The Allure and Reality of a Life at Sea
Eve Stanway's earliest memories are not of a static home, but of a narrow, damp bunk on a 30-foot oceanic catamaran. The bed, situated on the port side, was perpetually filled with the scent of salt and wet canvas from the sails stored beside it. She would fall asleep curled around the shape of the boat as it rocked, a sensation that defined her formative years.
Her parents, who had been living in a single rented room in London, made the life-changing decision to buy their first boat in the 1970s when Eve was just six months old. Seeing it as a cheaper and freer way to live, they embarked on this adventure with no prior sailing experience. They purchased the catamaran and essentially learned how to operate it as they travelled.
A Childhood of Wonder and Profound Loneliness
The family's journey was extraordinary. They sailed to Italy, where Eve's brother was born, later crossed the Atlantic, and rounded the formidable Cape Horn. Eve's education was the world itself; she learned to sail, light fires, and steer an outboard motor long before she tackled long division.
She witnessed phosphorescent tides in the Bay of Biscay and saw dolphins dance beneath the catamaran's hulls. She recalls a perilous Channel crossing in thick fog with no engine power, where she and her brother banged saucepans to warn off cargo ships in the darkness. These experiences taught her immense resourcefulness.
However, this adventurous life came at a significant personal cost. For the first eleven years of her life, Eve had no postcode, no front door, and no permanent education. Her family would only stay in one place long enough for her to attend the nearest school—sometimes for a term, sometimes for just a few weeks—before moving on.
By the age of 11, she had changed schools at least a dozen times. She grew accustomed to arriving mid-term with no uniform, no friends, and no understanding of the rules. Her education was pieced together from libraries and books read by lamplight, leaving significant gaps in her knowledge. Too frightened to ask questions and reveal her ignorance, she learned to stay quiet, even when she was completely lost.
Her sun-bleached hair, second-hand clothes, and salt-stiff skin marked her as different from other children. Friendship always meant an impending loss, so she kept her distance, observing others to learn how to belong. What she craved most was simple stability: a bedroom with still walls, a made bed, and a space of her own that didn't smell of mildew.
Building a Safe Harbour in Adulthood
When her family finally settled on land when she was 12, the emotional longing for a rooted life persisted. As an adult, Eve made deliberate choices to create the stability she never had: she went to university, got a job in a law firm, secured a steady income, and found a place she could truly call home in London.
Despite this, she struggled for years with feeling like an outsider, even being terrified of children because they reminded her of her own lost childhood. A pivotal moment came in her thirties, when she realised that strangers now saw her as a confident adult woman, not the scared child she once was. She had finally built the safety she had always longed for.
Now a parent herself, Eve has complicated feelings about her own upbringing. While she admires her parents' courage and tenacity, she feels they gave her the world but not the tools to navigate it. As a mother, she strives for balance. She exposes her children to adventure and travel, showing them the world is wide, but she also provides them with unwavering stability.
Her children have a permanent home where friends can visit, access to sports and music, and familiar routines. Most importantly, she encourages them to voice their wants and needs, ensuring they know their voices matter. Her story concludes with a powerful metaphor: children need wonder, but they also need a harbour. Even the best boats need a place to return to.
