The inspiration for this composition comes from a series of articles which appeared in the magazine Motor Sport in the 1950s, entitled ‘Cars I have Owned’. Cars manufactured in those days, and more particularly those of recent memory at the time and still available second-hand at low prices, were more interesting and individualistic than those of today; preferably open cars kept for the pleasure of the open road, not as status symbols or for investment; to be compared in fact to today’s reasons for owning small boats… but I digress.

I was fortunate in having a father who, whilst not being very interested in boats, had spent his boyhood by the banks of a river. Accordingly I was taught to row a river skiff and paddle a Canadian canoe before I entered my teens.

Living in North London and attending boarding school did not give me much opportunity to get afloat as a boy, and my experiences had to come second-hand from the pages of books, as did my tuition. However, it was the centre of the Metropolis which was to give me my first chance to sail.

Attending Hotel School, and having an unexpected afternoon off, I found myself in Regents Park. I stopped near the lake and gazed down at the pontoon where the hire boats were moored, meaning to take out a rowing boat for an hour. It was a lovely afternoon in May, and below me, unexpectedly, were a couple of lugsail dinghies; they had just been taken out of store after the war and reintroduced into the hire fleet. The sun shone through the idly flapping sails, a light breeze blew and the ripples chuckled under the lands of the planks. To add to this assault on the senses the smell of fresh, sun-warmed varnish rose about me. Involuntarily I stepped forward to present myself as a prospective hirer. The attendant looked up. “You have experience of sailing boats, I suppose?” I nodded untruthfully. The result was a blissful afternoon in which I sailed about the inlets and islets of the lake, with the murmur of London traffic as an inappropriate but not unwelcome background accompaniment. Such were the benign conditions and the benefit of my ‘book learning’ that I had no difficulties of technique in sailing back to the landing stage at the end of the afternoon — only those of inclination!

Being a trainee in the hotel trade and then in the army meant that sailing boats did not come my way again for some time, as in those days there were very few inland sailing clubs, and in any case I was not a very ‘clubby’ person. Rowing boats and canoes were freely available for hire, however, in many places that I found myself, and I have paddled Canadian canoes in the beautiful, cedar planked form which we then took so much for granted, in at least six counties. A useful and easily launched vessel, the Canadian; two or more people can share it for trips, picnics or fishing. It is much easier to enter or get out of than a kayak, carries a bigger load, and if you are inclined that way, can be converted to rowing or outboard motor propulsion. Its only fault is its handling in strong winds when one is singlehanded and lightly loaded.

After I had emerged from the army and was working in London, a chance remark from a friend took me to a man who used to hire out-classed National 12 racing dinghies on a stretch of the Thames above Richmond Bridge. Many exciting afternoons were spent struggling single-handed with these tippy craft. Jib sheets held in my teeth, mainsheet under my foot, and heart in mouth as I changed tacks in the fluky winds, greatly impeded by the ‘A’ Class Raters and the Sea Scout Whalers which shared this stretch of water. Somehow it never occurred to me that I could do without the jib, and I had not heard, then, that Fireflies were raced jibless in their single-handed championships at that time.

Eventually came marriage, a settled life, and the chance to keep a sailing dinghy of my own. After due consideration “based on little experience and much force of circumstance”, I bought a Graduate 12 dinghy and joined the Weybridge Sailing Club. My model had rolled side-decks which were fine if the wind strength was such as to require full sitting-out. Anything less, however, meant that one was perched insecurely on one buttock on a slippery, varnished surface, sloping downwards at about 45º! I raced it at the club with no success, and trailed it to other waters whenever possible. One day, manoeuvring before the start of a race and reaching across the river in the opposite direction to another dinghy, we received a puff and the other dinghy didn’t. Our forestays met, and the next minute two crews were looking decidedly ridiculous in the middle of the river in sailing boats without masts. One inch screws were apparently not secure enough for a forestay fitting.

