THIS BOAT BUSINESS.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 89, 16 April 1927, Page 25

THIS BOAT BUSINESS.

HARD TO GET AWAY FROM.

"DYED IN THE WOOL TIME-

WASTER."

SPIRIT OF ROMAXCI

In Auckland it is hard to awav from boats, and harder still to get away from the maniac that will talk boat. There is a large body of public opinion that embraces the view that drink is a national danger. There is another large section that believes racing to be the. handicap, a smaller proportion anathematises tea drinking; others a"a in, tobacco, and so on, and so on. Personally I hold none of these views to be the correct one. The real bar to the realisation of the millennium is nothing more nor less than the boat. | For, look you, I am at work on a i machine and battling with gears and' gear ratios, when in comes a mild form of lunatic to know if I have seen the Olivebank. Notice how simple is the snare. Of course I have seen her. Was it not but yesterday I was aboard yarning to her apprentices, and hearing about blown-out sails, gales of wind, tons of seawater on deck, etc. But I was also aboard her 25 years ago, when she lay in Queen's Dock, Glasgow, alongside the Loch Etive. And now it is fairly started. Has she brace winches, or are her lower and topmasts in one stick; do her halliards lead to winches, and so on interminably, or threatening it. Well, so much time is wasted that a bit more won't matter, so I get my hat and go off in company with the lunatic (there are now two of us), and we join an admiring crowd of semi-lunatics gazing from the wharf. The job meanwhile is at a standstill (if your drinking interferes with the business, give up the business). And now the Olivebank is away on her long Blant to Port Lincoln, and thence to the icy Cape Stiff, a road thousands of her kind have made before, but which very few will make again. But the lunatic doesn't go with her. He comes to tell me about the businesslike looking schooner yacht Fisherman that is along" side and clamouring for inspection. Another time-wasting trip. Why has she not got a gaff mainsail, and what a neat stow of her topsails it is, and so forth. I am home considerably late for dinner. Now this was only yesterday, and I to-day go up to the library to look up a point on transmission line design. I get my book and 6it down. Will you believe it, but right square in front of me on the table is the latest "Blue Peter." A Win by Twenty Minutes. "Get thee behind me, Satan," but the flesh is weak, very weak. I look, and in that moment am undone. Such a slashing picture by Spurling (a prince of marine painters) on the outside cover, depicting an old-time clipper ship with stunsails alow and aloft, and surging ahead in a hard breeze with another in the near distance. Cutty Sark and Thermopylae is my first thought, but, no. The picture is of the Ariel and Taeping, tea clippers both, racing hard up Channel in 186G Basil Lubbock tells the deathless story in the pages of the magazine in his inimitable style. How these two and only sighted each other that morning, and were cracking on to win the 10/ per lb bonus. A race from China, if you please, the three ships leaving the Min River on the same tide, and all docking on <he same tide in the London River 99 days later, the winner leading by 20 minutes. How is that for a close finish, yon yachtsmen? The end of it is that I leave the library with my technical point unravelled. I go home to find a letter awaiting me. It is from a square rig sailor, and thanking me for the loan of "The Log of the Cutty Sark." He reminisces over it, and laments that when mate of the Auckland he never had the good fortune to meet the Cutty and try it out with her. For the Auckland was fast, and had proved it by passing famous flyers in all weathers and winds. And so it goes on, boats, boats, nothing but boats. Jobs Left Undone. Even the Press is. in the conspiracy. Look at that disgraceful orgy, "Fifty Years of Sail," published as a series in the "Star." Think, only think, of the countless hours wasted reading all that stuff. Think of the week-ends with their accumulations of odd jobs. These go undone while father reads of carrying away spars and of narrow shaves with icebergs, Cape Horn gales, etc., etc. The wood for the copper not cut, and the fowls forgotten. That one series, if the truth were known, was responsible for a lot of domestic friction. Indeed there was a column of late giving the names of the very few surviving sailing ships and bits of" their histories! Dastardlv!

There was an article lately also telling of the reception accorded bv the London River to the Monkbarns on the occasion of her return from what turned out to be her last voyage under the red

duster—eve"- device you see, tlint can he employed . distract attention from work and focus it on these useless boats.. I served a long apprenticeship in a London shipyard, and in this large establishment was a crowd of ex-seafaring men employed as riggers and labourers. London was truly a paradise for boat maniacs at that time. An evening stroll alone; the quays was a source of neverending delight, and there were so many >>f them. The largest sailer I ever Paw was the Yille du Havre, of Bordeaux. of .T)00 tons, from San Francisco with maize. I remember several four-masted fully-rigged ships, and was several times aboard the Manydown. which had the name of being the largest threesticker afloat. She was of 2000 tons, and a beauty, but a handful to manage. 1 should think. Her long length of snowy deck, her spotless paint, rigging all finished "shipshape and Bristol fashion," what a picture she was. They all were. And now how easy fo go on and waste more of your time telling of that lovely ship and long-time Australian passenger favourite, the Macquarie, or of the Loch Torridon., or of the Derwent, all slashing fine vessels and passage-makers, or of the Ross-shire, the vessel immortalised by Basil Lubbock in "Round the Horn Before the Mast." which is a real classic of the sea. But enough has been already said to partially prove my original contention that the boat is the original dyed-in-the-wool time-waster. Further proof will be obtained if the reader allows himself to become interested and starts to delve into the wealth of literature that is now evolving dealing with ships an.d the sea, and for which we have largely to thank Mr. Basil Ltibboek. Keble C'hattcrton, Miss Fox-Smith, and many others. And now I cannot do better than quote from the letter written by the exmate of the Auckland. He says: "May the Cutty Sark be afloat for many decades yet in orifvr to keep alive the spirit of romance and true seamanship, if only to remind the present generation of mechanics and oilcan carriers of what has been a very big contributory element in the making of their preseut day comforts and happiness.''

The phone has just rung. An acquaintance lias spoken over the wire. "1 hear you have 'The Log of the Cutty Sark.' Will you lend it to me?'' Enough.