LULWORTH'S MAST

Roger Fothergill

When I first kept a yacht in the Hamble we all lay to swinging moorings, but as pressure on space got greater and greater, and the moorings, therefore, closer and closer to each other, the situation became somewhat chaotic; especially with a brisk so'wester blowing across the spring ebb. So the local Authority, in its wisdom, ordained, and subsequently put into force, the driving of piles in a double row down each side of the river. So then we all lay secured stem and stern between them instead of swinging around a single mooring.

Which was undoubtedly a sensible arrangement, except for the few, of which I was one, who sailed vessels without engines. And even to us few, it made things considerably more exciting, so all could not be sail to be loss.

So normally, when lying between one's piles one had a `Pile Partner' occupying the pair of piles alongside one's own. A state of affairs which must have led to the making of many new friendships; and of course occasionally the reverse I suppose.

Arriving aboard my vessel one morning, where I had some work in hand, I found a shipwright from a local yard working aboard my Pile Partner's yacht. He was a friendly chap, getting on in years, and as we were both working on our respective decks we soon got to chatting away and I learned that, though a native of the area, he had worked away for most of his life and had only recently returned to the Hamble, and was naturally interested in the many changes he found in the local scene.

In the middle of the morning we knocked off for a cup of char and a drag, and whilst so employed he pointed up to where the river disappears around the bend which leads up to Bursledon, to where, rising above the low river banks, two lofty masts, higher than any others, dominated the scene. He asked me what they were.

`They're the masts of one of the Endeavours,' I said, `Endeavour I I believe, I'm not sure. Anyway, now ketch rigged and lying in a mud berth and looking somewhat neglected. And lying alongside her,' I went on, `in the next mud berth is an even more interesting yacht, Lulworth, though you can't see her from here as she has no mast in her. She quite dwarfs the J Class, she must have been a spectacular sight under sail. I wish I could have seen her.'

`Lulworth!' he said, `Lord, Lord, is she still afloat? I remember her well, I worked aboard her when I was a young fellow. She was brought into the yard where I was employed for some major alterations after having been sold. A few years after the war it was (he meant the First War), 1924 it would be, she came in to be re-sparred. Like all the big racers in those days they were forever having their rigs modified, and the `Marconi' rig was the latest development at that time, before they all went Bermudian, and we had the job of doing the conversion.

Perhaps I should interrupt his narrative to make clear the term Marconi rig, for there now exist some misconceptions about it and it enjoyed a very short vogue.

Most racing yachtsmen hold, I am given to understand, that races are won or lost on the windward leg; all else being equal the most weatherly vessel should win. The superiority of the Bermudian rig, as regards close windedness, was well appreciated long before the rig became commonly used. The really early ones did not have tracks and slides, which of course imposed strict limitations on the height of the mast as all the rigging had to be attached at the masthead to allow a clear run for the mast hoops or lacing. It was only suitable for really small craft and was traditionally known as `leg of mutton' rig. And even when tracks and slides did come in, the early ones had such serious functional failings that few people would entertain using them, especially in the really big racers. It took some years to get all the problems sorted out.

However, the advantages of a long leading edge were fully appreciated. Anyone who has sailed a gaff rigged vessel knows that she will lie closer to the wind once the topsail is set. But the time-honoured arrangement of lower mast and topmast, though functionally perfect, did not permit of a truly unbroken luff from main tack up to the topsail head. The Marconi rig evolved with the idea of achieving this aim.

Instead of a lower mast with a separate topmast fidded on the foreside of the lower masthead, the new rig called for a continuous mast, lower mast and topmast all in one. The hounded length of these masts were also significantly longer than in the traditional rig, and required extra staying to prevent the mast bending below the hounds when under sail. This was achieved by fitting an extra pair of spreaders between the hounds and the deck which, to allow free passage of the mast hoops up the lower mast, had to be slotted into the mast and set up on deck after the main was hoisted. The Marconi topmast too, which had formerly been a separate spar, needed additional staying, effected by the use of jumper spreaders at about a third of the way from the top.

All this extra staying was looked upon with contempt by the traditionalist diehards of the day, who likened them to the wireless aerials beginning to spring up over the country following Marconi's early experiments in Wireless Telegraphy. So the new rig got called the Marconi rig; at the time a contemptuous term.

Actually it first appeared as early as 1911, but all development came to an end during the war, and it was not until the early '20s that further experiments took place. Trial and error went on apace in those years in a never ending search by keen -- and wealthy -- owners for increased windward efficiency. By the early '30s it had virtually disappeared, having been replaced, amongst the racing fraternity at any rate, with the Bermudian rig as we know it today.

Incidentally, if I may be permitted a further digression, for some reason which is quite inexplicable to me our American cousins never got it quite right, and up to the present day persist in describing what the British call Bermudian rig as Marconi rig. Nothing will convince them now that the original Marconi rig was only a modified gaff rig -- and yet they must have got the name from us in the first place.