Another time at Rye Harbour I launched from the usual west side when it was blowing fresh from the east. The tide rose and the wind freshened, and with my wife as crew and with full sail we dashed up and down the river. Returning to the lee shore with no sea to speak of seemed a doddle — just luff-up to windward of the ramp, lower the main and blow gently towards the shore with the jib sheets ready to fly and the centreboard and rudder to raise as we enter the shallows. Ah… but the mainsail wouldn’t lower! Sail off, luff, and try again! After three attempts it became obvious that the sail, of bright yellow cotton, was held by a large splinter which had split away from the luff groove and had impaled the luff of the sail about 10’ up. It would not go up or down. Fortunately for us a man on shore had seen our trouble and yelled to us that he would stop the boat if we sailed straight at the shore. Up centreboard and straight in; however, our Samaritan had misjudged the weight and momentum of a racing dinghy with two occupants and a force 6 up its tail, and was knocked flat on his back in the water. We luffed neatly over the top of his immersed, recumbent form as I threw myself over the side and grabbed the forestay — “and so we came safe to land”! Our saviour emerged from beneath the water with a huge grin. “Well done, what!” he said. Whether he meant him or us I never discovered. The result for me was a deep suspicion of wooden masts with luff grooves. For my wife it was confirmation of her suspicion that boats of less than 30’ long were not for her.

Shortly afterwards I started to run my own business. Six day working weeks and Sundays with the children became the norm, and a couple of years passed before plans for leisure combined with water could become a reality. I met PB when buying a car — he sold me the car, and also introduced me to all the pleasures of marsh and salting. A man obsessed by wildfowl, he led me over mudflats and marshes of the Medway and Swale. We were always pursued by the tide, and regretted that we had to abandon the estuaries when the water rose. The result was the purchase of a Whittle Packboat. This craft was constructed of moulded ply in three sections which bolted together to form a transom sterned craft, 12’ long by about 3’ 9” beam. It was of round bilge form and came complete with a pair of oars which resembled broomsticks with bits of ply screwed on the ends. For power we purchased a 3 hp twin cylinder Johnson outboard motor. The seaworthiness of this craft was abysmal, although it was certainly strong; as a river craft it would have been fine. Even in moderate winds, wind against tide conditions had to be treated with great respect. A mild following sea would curl over the transom given half a chance. That boat taught us a lot, however. Many a time we had to wait for the tide to slacken before we crossed a channel. We learnt to value the shelter of a flooded salting or mud bank at the top of the tide, and often walked the boat in the shallows along the side of a creek to avoid the waves in the middle.

We always seemed to be in a state of funk when aboard, and always bailing as waves slopped in from either end. Three things contributed to this lack of seaworthiness — a complete absence of sheer, low freeboard and fine ends; there was thus no reserve of buoyancy when assaulted by waves fore or aft.

After a particularly trying day when we had a third person on board, we realised that our survival was too dependent upon the reliability of the engine, and in consideration of our two wives and seven children we must look for a replacement.

The successor to the Packboat was found on the beach at Whitstable, and we paid £35 to an oysterman for a 14’ carvel open boat, together with a rusty fisherman anchor, manila warp and a pair of ash sweeps. The hull had originally been round-bilged, but at some time had had its bottom stove-in, which had been replaced with a flat one. It thus had rounded topsides and a flat bottom joined together by a doubled set of ribs. The flat bottom helped us to get it down the beach, heavy though it was, using a pair of drainpipes as rollers. Our trusty Johnson was clamped on the stern, but, alas, the transom was too deep, and in order to immerse the propeller we both had to sit together in the sternsheets. The forward part of the bottom was now exposed and proceeded to slap down on each wave as we set off against a brisk westerly to enter the Swale on our way to our mooring in the Medway. Sheets of spray exploded out from either side of the bows, but we remained dry. There was a minor panic when water started flowing in where some caulking spewed out, but this was soon brought under control with the aid of a torn-up handkerchief.

We later cut a recess in the top of the transom to allow the propeller a better bite of the water, and this boat served us well for a couple of years. Its only fault was a fantastic ability to roll. It never actually immersed its gunwales, but with a beam sea we had to change course every now and then to allow the poor old girl to calm down. Heavy weight and a complete lack of keel, or even a skeg, were the undoubted causes.

