The tenth anniversary found the Club on a firm footing, but there were still

some loose ends to be tidied up before it could be said to be running on oiled

wheels. While the Vice Commodore appeared to be enjoying his stint as acting

Secretary, and it must be said that there was no apparent loss of efficiency,

there was a clear need for a more permanent arrangement. Also, the much

vaunted Port Officer scheme was beginning to stumble as, apart from one or

two enthusiasts, little was heard from them. Finally, it was a great disappointment

to the Committee that the Award seemed to be attracting very little interest.

The Secretary issue was soon resolved most satisfactorily. In response to an

advertisement in 1965, a certain Howard Fowler, a retired Merchant Navy

Officer but non-member, applied. He accepted the now salaried appointment at

the handsome remuneration of £250 per annum – but he was not to get away

lightly with this extravagance, as he was expected to take on the role of treasurer

as well as secretarial duties. Howard went on to fill both posts for the next

eleven years and became the lynchpin of stability within the Club. It is interesting

to note that, despite not being qualified as a member, he was ‘instructed’ by the

Committee to wear the club tie and fly its burgee.

The Club succeeded in holding the original subscription at the hardly more

than nominal £1or $3 until 1966, but could not meet the cost of the paid Secretary

so in that year they were doubled. There was a surprisingly low fall-off in

membership, and most of those that left were defaulters so were not missed –

financially. In those days of low inflation it is amazing how steady were prices

and how low was the cost of service. Early dinners were often no more than a

few shillings and the cost of borrowing premises was usually nil or negligible.

It is interesting to note that, when prices rose substantially in the 1970s, a

reduced price for functions was offered to ‘student members’, the first and

only time that such a category was mentioned. The Committee was always

meticulous in ensuring that social functions were financially self-supporting

and were usually able to report a profit of a few pounds. However they were

remarkably generous in recognising non-members who helped the Club. In

1964 a sum of £25 had been voted to buy a present for the Vice Commodore’s

secretary, who had done extra work in the interregnum before Howard Fowler

took over. If extrapolated on the basis of today’s subscriptions, that would

represent £1000.

In retrospect the Port Officer problem was more apparent than real. Those

few that did report showed that they were fulfilling a useful role. As mentioned

earlier, the South Seas representative overloaded his washing machine through

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the frequent demands of passing members and, according to Ian Nicolson, the

Clyde was a hive of Club activity. Nevertheless the Committee agonised long

over whether to continue the scheme. It was eventually decided to give it a

greater plug in the Journal, and in 1966 a full list was published showing 22

officers covering eight countries or areas, together with an admonition to

members to make use of them. The scheme slowly gathered way with a steady

increase in PO reports which advertised their presence, encouraging members

to use them so that it gradually became self-perpetuating. From then until very

recently the back page of the Journal carried an ever-expanding list that was a

ready reference for itinerant members who needed help or just a gam.

Despite much encouragement through the columns of the Newsletter/Journal,

in 12 years there had only been four awards under the Prize scheme. As already

described, two of these had been to the ever-enthusiastic Ian Nicolson, but

there was a note of desperation to get the scheme going when one reward was

insultingly reduced as not being quite up to scratch. The third, also previously

mentioned, was made to Steven Bradfield, and the fourth, in 1966, went to

Michael Shaw. This recognised his ingenious idea of having similar mast fittings

for the main boom and spinnaker pole so that the former could be transferred

forward for trade wind running, thus obviating the need for a second running

pole in a small boat. The Committee felt that this was of little merit but worthy

of recognition, so awarded Michael five guineas.

The main problem was that the concept of the Award was badly thought

through from the outset. While the wording in the Rules allowed for written

accounts, the first four awards, and others that failed, were all for ideas or

inventions that helped ocean sailors. This was quite understandable in the early

days, when to have a sheet winch was considered the height of modernity, but

as boat gear improved and became more commercially available the scope for

amateur inventions became ever more restricted.

The Club naturally wished to give some recognition to Francis Chichester

when he made his much-vaunted singlehanded one-stop circumnavigation in

1967, but the only accolade available was the Award, although his voyage hardly

fell within the definition of ‘writing, invention or idea’. Nevertheless, the Award

was made in the form of a cheque for 20 guineas plus an inscribed plaque,

‘provided the latter did not cost more that £3’. The Queen then upstaged the

Club by conferring a knighthood on Francis when he came ashore on the steps

of Greenwich. Not, it must be explained, direct from the voyage.

