A boat with 12 volunteers has left Bristol as part of a wider campaign to break Israel’s blockade and deliver aid to Gaza. Israel has attacked every flotilla trying to help Gaza since 2010, and volunteers on previous missions say they were abused by Israeli forces.
Published On 17 Aug 202617 Aug 2026
Share
Twelve people including the captain are on board ‘Kate’, the latest vessel attempting to deliver aid.
Published On 17 Aug 202617 Aug 2026
Bristol, United Kingdom – A boat has set sail from southern England as part of a flotilla’s efforts to break Israel’s blockade of Gaza.
Supporters on Sunday gathered at Hannover Quay in Bristol, a city represented by the Greens and known for its progressive spirit, to send off “Kate”, a vessel with Freedom Flotilla activists on board.
list of 4 itemsend of list
Among those bidding the 12 activists farewell were Swee Ang, a doctor and the founder of Medical Aid for Palestinians; the Welsh nurse Leigh Evans, who was seen in footage shared widely online kneeling before Egyptian soldiers in June 2025, pleading to be allowed to cross and deliver aid to Gaza and David Miller, a professor who recently won a legal battle against the University of Bristol over his anti-Zionist views.
Fiacc O Brolchain, the Irish sailor and captain of the vessel who was detained by Israeli forces earlier this year during a previous mission, said his hearing aids were seized while being interrogated. He said he kept repeating to the Israeli soldiers, “I can’t hear you; you took my hearing aids.”
Israel has since 2010 intercepted or attacked every flotilla that has attempted to breach the Gaza blockade, including in international waters.
Frank Romano, a member of the Freedom Flotilla Coalition and an international lawyer who has represented Palestinian cases before the International Court of Justice, said that since October 2023, Israeli forces have intercepted and detained more than 75 solidarity ships and boats. He has taken up legal battles to recover them, but has succeeded in retrieving only two vessels.
Romano himself owns “Handala”, a vessel named after a character created by the late Palestinian artist Naji al-Ali, that was intercepted and detained in July 2025.
The Global Sumud Flotilla, which Romano said has so far cost $24m and comprises scores of boats in different waves, launched its first mission last year and a much larger one in April.
Swedish activist Greta Thunberg joined the movement and was among the flotilla’s passengers detained by Israel when their boat, the Alma, was intercepted in October. She is among those who alleged physical and psychological abuse while detained. Israel denied the allegations.
Colm Byrne, an Irish activist who is setting sail again after participating in previous flotilla attempts, said that in April, he was more than 1,000km (620 miles) from Gaza when Israeli forces intercepted. He said flotilla members were kicked, beaten and forced into painful and humiliating postures. He suffered a shoulder injury, he said.
Activists were made to spend four hours on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs before being transferred to prison, where they were forced to walk with their heads down or else face the threat of being slapped, Byrne noted.
But he stressed that although he felt humiliated, the mistreatment does not compare with the scale of abuse suffered by Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails.
In a darkened room in Maldon, Essex, a ship’s lantern illuminates the laundry drying on a web of ropes suspended from the ceiling. Between piles of sailing memorabilia, 86-year-old Barry Pearce is flipping through a yellowing logbook, watched by his mongrel, Winkle. It feels more like a ship’s cabin than a terrace house. Pearce is one of a handful of surviving skippers who delivered freight on the Thames by sailing barge, the flat-bottomed trading boats famous for their striking red sails that were endemic to the river’s estuary until the 1960s. He remembers the names of every vessel he worked on – Remercie, Edith May, Colonia.
In the 19th century, the ochre sails of thousands of Thames sailing barges pierced the skyline as the craft carried cargo from the Thames estuary and beyond in and out of London. Their shallow draft allowed them to snake far upriver in as little as a metre of water (bargemen would boast that they could sail anywhere there had been a heavy dew). Their ingenious rig, with sails that could be set and stowed with the help of winches, meant around 150 tonnes of cargo could be shifted by just a skipper and mate – often accompanied by a guard dog. This efficiency allowed them to outlive all other commercial sailing vessels, surviving until the 1960s, when Pearce himself took the helm.
Today, only about 30 Thames barges are still sailing, either as private homes or leisure cruisers. Two of them – Pudge and Centaur – lie like beached krakens on the oozing mud of Maldon’s Blackwater estuary. Both are owned by the Thames Sailing Barge Trust, a charity run entirely by volunteers, including Pearce. Every summer, both vessels can be hired as private charters for groups of up to 12, or you can book a berth on one of their one- to three-day public sailing cruises. They also offer events such as children’s art days throughout the year.