We were now spending at least one whole day per fortnight in all seasons throughout the year recording the birdlife which, in winter, was magnificent. Because our mooring dried out on the tide, we more often than not returned after dark. Navigation was helped by the roosts of the various waders, and their calls in the darkness were a useful check on our progress. Beautiful, nocturnal homecomings, especially in winter, with the call of wildfowl and accompanied very often by brilliant phosphorescence in the water created by the movement of oars or propeller.

With greater affluence, more comfort was demanded, and I found a 17’ cabin launch on a garage forecourt near Rye, recently completed by a Rye boatbuilder. A round bilge, semi-displacement hull on the lines of a Keith Nelson pilot launch. Construction was glued clinker ply, but with oak ribs. Powered at first with the 10 hp Johnson, we upped it to 29 hp later and fitted Morse steering, and increased the speed from about 6 to 12 knots. Well-constructed of Bruhnzeel ply, and painted and anti-fouled every year, we kept her for four years on a mud mooring, summer and winter, without the slightest trace of delamination. When last heard of five years later she was still going strong, although a subsequent owner put her on the beach at Hastings in the mistaken idea that it was the thing to do when the sea got too rough for comfort!

As a mother ship the launch was ideal, although it lacked the intimacy with the marsh and estuary creeks that we were used to. Accordingly I ventured into my first boatbuilding attempt, a small sailing pram with gunter rig called a Gremlin. The plans came from the Light Craft magazine. This was used as a tender and general explorer. An interesting design, as in order to obtain a V shape to the forward bottom, the whole of the bottom was cut from one sheet of ply, and then a thin, V shaped slice was cut out and the two edges drawn together and fastened to the hog. However, as the hog had to be bevelled by guesswork, the glued joint was a bit suspect.

A very able little craft for all that, but with 3/16” planking it would have had to be well looked after to survive our rigorous expeditions. Someone borrowed it without permission one day and left it right way up; it thus filled up with rain water, which froze, and the resultant strain caused it to leak thereafter. We sold it to the chap who had borrowed it, but kept the sail.

The Gremlin’s successor was my first GRP craft, a Tepco 8’ stem dinghy, beautifully finished at that time with lots of mahogany trim and floorboards. A marvellous tender, towing well on the forward face of the launch’s stern wave with only light tension on the painter; very stable and easy to push across mud. It also rowed well and the two of us often spent a day in it, rowing in turns and sliding it where the water was thin.

We also obtained a ¾-decked gunning punt about 40 years old. This was some 17’ long and 3’ beam, double-ended with flat bottom, able to float in an inch of water. This was typical of the craft used by professional wildfowlers in the 19th and early 20th centuries on seas and estuaries of the East Coast and Solent. It would have carried a gun able to fire 1½ to 2 lb of lead shot. It was essential to get near the birds before firing, so the gunner had to lie flat and propel the punt with hand paddles, or very short setting poles, when crossing shallows. Without its gun it was accordingly very useful for bird watching, although I do not recommend the prone position from which to paddle any craft! It was very fast under oars, which came in useful when caught up a creek with a strong flood tide. Being built in the days before plywood, leaks in the bottom could be cured by the old fashioned method of running hot pitch into the seams. By fitting a skeg to the bottom, we even made this unlikely craft tow reasonably well.

This marsh expeditionary force finally broke up when PB departed to farm in Wales, and from then on I had to entertain myself single-handed when boating. I returned to wind propelled craft with the purchase of a 22’ sloop, clinker mahogany on oak ribs, called a Kestrel 22. I found it at a boatyard in Christchurch, and taking the four-wheel trailer on trust, trailed it to Rye to my own boatbuilder to have some broken ribs doubled. A few days later I trailed onwards to the Medway. Passing through a village, one of the tyres on the trailer exploded noisily, fortunately right opposite a garage, the owner of which produced an agricultural implement tyre of suitable size. It is astonishing how often boat owners buy trailers for their craft which are too small, or designed for lighter loads than really required. I have purchased a fair number of second-hand boats over the years as will become apparent as this tale unfolds, and on no less than four occasions the trailer has not been up to its job.