When the following year Alec Rose, a Club member since 1964, quietly

picked up his mooring having repeated Chichester’s feat, the Queen also

conferred a knighthood on him. Not to be outdone, the Club followed suit and

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Gipsy Moth rounding the Horn

93

gave Alec the 1968 Award comprising a plaque and 30 Guineas. Clearly inflation

was taking its toll – or was it that the Club thought that the extra 10 guineas

made up for the lack of adulation received by Alec in comparison with the more

publicity-conscious Francis?

That same year an Award was made to Jim Griffin, Port Officer Bahamas,

who lived with his wife and four daughters aboard their lovely old 39 ton gaff

ketch Northern Light. Jim had made the first really meaningful contribution to

foreign pilotage notes with a lengthy guide to cruising in the Bahamas. Since his

boat drew 8ft 6in he had obviously learnt the hard way, hence the cryptic

heading to his article, Going Ashore in the Bahamas. Jim gave some timeless

advice that is still worth quoting:

‘White water is less than 6 feet deep: yellow

water 6–10 feet deep; very pale blue water is

10–12 feet deep and the mild green waters are

about 15–18 feet deep – after that the blue

shades down to a deep royal blue at 20

fathoms and a rich navy blue at the 100

fathom line. Coral heads are distinguishable

clearly as purple brown masses when seen 150

yards away from the crosstrees, but when

sailing in waters in which there are known to

be coral heads it is prudent to organise your

sailing to bring the sun fairly high up above

and behind you as you face forward on the

lookout.’

It is not clear if the Award was given for Jim’s writing or for an ‘idea’ to make

short-handed cruising easier, since as well as the guide to water depth, he explains

his use of lazyjacks to tame his main and gaff that together weighed more than a

quarter of a ton. He may not have invented lazyjacks, but they were not much in

evidence before then and largely disappeared with the advent of the lighter Bermudan

sail. However, with the later use of fully-battened sails the problem of taming a

heavy main again arose and the jacks were reinvented, very much in the form

explained by Jim. He was given a cheque for ten guineas.

Clearly the meaning of the Award was becoming blurred, so in 1969 a sub-

committee was appointed to review and clarify the ‘Regulations for the Prize

Fund’. The intention of the originators was clearly that this should be the premier

accolade to be awarded to the member ‘who had done most to further the

objects of the Club’. Indeed, when in 1966 a suggestion was again made that a

cup be presented for the most outstanding cruise of the year it was peremptorily

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dismissed as not being practicable to administrate, the sub-text clearly reflecting

Hum’s original intention that the OCC was not a competitive club. So, for the

first 26 years of the Club’s life, the Award, in one form or another, was the only

trophy. However, as other prizes were presented over the years it gradually

took on a wider role than the more specific honours.

The sub-committee added fuel to the existing confusion by creating what

appeared to be another trophy but, by calling it the Award of Merit, it could be

interpreted as separate from or ancillary to the Award. They were obviously

trying to justify the recognition made to the now Sir Francis and Sir Alec whose

feats, although most meritorious, fell well outside the definition of the existing

trophy. This new accolade was to be presented to ‘any person or persons who

shall have performed some outstanding voyage or achievement even though no

entry shall have been submitted’, very neatly encapsulating the achievements

of the aforementioned knights. Unlike the Award it has always been open to

non-members as well as members.

As if to confirm the wisdom of the sub-committee, Robin Knox-Johnston

(see page 86), hove over the horizon right on cue to fit into the new definition,

having made what was undoubtedly the greatest sailing feat of any member or

non-member by sailing singlehanded around the world without a stop.

Robin and his brother Chris both joined the OCC in 1967 after sailing their

little ketch Suhaili from Bombay to England via Capetown. Within weeks of

arriving Robin read that Chichester was round Cape Horn and on his way up

the Atlantic. If Francis got home as planned, the only sailing challenge left was

to go round non-stop, so Robin announced his intention of doing just that. This

was received with a degree of incredulity by the diehards who thought it

foolhardy, and by and large they were proved correct.

Three years earlier Eric Tabarly had startled everyone by winning the second

OSTAR convincingly even though it had started as very much a British race.

This was the beginning of French dominance in short-handed ocean racing,

and the French press made the most of it. Tabarly was awarded the Legion of

Honour and became a national hero, Paris Jour proclaiming: ‘Thanks to him it

is the French flag that triumphs in the longest and most spectacular race on that

ocean which the Anglo-Saxons consider as their special domain’. However,

this xenophobic note was largely confined to the press and was noticeably

absent among competitors, who regarded themselves more as fellow soldiers

than the enemy. Indeed, Blondie Hasler wrote after the race: ‘Eric has won in

the superlative time of 27 days. I am delighted because he is French and because

his boat was the first to have been designed especially for the race’.

The next OSTAR was scheduled for 1968 and Tabarly was known to be

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building an enormous (by the then standards) trimaran, ostensibly for that race.