I’m here on a scorching evening at Hythe quay to spend the weekend exploring the River Blackwater and Essex coast aboard Centaur, a barge built in 1895. Itineraries are flexible and based on passengers’ interests. For us it involves sailing up the Blackwater, a Pimm’s at Tollesbury Marina, and a swim off Shingle Point and wander around West Mersea on Mersea Island. Our motley crew consists of three trainees overseen by skipper Chris Martin, who teaches boatbuilding at vocational training organisation Circles Alternative Education.
There are also six passengers, ranging in age from 18 to 76, in five cabins, which are basic but comfortable (each has a wash basin). Although I am the only one who is not a competent sailor, Martin makes it clear that helping to handle the barge is optional.
Unwisely, given our 3am departure to catch high tide, I sink several pints with the two youngest members of Pudge’s crew in the Little Ship Club on the quay. A behemothic man wielding a squeezebox sings sea shanties as salty couples slow dance nearby. “I only know of one or two people my age who are into barging, and I find that disturbing,” yells 25-year-old Charlie Francis over strains of Bound for South Australia. “Barging was the lifeblood of the east coast. We should be proud of our heritage and celebrate the communities working to preserve it.”
After a few hours in my bunk, I make it on to deck at 4.15am. The moon is a slice of radish in a lilac sky. We’re bearing away from the wind and, having set the sails, the crew is already on their second round of tea and custard creams.
As dawn paints its peachy palette, Martin turns the great wheel. He points out Blackwater landmarks that only a local would know: the green buoy known as the Doctor, where early 20th-century fishers left spirits for the alcoholics supposedly drying out at Osea Island’s temperance resort; the pub where, as recently as 20 years ago, Martin witnessed a smuggler wordlessly deliver two dripping bags while regulars stared determinedly into their pints; the hulking trawler, Ross Revenge, which is still home to Radio Caroline, the former pirate station – another relic kept alive by volunteers of the Blackwater.
Where the river opens into the silvery sea, the wind picks up and the barge rocks gently against the tide. My eyelids are heavy and the slowness of the whole experience is working its magic on my screen-frazzled brain. Martin calls for the staysail to be unfurled, a 20-minute task that rewards the barge with another knot and a half of speed. “This life is the antithesis of the digital age’s obsession with instant gratification,” he says. “Sailing barges may not be able to teach us much about cargo any more, but they can teach us the value of slowing down, doing things with our hands and spending time in nature.”
As we make our stately, seven-knot progress, 370 sq metres of rust-red canvas billows above and fingers of salt marsh slide by. With so little distraction, the coffee tastes lip-curlingly bitter, the bacon sandwiches as saline as the deep. I settle on a coil of rope to scan the horizon for porpoises, but soon drift into sleep.
A swim from a sandbank near Tollesbury is followed by a meander through West Mersea at golden hour. Clapboard cottages framed by hollyhocks sit beside sailmakers and chandleries converted into trendy cafes. We drop anchor in the Blackwater estuary and beneath a blazing sunset tuck into lasagne on deck. I haven’t felt this present for months. It’s all such a delight I begin to feel concerned about the trust’s future. Sailing barges cost between £30,000 and £100,000 a year to keep afloat. The trip I’m on costs just £220 including meals, while the Trust’s annual membership is only £37.50.
Although the trust offers training in many of the skills needed to maintain the barges, sourcing the timber is becoming increasingly difficult – and expensive. “Centaur’s exterior planking is pitch pine from the Mississippi basin, which is incredibly durable, but has been virtually exhausted,” says Martin. “And so much of the timber trade has been replaced by plastic.”
after newsletter promotion
The trust also offers free training for future skippers, including the mate on our trip, 18-year-old Ben Weldon, the son of a local shipwright. However, it typically takes 2,000 hours – or 10 years – and the dropout rate is high.
While the trust has recently been awarded £28,090 from the National Lottery Heritage Fund to develop a bid for the £4m needed to restore Centaur, it seems wrong that responsibility for keeping this thread of Britain’s maritime story from unravelling rests on so few shoulders. Sailing may be associated with privilege, but we are a seafaring nation and this inheritance belongs to all of us.
