

Your father came from Copenhagen. He was one that was noticed. Smart hairstyle shaped with wedding cream and nurtured with a widely used steel comb, which could also be used to open a bottle of. Black white silky pointed shoes. A big brother who joined the rowing club drank beer and had the nickname Bajeur. Last but not least, your father mastered the rare art of being able to speak black. No wonder that with all these qualities he was a popular cavalryman at one of the city's two dance schools.

Later that year, your dad took the whole school by storm. With a barbed wire orchestra formed for the occasion (it was called that time), he performed on stage in the school gymnasium with "Let's go" and "Simmi simmi". Huge success. Now nobody was in doubt about who Jens Bo from Copenhagen was.

The years went by. The hair was straightened out, the endump disappeared and before the real exam your father moved to Rendsborg, where your grandfather had been posted.

A few years later, the family returned to Humlebæk. Your father, meanwhile, was 18. Had been given a red Volvo, smoked menthol cigarettes and was a dedicated supporter of the slightly exotic Red Tuborg (perhaps because the red Volvo had given him the nickname 'the red baron' while in Rendsborg).

I don't quite remember how we became friends. Maybe it was through the sailing club in Sletten harbor where your dad had a blue Citus with your grandfather and uncle. Maybe it was through Preben the boat builder, Ole and Tom, that he had bought the fishing boat Vesta with. Maybe it was for one of the many private parties. Maybe it just wasn't that hard to make friends at that time.

Your father and uncle came along like me and many other Bumblebees at Sletten Kro over the weekend. There was music in the banquet hall every Saturday and sometimes also on Fridays. Your father and uncle lived in the innermost and almost sacred space of the inn. Often they sang songs that evolved into community singing. This is where the song 'Hemma barbaruska' was born. Enough of your uncle.

In the billiard room stood a piano. Your dad and I started playing on ... at the same time. The one with both hands in the bass. The other with both hands in the treble. Playing the noisy tavern was hard work. When we put all our effort into hammering the keys and singing as loud as we could, we managed to make the guests sing on 'As Long As I Live' or 'When the Saints' on the good days. This is also where your father's ability to speak black was translated into the song 'Tjimmelimmelim'.

One evening, your father pulled me aside.

“I bought a house on Torpenvej and would like to rent two rooms. Henrik Jespersen, the carpenter you know, has said yes. It costs SEK 40 per month. Was that something for you? »

I had already looked at a few other options for moving from home. So why not?

The next day we met at Torpenvej number 9.

The house was empty. Well, except for a piano in a room where there was also a chair and a jazz guitar up a wall.

"I've said I will only buy the house if the piano comes along," your father said proudly.

When he had shown the house, we went to the piano. Your father sat down on the chair in front of the piano and started playing. I took the jazz guitar, sat down and then we played together for the rest of the afternoon.

A few weeks after we all moved in, it knocked on the door. That was Pese.

"I have a job next Saturday. Can you join us? He asked your father.

Then he went out to the car again and came back with a double bass and his cousin Bo, who had his arms full of drums.

Then we started playing. Your father on piano, Henrik on saxophone, Peter Bryde on clarinet, Pese on bass, Bo on drums and me on guitar.

We were deeply excited about the first issue. The second, third and fourth numbers also sounded good. Then we couldn't really think of any more and your dad now called down to the inn and asked if we had to come down and play some numbers in the inn.

Half an hour later we appeared for a couple of half-asleep guests with our just-studied repertoire, which your father impulsively supplemented with 'Tjimmelimmelim' as the closing number.

Our 6 man band slowly but surely got better. Your father, Henrik and I started the morning putting Wings 'Band on the run' or Sanne Solomon's 'Seeking Your Inner' on the turntable in your dad's old television. Then we even played a song or two before we started the day.

In the evening we ate together. Monday through Wednesday we each had a food day. Thursday we dined with our respective parents and Friday through Sunday every man took care of himself.

Before dinner we played again and also after dinner we played. Usually late at night.

Jobs went well. We started to get money to play (in the beginning 100 kr and then all the beers we could drink), often played at Laredo and for a period we were a regular orchestra every Friday at Ålsgårde Bodega. And then of course there were all the private parties and company parties.

At one point Jørgen and Palle showed up. They were both tanned blues musicians, played electric and very loud and called us protest singers. One late night, after drinking the last of your dad's VAT69 whiskey, we decided to start a big band.

…Immediately.

We started practicing with the big band on Torpenvej. We never talked to our poor neighbors. However, we were told they were so happy when we played 'Sunhine of my life'. We always ended it on our rehearsal evenings.

One Sunday afternoon while we were practicing, suddenly a stranger stood and played alto scissors next to Henrik and Peter Bryde.

He even took a solo and when we finished the number he introduced himself as Allan Insby.

He was slightly older than us, had met your father at Patricia in Tårbæk and had been invited to practice with us.

Allan became a regular man in the orchestra. Drove in a smart sports car and had his own company. Each time he came, he had a new lady with whom he presented as his aunt.

We were thinking about the big family until we found out what he meant by aunt. Then we changed the name of the orchestra from VAT69 to Mosters Big Band.

Some time later Marianne Lind appeared, also for a practice day.

She sang a terrific version of 'Blue Berry Hill' and then the orchestra's first Aunt was found.

The 6 man's orchestra was still playing and first got a name when Palle sat in for Pese one night and christened the Humlebæk City Orchestra.

The Humlebæk City Orchestra and Mosters were not just music. It was also a collective with your father, Henrik and me as the regular residents. The lap was great. I do not remember many evenings when there were no visits by any of the others from the orchestra or from the group.

The collective on Torpenvej worked well. Your father and I invented an accounting system. Then we never disagreed about who owed whom what and why (Today it is available in digital form in the WeShare app). The dishes were changed and a full dinner had to be washed before the dishes could be passed on to the next man. Then we couldn't disagree about that either.

We could hardly be more different in our political views. But we never discussed politics. After all, we knew we disagreed and would rather play music than discuss our disagreement.

After a few years, Henrik finished his studies and moved from Torpenvej. I met Pia and moved with her to Copenhagen.

Humlebæk City Orchestra and Mosters continued at best. We stayed together for many years, even when the orchestra had had wives, girlfriends and children. Almost like a big family. On good and on evil.

I myself completely stopped playing when Mosters started again after a few years break.

Our contact with your father subsequently became less. But it didn't feel that way when we met once in a while.

As recently as this summer, when Pese, Pia and I visited him in Helsingør and once again got turned and laughed at the old stories and memories

... there are a lot of them.

We send our warmest regards to you and the whole family.

Glory be to your father's memory.