Robin suspected the Frenchman had other ideas, so hastily started planning his

circumnavigation. Clearly Suhaili was not suitable, so he put her up for sale

and consulted the only man whose thinking was sufficiently radical not to be

put off by the proposition – Colin Mudie. Colin’s plans were certainly radical

but even so no yard offered to build at a price anywhere near Robin’s budget.

Fortunately no one had made an offer for the rather spartan Suhaili so he

started refitting her and planned to leave the following year.

News of Robin’s intentions had got abroad, and a number of unlikely candidates

came forward with half-baked plans to attempt the non-stop passage. However

the Club had a special interest, since it was regarded as the focal point of

knowledge on long distance sailing and three of the nine potential entrants were

members. At that point the Sunday Times newspaper got in on the act and

announced an award of the ‘Golden Globe’ to the first person to circumnavigate

non-stop singlehanded and, should there be more than one, £5000 to the fastest.

A committee was formed under Sir Francis Chichester, but when it became a

competition the Journal editor’s scepticism turned to bitterness. His very first

words in the next issue were:

The Way of the World

‘We have been overtaken by events. Since

Robin Knox-Johnston announced his intention

of attempting a non-stop circumnavigation the

idea has attracted the news sense of big

business. Scenting increased circulation and

kudos, it has turned the dream into a contest.

What bitter irony that the very motives that

inspire men to escape should be prostituted

and dangled before us as a lure! Dreamers we

may be but we are also realists. We know the

way of the world. The taste is bitter.’

What happened is history and hardly relevant to this story. Suffice to say that

of the nine starters Robin was the only one to finish. Tabarly didn’t enter, but

that other hero of the French press, Moitessier, did and he was a formidable

opponent known to be like his boat, built of boiler plate. In the event Moitessier

lost interest halfway round and carried on across the southern Atlantic instead

of turning north to the finish. The French press were dismayed, but announced

that as he was in the lead he could have won if he had wanted. In fact he was

20 days behind Robin when he passed the Horn.

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Being a member, Robin was eligible for either OCC award, but it is simply

recorded that he was presented with a suitably inscribed plaque. Since no money

was given it must be inferred that this was meant to be an Award of Merit.

Thus Robin joined the pantheon of solo circumnavigators recognised by the

Club, but it was to be some years and several sailing feats later before he too

was awarded a knighthood. Perhaps it was an indication of the rapid proliferation

of sailing feats that Robin wasn’t given more immediate recognition, although

his boat was primitive by comparison with either Chichester’s or Rose’s and

his non-stop passage was a far greater achievement. Indeed, Sir Francis

Chichester was one of the first to recognise Robin’s feat when he wrote, ‘Knox-

Johnston has scaled the Everest of the sea. He has earned himself undying

fame and a secure place in the annals of achievement. We are proud of him.’

The Editor had the last word and couldn’t resist a little schadenfreude:

IT HAD TO END IN TEARS

‘In the last issue we anticipated the

imminent return of the remaining round the

world singlehanders, but we were sadly

optimistic, as events soon proved,

culminating in the Crowhurst tragedy*.

Perhaps it was unfair to invite complete

strangers to lend themselves to such an

unequal struggle. After all, it takes a very

special kind of personality to be a genuine

solitary, and such a one is unlikely to come

forward in reply to an open invitation with

all its accompanying publicity. Only those

who have experienced what amounts to

voluntary solitary confinement with its

alternating apprehension and boredom will

appreciate the tensions and stresses that

build up over extended periods, with the

consequent failures, in boats as well as men.

But it is over now. Perhaps Mammon is

satisfied.’

On reflection the tragedy of the first singlehanded race was that it was so

haphazardly organised, or not organised, whatever your point of view. It grew

*He is thought to have cracked under the strain and jumped overboard

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empirically from a desire by one young man who wanted to improve on

Chichester’s feat the only way he knew how, into a dangerous junket, as the

OCC editor had foreshadowed. Lessons were not taken from the OSTAR,

which had been staged twice without loss. Boats in that race were then

scrutinised for safety, one had to have sailed a qualifying distance, and it was

sailed in relatively frequented waters where rescue was seldom far away. Once

the press took hold of the round-the-world competition and proposed valuable

prizes, it became a scramble.

The Commodore’s old Cornish lugger Lucent, now owned by Roger Jameson,

hardly knew herself when in 1964 the director of the Charles Darwin Foundation

in the Galapagos asked to charter her to take parties of scientists to the outlying

islands. Not only that, he then made a proposal that allowed Roger to, as he put

it, ‘fulfil what must be the dream of most members of the OCC – to take, as it

were, a clean sheet of paper, and, basing the designs on the small experience

that is his, design and build, at someone else’s expense, the Ideal Ocean Cruiser’.

