Yorkshire Dales, Edwin (Whit) Whitfield's childhood view of the world was of a broad green valley surrounded on three sides by limestone cliffs, behind which rose the massive peaks of the Pennine mountains.

Watched over by a "tall, lean, stern'' father and an "unfailingly gentle'' mother, he grew to young manhood on a farm in company with eight brothers and sisters.

Young Whit knew, despite his father's vehement objections and certain steps taken to dissuade him, that he wanted to be a mariner. At age 17, he was accepted as a cadet by the British India Shipping Company. It was to be the beginning of a long and fascinating association with the sea, which took him all over the world -- including tiny Bermuda, where he not only enjoyed several adventurous careers, but surrendered his bachelorhood and ultimately became the father of Tim, John and Jane.

In Bombay, cadet Whitfield met a "tall, sallow-faced'' cadet heading along the wharf whose name was Eric Dunch. In the years to come he would have a considerable influence on Mr. Whitfield's life.

When finally Mr. Whitfield gained his Master Mariner's certificate he headed for home and five months' leave, during which Mr. Dunch turned up with an intriguing proposition.

Employed by the Royal Mail Company, he had noticed during trips to Bermuda that ashore fish were scarce and expensive, but plentiful enough on the Banks offshore.

"Eric's plan was to buy a boat in England, sail her to Bermuda, and start a fishing business. I agreed to join him as a partner.'' The search for a suitable boat took the duo up and down the length of Britain before they succumbed to the charms of Sea Bird, a 49-foot yawl, which they bought and immediately made their home.

Two days into the voyage to Bermuda, the young entrepreneurs' dream began to shatter. A howling gale and towering seas began to take their toll on the newly-repaired vessel, and the sail blew out.

Days more of appalling weather left Eric Dunch struggling to keep them afloat as Whit clung to his sodden bunk with food poisoning.

Slowly Seabird began to fill with water as the sea systematically stripped her of mizzen mast, dingy, skylights, fo'c'sle hatch, much of her ten-inch bulwarks, and also dislodged furnishings below decks.

The pair finally hoisted a distress signal and prayed. Fortunately for them a passing Spanish freighter soon plucked them to safety and carried them to Melilla in Spanish Morocco, where they arrived with nothing but the clothes they stood in.

With the Riff war in progress, no money and no British Consul to help them, the Englishmen were as unwelcome as they were stranded. Through a friendly Consul, however, they were eventually put on the bus to Gibraltar and, after some difficulties, were returned to England through the Distressed British Seaman's charter.

They had by no means abandoned their dream.

"Our immediate problem was how to carry out the original scheme. We calculated that by combining the Seabird 's insurance and bringing in another partner, as well as some possible additional money to be raised in Bermuda, the job could be done,'' Mr. Whitfield related.

While Eric Dunch proceeded to Bermuda in search of funds, John Smith, a former fellow officer of Mr. Dunch's, agreed to join them in the new venture.

In Rochester on the Thames Estuary they found and bought the diesel ketch Toucan. Originally built as a naval pinnace, she had been converted for use as a fishing boat on the Cornish coast. Forty-three feet long, with an 11-foot beam, she was a handy and workmanlike craft under power but of little use under sail unless the wind was fair and fresh.

When Mr. Dunch returned with some money, the trio moved on board and went to work, insulating the fish hold and installing refrigerating machinery.

July 19 was Eric Dunch's wedding day in London, and it was decided that it would be both economical and novel to anchor the now shining and painted Toucan just above London Bridge opposite the Houses of Parliament, and hold the wedding reception on board.

By mid-September Toucan set sail for Bermuda via Portugal and Madeira. Again, leaks, faulty or damaged equipment, and the foulest of weather punctuated the voyage, but by November 15 they were close to their destination.

Soon they spotted St. David's light and for nearly 24 hours tried in vain to get inshore. Pride wouldn't let them ask for a tow, but fortunately the lighthouse had seen their plight and dispatched a launch. Four thousand, six hundred miles and 65 days later they arrived in St. George's, quickly made repairs to Toucan , and soon began fishing on Argus Bank.

Despite the new venture running smoothly, the partners soon realised it was over-capitalised and there were too many people with a financial interest in it to make continuation viable.

John Smith dropped out and took a job ashore, while Messrs. Whitfield and Dunch continued to live aboard the boat in Hamilton Harbour.

Finally, Toucan was sold for a profit sufficient to pay their bills and allow them a fresh start. Eric Dunch began a long career at the Bermuda Electric Light Company, and Mr. Whitfield found work on the beach at Coral Beach Club.