When we reached our destination on the southern shore of the Medway estuary I erected the mast without trouble as the boat was blessed with a tabernacle, and towed it to its mooring with the Tepco, which I had kept out of our original fleet of three. In this boat I ventured out into the Thames estuary and frightened myself reefing and changing jibs when the sea was rough; life harnesses were not considered then. I never grew to like this boat as it had a very lively motion and seemed tender. I mentioned this last opinion to the designer when I met him on the quay at Maldon one day — I’m still not sure whether his look was withering or pitying!

There was an inboard engine in the shape of a two-stroke Stuart Turner. This motor refused to start when hot, and in any case, in order to employ the starting handle, one had to dismantle the cockpit lockers! One day, beating in through the narrows by Sheerness in a fresh breeze with too large a headsail, I was having trouble coming about. A couple of coasters were leaving the dockyard, and obviously wishing to use the same bit of water. The ebb was running, and I didn’t wish to lose my hard-won ground so decided to use the engine. By the time it was running I was surrounded by various bits of timber, and everyone was a bit close. One of the coaster’s skippers nearly fell over the rail in his amusement. I didn’t mind; I was only too relieved that I hadn’t lost any of the bits overboard!

This boat did have certain virtues, however. It was very slippery in light airs which meant the engine was not often necessary, and it hove-to in the conventional way by backing the jib, with or without the helm down. My family were not interested in it, however, and after a time I sold it to some brothers from Leigh; they were not interested in the trailer, however, so I sold that to someone with a smaller yacht.

In order to attract my children, I bought a larger version of my first launch from Rye, 24’ long and with an inboard/outboard drive with diesel engine. As a family attraction it failed, but I used it year round for fishing and shooting, and for a time kept it at Queenborough in the West Swale. It had a forward cabin and steering shelter, the rest of the large cockpit being covered, on moorings, with a heavy fabric cover fastened with turn-buckles. Fastening the last of these after dark, when perched on the narrow deck with a sluicing tide ready to carry you off if you fell in, was somewhat hazardous, so I redesigned the cabin and wheelhouse to be enclosed with a door and a self-draining bridge deck between the wheelhouse and engine hatches aft.

Still wishing to sail, I bought a sailing version of the Dell Quay Jaunty as a tender for the summer. I can remember very little about this pram, not even how it was rigged. Even though it had a hard-chine hull (GRP), it was rather tender, which was definitely due to narrow beam at the waterline. I did, however, teach my elder son to sail in this boat.

The 24’ launch was comfortable and well-equipped with echo sounder and compass — just as well because the second winter I had it was a foggy one in the Thames Estuary. Crawling home along soundings had to be done with care, as there were a lot of unlit buoys around in the Medway. After a couple of years, the din made by the diesel engine began to get me down, and she went back to Rye to be sold.

For a time I was boatless, but remembering the old duck punt I decided to build one, though first of all I had to draw it. I got the principal dimensions from a 19th century book on shooting; a number of craft were described, and I drew the lines of a single-handed punt of 15’ to be built in ply. According to the book, the bottom should not be perfectly flat, but should have an athwartship curve, the bottom, side to side, being the arc of a circle. If one uses the same radius on all the bottom frames, one automatically gets a bottom that is deeper at the point of maximum beam, producing a natural rocker; ie the bottom lifts towards the ends. Depending on the displacement of the hull, the chines will be immersed to a lesser amount, causing less eddying along the same, and thus less resistance to water flow. The old boatbuilders know their business.

I took a table of offsets from my drawing and transferred the measurements directly onto timber, not realizing that I should have lofted the hull first. Lofting is drawing the whole hull full size on the floor of a building, normally in the ‘loft’. This ensures that the hull will have fair curves, as minor adjustments can be made before cutting the timber. I was lucky, however, as the hull came out fine; minor adjustments in my case were made by altering the positions of the frames slightly. The result was a double-ended, ¾-decked craft, 15’ x 3’, with flat sides flared slightly, about 20º; 10” high at the stern and 7” at the bow. The whole thing sounds slightly odd, but the lower freeboard at the bows was to enable the gun to be trained on a target at water level. There is a long foredeck to carry the gun, which brings the cockpit well back. The point of maximum beam is thus well aft too.

