'REBECCA'

The Skipper, in one of his more expansive moods, has a tale to tell...

"The first, and only, wooden boat that I have owned was an old gaff-rigged cutter built in 1890. It was 1963 and she was discovered and purchased in Shoreham harbour.

Her then owner, an architect, pointed out her fine lines; her mermaid figurehead; traces of gilding still to be seen in her stunning streaming hair; her curved tiller, terminating in a full-length bare-breasted mermaid, her beautiful locks cascading over her shoulders... her decks; her classic rig......Yes! Yes! Reserve her!  I'll be down next Saturday, I babbled, totally smitten.

Having talked my dear pal, Chris, into going half-shares in the purchase of a rare and wonderful classic yacht, we hurtled down to Shoreham in our jointly-owned S.S. Jaguar, whose steering and brakes left a lot to be desired, and which was thoroughly un-roadworthy but, at £195 GBP, what did we expect?!

After much huffing about only being art students and only being able to scrape up 1250 pounds for the old gaffer, it was decided that the balance should be paid by our working in the grounds of the architects' house in Brighton. £500 GBP-worth of week-ends later, the "Blue Book" (Certificate of Registration)  was ours. Naturally, the most important thing to do next was to have a boat-warming party.

Friday night saw nine people peering at the boat swinging on a buoy. No dinghy! "No worry", cried the intrepid new  boat-owners "we will borrow that dinghy" , pointing to a dinghy leaning on its transom against a nearby wall. Whilst the first four were paddling across in the quiet, moonlit, windless night with huge quantities of wine  and beer and great baskets of food, I turned toward the car to get a torch, or flashlight as they call them these days,  when I distinctly heard one of the girls complain that her feet were getting wet, then another joined in. 

By the light of the torch, I could see the dinghy settling and then came the first scream. I shall never forget the sight of French bread, food baskets and bottles floating away from the upturned dinghy. It seemed an age before we all dashed into the water to recover the food and booze and, of course, the girls.

Later that evening, with the heat of the kerosene lamps taking the chill off the narrow cabin, I sensed that the girls were disappointed with the arrangements aboard. The wireless that they had brought had ceased to function, primarily, I thought, because of the dunking it had received. Nobody felt like trying to row to the pub so an early night was had by all.

At some point I awoke to the sound of complaints. "It's raining in here!" Sure enough, the deck was leaking quite badly and then, like a bad dream, the heavens opened and it was as if there were no deck! I thought my suggestion of pulling the mainsail across the deck was a good one but I received only a scowl, everyone was so wet by this time that they reckoned it best if they swam back to their cars and went home. 

The re-caulking of the deck necessitated a loan from Chris's father and my taking a second job, in a bakery. From there it was all downhill. that is to say the catalogue of disasters gained momentum.
There was the discovery that the engine had not run since the Great War. The rudder was so full of Gribble worm that it had to be replaced altogether. Whilst searching for the reason we were taking so much water, I noticed what appeared to be a strip of luminous paint. Digging my trusty knife into it, I found it wasn't paint at all, but the glow of the water outside the paper-thin hull and now the water really was pouring in. 

We careened her and put a tingle (sheet of copper) over a good seven feet of planking. Six months of boat-ownership and we still  hadn't sailed anywhere! All this work, pain and suffering (after having applied pitch to the bottom of the boat, I rubbed myself down with petrol thinners and paraffin, in an attempt to get the dreadful stuff off, and wound up in Brighton hospital with painful burns...) still hadn't been rewarded. It was agreed we should take the old girl to Rye, about fifty kilometres away. 

As we left the lock at Shoreham we couldn't help noticing a fisherman cross himself as he watched us go.  Needless to say, the first blow carried away the jib (headsail) so we arrived with the staysail up and a mainsail with a ten foot rip in it. 

If memory serves me well, it was around this time that Chris fell out of love with boats, wooden or otherwise. He suggested it would be an excellent idea if I bought his share, and to not worry about the effort he had put into it, just agree to pay the original half of the purchase price. I felt this was more than fair and agreed. 

Over the next three years the the boat looked better and better but I looked the worse for wear and I just couldn't seem to keep up with her needs. To compound my problems, I must have thought it a good idea to get married, because I did.

One weekend in September, my wife, our new daughter and the nanny arrived at the boat. I had forgotten that, the previous week, I had lifted out the cabin sole, so as to remove the pig iron to coat it with red lead. You've guessed it!  Jane, the nanny, holding my baby daughter, Emma, fell into the bilge. Another trip to the hospital was chalked down to the wretched boat and it was time to abandon the romance with the old gaffer. I exchanged her for an old Austin Healey 3000 motor vehicle, £750 GBP in cash and a rather fine Regency Loo table.

Over these past decades, when I have been invited to 'look over' a friends' project and it turns out to be a graceful wooden gaffer or, in one case, an awesome topsail schooner, I still feel the chill run down my spine. Unlike my rotting gaffer, I am cured.

On the other hand...we received this letter from someone who had read the pilot version of this magazine, last year. We tried to contact them and let them know that we are, indeed, very interested in hearing all about the ongoing restoration of their very special classic yacht, but our e-mail was returned.
If you know this couple, perhaps you would be so kind as to pass the message to them!

From: Cheri & John Hutchins 
Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2000 21:30:08 -0800 

We live in Alaska where we have just purchased the 23 foot sloop 'Felicity Ann'.
She was built in Plymouth, England in 1939. 
Ann Davison sailed Felicity Ann across the Atlantic Ocean in 1952 to become the first woman to sail the Atlantic alone. 
An account of her voyage can be found in her book, "My Ship Is So Small", which we found in our public library here in Anchorage.

I don't know if others would be interested, but after reading Ann Davison's book we find it remarkable that this brave little boat ended up in a shed in Moose Pass, Alaska. 

My wife and I are proud to own a vessel with such a history and will work to finish 'Felicity Ann's restoration and keep her in fit condition to sail.

John and Cheri Hutchins

As we said at the beginning of this charming letter, we do hope John and Cheri will contact us and tell us all about the restoration.
Have you been, or are you still, involved with a traditional wooden vessel? We'd love to hear all about it!