Of those days, Mr. Whitfield has many mixed memories. He met many celebrities, including famed US broadcaster Mr. Lowell Thomas, and Count von Luckner, "the gentlemanly and effective German sea raider of the first war''.

Less happy was the occasion when, despite his warnings, two guests a little the worse for partying entered the sea and soon became engulfed in the strong undertow and pounding surf.

Knowing he could only rescue one at a time, Mr. Whitfield chose the younger man knowing full well that by the time he returned the older one would be dead.

Struggling to shore with the corpse, he was then obliged to hang on to it for a very long time on what was left of the beach as the rising tide buffeted them both until finally the undertaker came.

It would not be his last experience of death at sea. In his next job, as first mate on the brand new tender Castle Harbour, "Whit'' helped rescue survivors of a crashed aircraft piloted by Bermudian Mr. Cyril Nelmes.

"As we were heading into harbour an old sticks-and-string bi-plane circled laboriously above us at low altitude with a man standing on each wing. As I watched it dived straight into the sea with great force, sheering off the wings,'' he recalled.

Within minutes the stunned and injured wing riders were rescued but it was not until the next day that the pilot's body was discovered rammed so far back in the fuselage that it was almost in the tail section.

Of the new career, Mr. Whitfield said: "It had few thrills. We helped the Company's ships to berth and transferred passengers from cruise ships to Grassy Bay. I was responsible for the maintenance of the ship and took great pride in her cleanliness and smartness, and that of her smartly uniformed crew.'' Nonetheless, he had some "royal'' experiences.

When the Prince of Wales called at Bermuda, it was the Castle Harbour 's job to return him to his ship in Grassy Bay. And what did Mr. Whitfield think of his famous passenger? "He was undoubtedly a pleasant and harmless enough fellow, but he struck me as far from impressive at close quarters. He was the victim of his exalted position and all the adulation that accompanied it.'' When the M.S. Bermuda burned at the dock on Front Street, the Castle Harbour was part of the 52-hour firefighting effort.

Soon afterwards, Mr. Whitfield left the vessel, but the knowledge he had gained of her would prove invaluable a decade later when he again took her helm under the White Ensign of the Royal Navy.

Meanwhile, the master mariner was persuaded to take a shore job as assistant to his old partner Mr. Dunch at the Electric Light Company's new merchandising department in Hamilton.

Socially, the attractive bachelor numbered Canadian nurses among his many friends. One was destined to end his long run as a single man.

"I fell so hard for Margaret Connell that I asked her to marry me, which in due course she consented to do. I was in my thirty-fourth year and beginning to think that I was immune from further serious attachments. It had not yet occurred to me that a solitary and wifeless middle age loomed on the not-too-distant horizon, so I was fortunate to be snatched from an increasingly selfish bachelorhood before it was too late,'' is how Mr.

Whitfield describes this momentous event.

The couple were married in 1935 at the Little Church around the Corner in New York, honeymooned briefly at the Astor hotel, and then returned to his South Shore cottage.

Workwise, it was time to move on -- to the Biological Station, where Mr.

Whitfield's responsibilities included care and operation of boats and equipment, plus general maintenance of the whole establishment.

He also became the father of Timothy and John.

Again, the job brought him into contact with many famous people -- and a wealth of memories.

He vividly recalls Dr. William Beebe, whom Mr. Whitfield noted was disdained by other scientists because of his love of personal publicity.

"Dr. Beebe was tall, thin and very pleasant but a publicity seeker. Anything that might be spectacular he would do for publicity,'' he explained.

"To the strictly scientific people it was unpardonable. They only wrote for each other.'' Mr. Whitfield remembers vividly the day Dr. Beebe made his historic bathysphere descent.

"When he came back to the Station he announced very loudly: `We have been down half a mile''. Nonplussed, an English woman who was looking after the kitchen and who had packed his sandwiches in a tin called out from the back of the room: `Did you bring my tin back?'!'' With the purchase of the 72-foot ketch, Culver for use by the Royal Society of England for an extensive oceanographic research programme out of the Biological Station came the appointment of Mr. Whitfield as its commander.

The crew which brought her from England to Bermuda included "the three musketeers'': Eric Dunch, John Smith (for the first leg) and Edwin Whitfield, who sailed with the Royal Society's good wishes and a goodly supply of West Country cider! Since the vessel was moored in St. David's, Mr. Whitfield also got to know the people well, and fondly describes them as the "best and most vivid of storytellers''.

"It could be very enjoyable to listen to some of their endless yarns, told in their own peculiar and expressive dialect.'' With war clouds gathering, Mr. Whitfield began training drills with Royal Naval cruises based on the West Indies Station to prepare for duty as an Examination Officer.