On Sunday morning, our last on board, a westerly fills the sails, and the tea-coloured Blackwater wrinkles beneath the bow as we beat our way back towards Maldon. “Lee ho,” Martin calls, showing me how to spin the wheel to help the crew tack. “So far we’ve used less than a gallon of fuel to do 50 miles. Pretty extraordinary, given that a family car does about 30 miles to the gallon.”
When I asked Pearce at the start of the trip why keeping Thames sailing barges afloat is worth the fight, he looked blank, as if such a question had never occurred to him. He showed me a pencil sketch of a barge he had drawn at the age of 15 in Greenwich, left half-finished when his skipper had poked his head through the hatch and invited him below for dinner. Now, more than 70 years later, he bends once more over that drawing as though no time has passed.
Eventually, he half-whispers: “Well, they’re just lovely, ain’t they?” He glances toward the window. Nearby, Centaur waits on the mud for the returning tide.
The trip was provided by the Thames Sailing Barge Trust. The next weekend aboard Centaur departs on 14 August, £220 for two nights’ full board; three-night trips depart on 3 September (£350 on Pudge, £320 on Centaur) and 18 September (£290 on Centaur). A variety of one-day sailings are also available
from £55 to £125pp
A NEW ferry linking a quirky English seaside town with France is setting sail in just a few weeks.
The crossing will take around eight hours with each sailing limited to 12 passengers.
SailLink has teamed up with award-winning sailor Michel Desjoyeaux, who will personally skipper each journey from Shoreham to Fécamp, Normandy.
Mr Desjoyeaux, the only sailor in history to have won the Vendée Globe, a round-the-world sailing race, twice, built the wind-powered catamran from parts of other race boats that had already sailed round the world.
He hopes to prove that regular, wind–powered crossings can become a practical alternative to traditional cross-Channel ferries.
The pilot project will run from September 8-13 .
Billed as a fishing port and religious pilgrimage site, Fécamp is renowned for its striking chalk cliffs and Benedictine liqueur.
The sailing itself retraces the historic voyage of Charles II, who reached Fécamp from Shoreham in 1651.
Ticket prices start from £220 for a one-way trip, with return journeys starting from £440.
Tom Willis, chief executive at Shoreham Port, said: “We are delighted to see Shoreham Port working with SailLink and the Port of Fécamp to offer this unique cross-Channel crossing experience.
“As global warming challenges the way we travel, wind propulsion offers a compelling alternative.”
Tickets for the pilot project go on sale on August 1.
“It’s all about tuning into the culture of the sea,” helmsman Chris O’Brien tells me, scanning the rippling cobalt horizon from the wheel of a catamaran. “People find the water, and the meditative experience of sailing, healing.” Meditative isn’t a word that usually comes to mind when talking about cross-Channel ferries on a bank holiday weekend, but this is no ordinary ferry.
Launched last year, SailLink operates a largely wind-powered (engines are only used when necessary) service from Dover to Boulogne up to five times a week between April and mid-September, with a new Shoreham to Fécamp route due to start trials later this year.
Being able to bring bikes on board and swerve large customs queues are big draws for many travellers (officials come to the boat to check documents, so there’s no waiting around in terminals). For my two teenage sons, however, the clincher is a chance to have a go at sailing, and turn a four to five-hour journey into an adventure.
We arrive in Dover by train, strolling to the marina in 15 minutes, past the town’s beach and the elegant Georgian terraces of Waterloo Crescent, before reaching SailLink’s designated pontoon. Less than 45 minutes later we’re on board, watching Dover’s castle and white cliffs recede as a few of the more eager passengers help to haul the sails.
The catamaran can carry 12 passengers. Among them are Paul and Caroline Docherty from York, who took a train to London and cycled down through Kent. “The cycle was hot and unpleasant so we thought maybe we’d just sail from Hull next time, but I’m sold,” says Caroline. “I’m loving it.” So, too, are my sons who, after a lesson in steering from Chris, have sprawled out on the nets at the front of the boat, looking out for dolphins as we cut a course to Boulogne.
On this calm, sunny day, we’re lulled by the gentle lifting and sinking of the boat and, by the time we arrive in Boulogne, we’ve swayed ourselves into a gentler rhythm, tuned into the wind, the waves and the tides.
It’s a fitting approach to Boulogne-sur-Mer, a city so deeply shaped by the sea it anchors its name to it. Historically a strategic link between Britain and France, today it’s still France’s largest fishing port, home to a venerable fish market and Europe’s largest aquarium, Nausicaá.