The craft, in spite of seeming somewhat shallow, is very seaworthy, as the deck is strongly cambered and high coaming protects the cockpit. Rowing hard into a chop, there is more than a passing resemblance to a submarine, but although the foredeck is awash, water seldom seems to invade the cockpit. The hard chine gives stability. The fastest propulsion is by means of oars, but it can be paddled or punted, or even sailed, though with limited windward ability. It proved a good boat for pottering around the marshes. Strangely, PB was drawing and building one at his farm in Wales for use on the Towy at much the same time.

The gunning punt was a very useful boat for the marshes, but, for more general use, was a bit limited. I sold it to a man from Cumberland who paid for it in full without seeing it and left it with me for six months before he collected it. In its place I purchased what appeared to be an ordinary looking GRP dinghy from a marine stores, intending to use it with a 4 hp outboard. The same store had nothing smaller than a 9½ hp Johnson, but which I was offered at such a discount I couldn’t refuse. The dinghy had come over from Norway as part of an odd lot. The resultant boat/engine combination was a revelation as it planed at what then to me was a frightening speed. I had a lot of fun in surf with it as it could accelerate away from breaking waves at will. I can only assume now that I had stumbled across one of Mr With’s dromedile prototypes. The hull shape was good as it gave a soft dry ride through small waves. When the waves reached such a size as to require a reduction to displacement speed, the way was completely knocked off the boat which I put down to the light weight of the hull. Certainly, modern With hulls have a high reputation for seaworthiness and can in no way be considered light craft.

About this time, the brilliantly conceived method of government robbery was broached called VAT. It was apparent that never again in real terms would anything ever be as cheap again. If I was ever going to own a comparatively large boat it was better to plan it immediately in order to save the VAT. I decided that the most cost effective way was to buy a hull and complete it myself as have many others. So was ordered from the Tyler Boat Company the hull moulding of a DEE 33, a centreboard cruising yacht based on a successful ocean racer and designed by Sparkman & Stevens, 33’ 4” x 10’ 4” x 3’ 7” (plate up). Too many hours were spent dreaming of the cruises to come, considering the fittings and planning the building. Having placed my order I now began to realise that my business would not allow me sufficient time to complete the project within a sensible period of time, so my Rye boatbuilders were contracted to do the work and I had to content myself with the rigging and building a tender. In the belief that she would ‘sail like a witch’ —although I do not know the origin of the phrase — I named her La Sorcière. Witch she certainly was for that boat took over my life. Nothing was too good for her — a beautiful suit of sails from Cranfield & Carter including three genoas, each of different hue; Volvo diesel; pressurized hot water system; anthracite stove; Brookes & Gatehouse navigation equipment; the list ran on! I still do not know how she would behave under cruising conditions as she never went to sea in my ownership. Teething troubles in everything but the rigging (!) had to be sorted. Then the aforementioned VAT plus the miners strike and the three-day week took their toll and my business slid downwards after 15 years successful trading. A bit of daysailing and a couple of weekends were our only honeymoon before she had to be put up for sale. A tomato grower from Norwich was susceptible to her magic and, more important, was unaffected by VAT. The bargain was sealed with a tumbler each of neat gin in her cabin. Her second owner took her on her maiden voyage up the east coast so ‘fools build boats for wise men to sail’. I still have not quite learnt the lesson yet.

The dinghy that I completed for La Sorcière and kept as tender for three subsequent boats started as a bare hull from Island Plastics, 7’ hard chine. I completed it to a good standard not sparing the reinforcement knees at transoms and thwarts. Emergency buoyancy was expanded polystyrene blocks under the thwarts wrapped in heavy grade polythene and retained with webbing. Reinforcement stringers were incorporated and screw eyes at both bow and stern. The latter item can be very useful in a tender allowing the dinghy to be slung aboard using a halyard or for lashing the dinghy alongside when unloading the shopping on a choppy mooring. The DEB’s mooring was more than two miles from my club’s launching ramp so even under power it became a tedious trip especially in a chop. One day, I had a 9½ hp outboard with me and fitted that. It was tempting to open up the throttle and of course the poor little pram stood on its tail. However, by moving forward until I was sitting over the bow transom I managed to trim it into a plane. Most exciting, but dangerous as a sudden steering movement would obviously flip her over. Sitting in the bows and steering by tapping the tiller one way or the other with an oar became the normal practice for the long trip, but, on shorter trips, I just leaned forward with my hands on the forward gunwales. Leaning to one side or the other induced drag in one corner of the transom aft and steered the dinghy. The hazardous moment was when one had to cut the throttle when one had to move aft!