His job would be to board all merchant ships offshore and inspect them before instructing them where and how to proceed.

On August 28, 1939 he got the call to report for duty and immediately began his responsibilities at sea -- aboard his old friend the Castle Harbour.

With the establishment of a convoy assembly base at St. George's, Lt.

Whitfield's work increased tremendously. Every ship had to be boarded regardless of the weather.

"I can only remember one time when it was impossible to do this, and that was during a hurricane. "We did board one ship and got her into shelter, then had to run for harbour and shelter ourselves. A few hours later the wind force was 140 m.p.h.!'' Every few days a convoy of merchant ships would sail for England, deep loaded with oil and food and other cargoes, which were the lifeblood of a beleaguered Britain.

"Sinkings were very high at this time, and each time the ships came in to join their convoy there would be some that we had become familiar with which we would never see again,'' Mr. Whitfield remembered.

Among them was Captain Fogarty Fagan who sailed from here with the convoy, escorted by his famous Jarvis Bay which went down fighting to the last while the convoy scattered to safety.

"I attended his convoy conference before they sailed and must confess that I felt somewhat indignant when he tongue-lashed the captains of the ships under his care. Without wishing to minimise the heroic part played by Captain Fagan and his crew, it must be remembered that there was nothing else she could do against the faster and much more heavily armed enemy. Whatever she did, her loss must have been inevitable.'' Little did Lt. Whitfield imagine that, following an hilarious party aboard the destroyer Hunter in St. George, that her hurried departure the next day would preface the ship going down with all hands in a Norwegian fjord.

Meanwhile, the Castle Harbour had been secretly fitted with Asdic submarine detecting gear -- "the first ship on this side of the Atlantic to be so fitted, so far as I know'' -- depth charge throwers and rails, and a two-pounder gun.

An officer and four trained men from the British Navy were added to Lt.

Whitfield's crew, and with practice everyone soon became proficient in the new technology. The Castle Harbour was now placed on anti-submarine patrol and did minor escort jobs.

Lt. Whitfield chuckles when he recalls the time he ordered a small foreign freighter at sea to `Stop, I am going to board you' with signal flags.

"To our astonishment she reversed her course and headed seaward at high speed. Only then did we discover that our flags had been hoisted upside down, changing the meaning of the signal to: `Proceed to sea immediately, there is an epidemic in the port!'.'' By the summer of 1942, the strain of war began to take its toll on Lt.

Whitfield's health, and by war's end he was pronounced unfit for further sea service. Instead, he was assigned to the Naval Officer in Charge, St. George's -- a posting which allowed him to spend his nights at home, enjoy family life, and get regular sleep and meals.

Friendly relations with increasing numbers of American and Canadian forces personnel made for congenial times at the new office, where rank and country were forgotten under the genial and fatherly dominance of Lt. Whitfield's "friendly old chief, Commander Landman''.

Occupying an office whose predecessor, "a pompous and irascible Captain R.N.

who was in charge in convoy days'', Commander Landman had plenty of time to contemplate its curious walls -- thanks to the Captain's penchant for sticking the proceeds from cigarette packets all over them.

"Commander Landman would enter this sanctum each morning, rest his feet on the desk, gaze around at those silver walls and bellow at me: `Old Man! Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them!' He was a remarkable and likeable character, and died on his beloved St.

David's Island.'' With new orders to proceed to England for a new assignment, the Whitfield family (now five since the birth of daughter Jane) reluctantly bade farewell to Bermuda.

Future travels would take them to England, and finally to Canada, where as a civilian Mr. Whitfield settled first in Southern Ontario and took up chicken farming. Later, he and his wife Margaret ran a nursing home, before finally retiring to their present home in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia.

Together, they have travelled many thousands of miles as tourists, and are currently enjoying a reunion with Mrs. Whitfield's sister, Mrs. Jean Lightbourn and her daughter Mrs. Jane Jackson.

Remembering his first trip from St. George's to Hamilton by horse-drawn bus over dirt roads, Mr. Whitfield is astounded by today's "uninaginable'' traffic congestion.

"At 91 this is my last trip,'' a still-chipper Mr. Whitfield claimed. But the twinkle in his eye suggests that that might just be another sailor's yarn.

AH, SWEET MEMORIES . . . Master mariner Mr. Edwin (Whit) Whitfield and his wife Margaret are currently enjoying a family reunion on the Island where they first met, had three children, and spent many years of their lives.

MASTER MARINER: Mr. Ernest (Whit) Whitfield.