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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
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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
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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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