The following year I started to look for another sailing boat. My means were now more limited so I settled for an open daysailer in the shape of a 16’ Fairy Falcon. Conventional by contemporary standards, round bilge, transom sterned, hot moulded hull in timber, ½ decked, steel c/b, Bermudan rigged sloop. Whilst examining the boat I asked the vendor point blank whether the c/b case leaked. He looked me in the eye and swore that she was as tight as a drum. ‘Caveat emptor’! I had a deep water mooring at my club and put her on it — two hours later, there was 6” in the bottom. I bailed her out and went home in trepidation. In the morning she was still afloat — just. She took up slowing and by the end of the summer, I could leave her a week. The silt in the Medway had given her a ‘Blackwall caulking’. In the autumn I took the centreboard out. The glueline between hog and case had failed completely and common brass screws had been used for fastening. In addition, they had been driven in with so little care that 20% of them were not in solid wood but against the edge of the slot in the hog. Whilst I found the Falcon far from ideal for single handed use, with two teenage children as crew she was excellent with her roomy hull, which was, however, light enough to accelerate sharply in a puff. When by myself, I found it necessary to reef depressingly often, and a day out sometimes left me exhausted.

Having returned the Falcon to health and sold it, I looked around for something a bit larger with a lid. Impressed by the fact that the design had crossed the Atlantic, I favoured a Hunter Europa 19. I finally found a triple keeled version at a price I could afford at Burnham on Crouch, complete with trailer. The low price, or rather my low offer, was justified as, with most Hunter boats, this had been completed from a kit and the first owner had made a rather poor job of it. I ripped it all out and started from scratch, with a set of drawings supplied by Hunters. Regretfully, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, neither get a quart into a pint pot, and the cabin never resembled more than a luxurious dog kennel. The sailing ability of the hull was excellent and she would work to windward in quite hairy conditions, at a price — the helmsman’s comfort. A very wet boat!

After only one season the seduction of bigger and better held sway again and, impressed by Hunter’s mouldings and their choice of designer, I ordered a Sonata c/b version in kit form. Whilst I was waiting for delivery, I built one of the ‘Instant Boats’. An American designer called Phil Bolger evolved a method of quick building of flat bottomed plywood boats. One pre-shapes the sides of the boat making the timber as long as is required by butt jointing or scarfing. One then fastens them together at stem and stern with a couple of simple frames keeping them apart in the middle and the shape of a flat bottomed dory style hull happens automatically. One then fastens on chines and gunwales, bevels off the chines and nails on the bottom and hey presto — a boat. I chose a little 12’ double ender called Teal. It took three weeks of evenings and most of that was spent painting and finishing. I built it for rowing and on a river it was fine, being easy to row and carrying its way well. In a bit of a sea on the estuary it was rather hard work and felt as if one was towing a bucket. This behaviour is not typical of dories and the wider bottom is to blame I imagine. As a sailer I feel sure it would have been much more successful as the shape would be better when heeled.