Surprisingly, the Foundation had no boat of their own but had been offered

considerable funds to obtain one. Roger explains the nature of his commission:

‘The exact specification was left to me, to

be agreed with Mr. Peter Scott, the

naturalist, save only that the vessel should

provide efficient inter-island transport for

six scientists and should be as fast as

possible, should she ever have to chase away

poachers after the valuable fur-seals. I

think the Director envisaged a motor cruiser

with steadying sails, though I explained that

I would have to rig her temporarily to bring

her out from England. He was, I think,

understandably perplexed when I returned

thirteen months later, with a sort of sawn-

off, bald-headed Brigantine; though whether

it was his native reticence or the punch of

her two auxiliary Lister diesels that forbade

him to register anything but polite approval

of my year’s labour, I shall never discover.

It was all fixed up with almost indecent

haste, the whole contract being concluded

within 24 hours of our first meeting, and it

is to the enduring credit and faith of the

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Director that he entrusted the funds of his

organisation to the ruffian, bare foot and

clad only in a pair of blue jeans, rifle on

shoulder and bullets in belt, who wandered

into his house one tea-time in April, 1963.’

Roger’s good fortune didn’t end there. After marrying his crew in Tahiti, he

secured a 15 month assignment taking a Smithsonian Institute scientist to gather

shells in the Society Islands. This was the sort of exotic job that most folk

crave, but Roger confessed to getting tired of lying hove-to for hours off

uninhabited islands while the shell hunter foraged ashore. After putting him off

for good in Pago Pago Roger remarked wistfully, ‘the crew are down to three,

not including the cat, Asparagus Fred, the chicken, the cricket who sings like a

lark and the two lizards whose duty it is to keep down the cockroaches’.

In retrospect it is surprising that there were not more small boats lost at sea in

the early days. Or was it that communications were so sparse that few were

recorded? Be that as it may, the first reported loss of a Club boat was that of

Poppy Duck, owned and built by Bill Proctor. Bill had qualified in 1955 with

Tilman on the latter’s first foray into the deep south, and subsequently went on

the successful assault on the Crozet Islands. If that hadn’t put him off it would

certainly have inured him to almost any rigours. Bill was also of the minnow

brigade, having copied the lines of Sopranino and Trekka and built his own boat

to that well-proven 19ft 8in Giles design. He left singlehanded in 1963, but it

was not until the end of 1965 that his wife notified the Club that he had missed

his last schedule in Port Moresby.

The Flag Officer Australia was alerted and he used his contacts throughout

the area, but to no avail. Howard Fowler, the new Secretary and a navigation

instructor, used the good offices of the Sunday Express since the editor was

one of his pupils. They got things moving via their contacts, and it was through

them that the only possible clue was unearthed. Their man in Sydney wrote in

the idiotic style that one expects of journalese, ‘Proctor, a short-sighted former

Ministry of Works civil servant, vanished in July whilst sailing singlehanded

round the World’. John Boyden, whose brother Tony built the America’s Cup

challenger, Sovereign, was a close friend of Bill Proctor and gave sage advice

which the reporter quoted: ‘Judging by the thickness of his glasses, Proctor’s

eyesight was poor and of all the fates that might have befallen him that of

running ashore on a low-lying island seems the most probable’. It was later

reported that natives on Bodi Bodi had seen ‘a small craft being wrecked on a

reef and a white man disappear over the side’, but since they could not recall

99

when they witnessed this event, and recent photographs showed Bill to be

burnt as dark as the natives, the report was not given much credence. No

positive traces of Bill or Poppy Duck were ever found.

A light aside to the tragedy was the way the Club Secretary’s conscience was

taxed. Howard unexpectedly received a cheque for £20 from the Sunday Express

for the story that they printed. He appealed to the Commodore for guidance as

to whether he was entitled to keep it and, if so, should he declare such largesse

on his tax return.

Around that time a name which appeared frequently in the Journal, and one

which gradually took greater prominence in the sailing fraternity generally, was

that of David Lewis. He had qualified on the first OSTAR in his 25ft Cardinal

Vertue, but shortly afterwards built the catamaran Rehu Moana, designed by

Colin Mudie. For a shakedown he took her to Iceland and back before entering

the second OSTAR. After the race he picked up his wife and two little girls in

New York, then continued west to make a three year circumnavigation, the

first ever in a multihull. Clearly communications had improved since Selkirk’s

day as David wrote from Juan Fernandez: ‘Fiona and the children are fine – the

kids speak as much Spanish as English and rather regrettably have a command

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