So in 1924 Lulworth's new Owner decided to respar his racing cutter with one of the latest Marconi masts. Lulworth's dimensions were 119ft 6in overall, x 21ft 8in beam x 12ft 6in draft, amounting to 186 Thames tons. So you can draw some conclusions as to the height of any mast she carried. But tall as her former mast undoubtedly must have been, her new Marconi mast was going to be significantly taller. `The highest mast under heaven' was a phrase used to describe it, for the proposed conversion had attracted considerable interest in the yachting circles of the day.

To compensate for the weight of this new mast she was also to have a new and heavier lead keel, and this had been cast in the same yard; a mould having been made and a furnace set up specially for the job. On the day the keel was cast the Owner was on hand to see it done, and my friend informed me that he personally saw him throw several sovereigns into the mould as the lead was being poured.

But the keel was as nothing compared to the mast -- that was definitely the piece de resistance. A day was appointed, the local press and representatives of the yachting magazines invited, the Owner's friends and relations and anyone else who could cadge an invitation were all under starter's orders. The yard was given a holiday and a champagne lunch for over fifty people was laid on at a nearby hotel.

My friend, it seems, was one of the riggers gang at that time, so closely concerned with the big event of the day. The huge mast had been fleeted out of the shed the day before and lay on trestles alongside the dock where the yacht lay, the foreman sparmaker fussing over it like a mother hen. Lower rigging, main and topsail halyards, spreaders etc etc were in place. The crane positioned in the desired spot, temporary guys had been bent to the top of the mast to adjust the thwartships and fore and aft trim and everything that could be done had been done. Probably the foreman rigger hadn't slept well the night before.

`M' day dawned bright and fair, fortunately not much wind, the foreman rigger went over the finer points of the drill with his gang, the assembled guests took their stand, the crane driver, conscious that much depended on him, climbed up to his perch, and all was ready.

The foreman rigger signalled to the crane driver and the vast spar began slowly to rise. Correctly slung, the masthead rose first until it assumed the vertical, with `Oh's and `Ah's coming from the crowd. Its foot was then lifted clear of the ground, and when of sufficient height to clear the yacht's rail was slowly swung over the hull to be positioned above the opening in the deck, the riggers gang on the guys trimming the angle all the while.

At another signal from the foreman the mast heel was gently lowered through the partners, and then at a further sign stopped. The really tricky bit was about to follow, because the foreman had to go below to see that the heel tenon fell into the mast step, and once below of course, he couldn't give direct instructions to the crane driver and the men on the guys because he couldn't see them. So one of the riggers gang, my friend no less, has to act as tic-tac man, kneeling on the deck with his head through a skylight to interpret and transmit signals. The only other person down there was the Owner.

The mast was lowered bit by bit, the guys adjusted as seemed necessary, until the heel tenon hung square over the step. At which point the Owner placed a sovereign on the step. The foreman gave the signal, the tic-tac man relayed it, and the mast dropped -- Thunk!

The foreman probably wiped his brow, the Owner surely shook him by the hand, and they both went up on deck indicating that the job was done. The crown clapped and cheered, the foreman rigger and the sparmaker too shook hands with everybody, the press reporters scribbled like mad and the whole occasion overflowed with scenes of the greatest enthusiasm; and in a body they all made tracks for the champagne lunch to which the two foremen had also been invited.

`Of course,' said my friend, `the last of their backs was hardly out of the yard before we lifted that mast an inch or two and had that sovereign out!'.

Now I don't recall what beer cost by the pint in 1924. I was around all right, but I hadn't started drinking beer -- 6d a pint? 9d a pint? Perhaps even a shilling, but I doubt it. There were probably three men in the riggers gang, the foreman of course was at the lunch, but the crane driver must have been in on it too, so say four people, and even if beer was a shilling a pint that meant five pints each. And I've heard that beer was better then than it is now.

There isn't any moral to this tale, just a piece of advice. If you ever take it into your head to do a similar thing -- though where you will find a coin of anything like the value of a 1924 sovereign I don't know -- just stick around long enough afterwards to see the lower rigging well and truly set up before you start knocking back the champagne.

PS: Lulworth was built in 1920 by White Brothers (Southampton) Ltd on the Itchen and hit the water under the name Terpsichore. Four years later she was sold to a member of the Weld family -- obviously the Owner of this story -- who renamed her. I believe it was in Luke's Yard (now Port Hamble) that the action took place. RF.

PPS: Members may be interested to know that after fifty years as a Hamble houseboat, Lulworth was towed to a yard in Italy for rebuilding and a new 170ft Marconi mast of Oregon pine ordered from Harry Spencer of Cowes. However all did not go according to plan and three years later Lulworth is still ashore, largely stripped, the subject of a court case. As of September her new mast is for sale -- advertised as suitable for the replica Britannia, amongst others.