The Sonata hull arrived in my front garden in early spring and I started work at the same time as a queen wasp started building in the interior. We amicably shared the access through the main hatch as we popped in and out. When her nest had reached the size of an orange attached to the ceiling of the main cabin I was ready to put the lining panels in place, so regretfully had to refuse her entrance and destroy the nest. She buzzed about fretfully for a couple of days and then transferred her activities to the attic of the house. Her nest reached the size of a football eventually and her brood made the fetching of suitcases a hazardous occupation for the rest of the summer. I completed the Sonata to standard specification apart from adding slides to the mainsail luff. The interior was roomy and practical and I think a model of what a pocket cruiser cabin should be. I added a gas cooker in gimbals and electric lights, although the battery had to be taken ashore for charging. Even my wife was impressed, and guests were entertained providing they did the crewing. More serious sailing was undertaken and for her size the Sonata was a paragon almost. Responsive and fast, very dry — one hardly ever needed oilskins — a practical deck layout, but she needed a hand on the tiller the whole time. Picking up a mooring on a trot was hilarious, for the onlookers. One only had a few feet to travel to the bows, but she would be shooting off on another tack as soon as you blinked. With a crew, usually my daughter, life was rosy, but single handed I longed for something more restful. When my daughter went to university I found the hassle of launching and antifouling etc. by myself a bit much. I slapped her rounded quarters as she went jauntily off down the road behind her new owner. I last saw her in the Blackwater on a fine day. Draped over the decks were four beauteous damsels in an appropriate state of undress; she was in good company!

Scattered amongst the boats I have owned have been four inflatables. The first which I bought in 1962 and which I still own and which still holds pressure is a Hutchinson Nautisport, 6’ long, separately inflatable side tubes and bottom. It is much travelled having accompanied me over quicksands, flounder spearing in South Wales and added to the fun of family holidays on the Costa Brava. Not having a seat, one either takes one’s trousers off when rowing it as a tender or wears a pair of waterproofs. I have owned a couple of Avon Redstarts, one of which departed virtually unused with the DEB. My experience of them leads me to believe that they are the longest lived of the various makes of inflatable tenders. They row surprisingly well if you remember to have a piece of candle on board to lubricate the oarlocks. I found it best to take the plastic collars off the oars as well. My other inflatable was a Zodiac sports boat which I used with a 9.9 hp o/b. An ideal holiday boat if it includes a bit of fishing. My only reservation is how vulnerable one feels when perched on the side tube bouncing up and down at speed in choppy water. A few motors now have safety switches which one can connect to one’s clothing with a cord. As I have always owned estate cars or hatchbacks, even the Zodiac and engine could be squeezed in on holiday providing that I had the backing of the children!

The catalyst which provoked the passing of the Sonata was a little book that I found in the library. You would not need many guesses to establish the name of the book as Dinghies for All Waters by Eric Coleman. I took it home, read it cover to cover and then went and bought my own copy. At the time the West System of using epoxy resin was in the news. I wrote to Eric and ordered the plans of Rebell first as I intended to try the system out by building the Rebell pram. I had a few bits of teak about that I incorporated in its construction and was impressed by its adhesion to such oily wood. At this point, I proved to myself that I had learnt something from my experiences. I was not going to spend the next summer or two in the workshop when I could be sailing and arranged for the hull of a Roamer to be built by a professional boat builder, McNulty’s of South Shields. There was still a fair amount to do of course as I received only a bare hull with part decking in April. I was sailing by July however, forcing myself to work fast and not spend too much workshop time in daydreaming. This is definitely the difference between amateur and professional; the amateur often does as good quality work or better, but the professional works faster — if he’s going to make a living!

I completed the hull to standard specification except where I had to change fittings that were not available. The awning tent I designed and made myself on my wife’s sewing machine, though she maintained with some justification that the poor thing was overloaded. Not being convinced that double shrouds were required on a mast only 17’ long on a beamy hull, I went to Racing Sailboats who designed me a Proctor aluminium mast with short spreaders. I had realised by now that sliders on a small mainsail’s luff were more trouble than they were worth when taking in or shaking out a deep reef, so settled for a plain luff rope in the aluminium groove and jiffy slab reefing. The result is reasonably quick to rig and has stood up to a windward thrash in conditions in which I would rather not have been out, though, as I was single handed as usual, there was a limit to how much strain I could put on the rig. It is very difficult to be objective about one’s Roamer, it has faults, of course, but you would have difficulty getting me to admit to them. For the use I put it to, it must be almost ideal. I don’t often use it in home waters, but for sailing some distance from home where a night away makes the trip worthwhile. Easy to trail, easy to launch and recover single handed, providing that the surface of the ramp is firm; these are features of lesser dinghies. The Roamer, however, manages to be stable and forgiving of carelessness, holding its course well when you want to relax and still sails faster than most small cruisers. I can’t imagine a time when I would want to part with him, as for some reason my Roamer is definitely a ‘he’. Not the least of the Roamer’s assets is the enormous amount of dry storage space, but I mustn’t go on.