Swimming against a tide of visitors flowing into Nausicaá, we pick up ebikes and trace a route north along the Vélomaritime cycle path to Cap Gris-Nez. As we pedal along the coast, passing Wimereux’s brightly coloured belle epoque villas, dipping into the sea from Ambleteuse’s bleach-blond beach and weaving inland through fields stippled with catapulting skylarks, it feels as far from the flat, industrial and battle-blitzed stereotype of the Pas-de-Calais as it’s possible to get.
At Cap Gris-Nez, the Channel narrows to its slimmest point and we peer out towards Kent, buffeted by the breeze as we eat baguettes stuffed with gooey cheese.
Back in Boulogne, we call in at the Maison de la Beurière, the house of a typical local fishing family, presented as it would have been in the late 19th century. The museum’s former head, Jean-Pierre Ramet, tells us how dominant the sea was over the lives of these families. The sea was both respected and feared, he adds: “The arrival of the radio, with its scientific weather forecasts, prompted a huge decline in religion here.”
With our forecast still looking sunny, we leave the coast but not the water, travelling inland by train to Saint-Omer. A few hundred metres from the town’s elegant chateau-style railway station is Boat’Om, a stylishly restored merchant péniche (barge), which will be our home for the night.
A long way from the boat’s later incarnation as a nightclub, owner Angélique Boulet transformed the péniche into guest accommodation with four bedrooms and a huge open-plan kitchen three years ago. Moored along the Canal de Neufossé, 20 minutes’ walk from the city’s cathedral, Boat’Om is a serene oasis in the heart of the city. We drift towards one of its window seats and watch reflections from the water ripple across its wooden ceiling as ducks, and the odd evening rower, paddle past.
The idea is to offer visitors a chance to disconnect, Angélique tells us. “We are in the city but all around us are peaceful marshes. You don’t realise that if you come by car, but by bike you feel it.”
after newsletter promotion
We take her advice the following morning, collecting rental bikes from Saint-Omer’s tourist office and pedalling just north of the city to explore the Audomarois marshes, a Unesco biosphere reserve. At the visitor centre, La Maison du Marais, we pile into a traditional bacôve boat and glide silently into a maze of quiet channels.
Our guide, Hippolyte Petit, explains that until the seventh century much of this area lay under water. Later, monks and farmers dug canals, creating a lattice of waterways to support the market gardens that still survive today. For centuries, the gardens’ prized cauliflowers and endive were transported to market by boat and, even now, France’s last postal boat service operates here, delivering mail to isolated waterside homes.
Later we meet Rémy Colin, of Les Faiseurs de Bateaux, the last traditional boat-builders in the marshes. His workshop creates bacôves – flat-bottomed boats used for transporting produce – using oak from nearby forests, but the boat-building business is difficult, he says. A sideline running boat trips, tours and dining experiences helps sustain the workshop. In medieval times, these boats would have been common throughout northern Europe. Now they only exist in the Audomarois. “We’re not just the last boat-builders but also the last boat-maintainers,” he tells us. “If we stop, they will disappear.”
That poignancy is brought into focus on our final night, which we spend deeper in the marshes at La Fermette de Marie Grouette, a waterside guesthouse only accessible by boat. Owner Muriel Richart collects us from a prearranged spot and steers us to her pretty whitewashed cottage, where a supper packed with local cheeses, smoked fish, salads and warm bread is served in a hamper so that you can eat wherever you like, including out on the water.
Before the light disappears, I take one of Muriel’s kayaks and paddle out into water that looks like molten gold. Droplets of liquid amber fall from my paddle as I go and, around me, the marsh feels almost jungle-like, as moorhens squeak, great crested grebes bark, chiffchaffs chirp and wood pigeons throatily coo.
The following morning, we reluctantly begin our journey home. This time, we cross from Calais to Dover on a P&O ferry – the last remaining foot passenger service on the route. Standing on deck as we leave the shore we gaze at clouds bubbling ominously above the hazy horizon. The water that carried us here will soon rise and drift inland, before falling and returning to the sea. For days we’ve been immersed in its cycle. Or, as Chris would perhaps say, we’ve been learning to go with the flow.
The trip was provided by Visit Pas-de-Calais. One-way foot passenger fares on SailLink cost £85 per adult and £30 per child (last crossing 20 September) and on P&O from £30 in the summer months. Boat’Om rental starts from £250 per night for two, self-catering. Doubles at La Fermette de Marie Grouette start from €94 (£81), B&B