Whilst waiting for the Roamer’s hull to be built I looked for something cheap to give me some sailing. I settled on an Otter which I did get cheap, because of certain faults, all of which I thought I had spotted. Regretfully this was not the case and by the time I had sleeved the sprung mast, replaced the centreboard and rudder, rebuilt the centreboard case, resewn the sails, removed the spattered house paint from the hull and renewed all the running rigging, the Roamer had arrived and I never even sailed it. I did make a bit of profit on it, however.

Two other craft I own at the moment are aimed at what the Americans call impulse sailing. A day or a few hours on the water without too much hassle. The first is a canoe although I seldom paddle it. I hankered for a boat designed for rowing like a gig, not with a sliding seat but which would pull easily — not necessarily fast, but seaworthy. I wasn’t too interested in looks and I certainly didn’t want to spend hours titivating the varnish. Grumman make a Canadian canoe called an Eagle, 17’ long, but without the tumblehome ends of the normal Canadian shape. As it is only 3’ 3” beam, I devised removable outriggers manufactured from marine ply and aluminium tube, which allows 7’ oars to be used. The resulting craft rows well, holds its course even with a tail wind if you load it by the stern and can be carried on the roof rack as it only weighs 70 lbs. The hull is of course made from marine grade aluminium so needs no maintenance and puts up with odd knocks and bumps without harm. I built a motor bracket to take a 2 hp motor, but have never used it, I suppose because it means double the trouble. I started a sailing rig for it from my old Gremlin sail but never completed it for the same reason. This canoe hangs from the roof of a garage ready to go when the impulse occurs. I don’t use it in rough conditions — the impulse doesn’t occur when the forecast is doubtful — but it has stood up to a fair slop in wind against tide conditions in the estuary.

My other boat is I suppose the most attractive craft that I have owned. A little 13’ x 4’ 8” canoe yawl with twin standing lugsails, an Ethyl look-alike; see John Leather’s book Sail & Oar for details. Built of cold moulded mahogany and ¾ decked, she attracts ‘foreshore conversationalists’ like bees to honey. When I found her she was disfigured with black and green paint, without undercoat, oars like a pair of wooden spoons, halyards of 10mm matt plait and a mast which was narrower just above the deck than it was near the masthead. It was like seeing a beautiful girl (or man) with dirty fingernails and a black eye. I spent many hours stripping the hull and ‘improving’ her, although I have laid myself open to censure by giving her a gold anodised aluminium mainmast. I bought her originally because I thought she would be quick to rig with unstayed masts and I also wanted to experience the delights or otherwise of lugsails and mizzens. To summarize — she is much quicker to get into the water — lugsails pull beautifully and without a jib are marvellous for wriggling up a creek against the wind; they can’t be compared with Bermudan, of course, to windward in open water — the mizzen is well worth its complication in making the boat easy to handle, but detracts from the performance in winds forward of the beam. I changed the rigging of the standing lugs and use them as balanced lugs; they point as well or better and are easier to set and lower. My opinion is that if one is going to set a mizzen of such a size that it is only a handling or steering sail, then its rig should be as simple as possible in order to reduce the windage of spars, etc. A boomless leg’o’mutton would be my ideal. As I really wanted the yawl as a knockabout and she is really too nice for that, I am selling her, but admit that it will be a wrench when she leaves with someone who falls for her graceful sheer and gleaming varnish.

Well that’s the score so far; however, because of my intense curiosity where all sorts of small boats are concerned, I expect and hope that there are a few to come yet. I am pleased to be able to say that I have made only a small loss or small profit on any boat I have owned. The exception would be my Roamer if I was foolish enough to sell him. Just as well I don’t want to!