Sternpost When the iconic Fife schooner


Altair was renovated, kicking off the classic yacht revival, her owner wanted everything right. When told decent Egyptian cotton was not available, he suggested looking elsewhere. When told none could be found, he suggested buying a farm and growing it. When told there would be no mill to process it, he suggested buying or building one.


In the end they wore him down of course, and the cream Dacron we see in the fleet today is the result. The best compromise maybe, but surely a loss to the revival that he was not enabled to source his cotton co-operatively.


Seeking flax for smacks “Y


Progress is letting down restoration, realises Richard Titchener


ou get the motorbike and I’ll get the petrol, and we’ll go round Europe until we find some,” I said to Mark Butler of James


Lawrence Sailmakers. Sallie needed a new cotton mainsail following hours with the needle after a windy race. Mark did not think he could get the cotton and if he could it might not have the quality of 1988. To a traditional boatowner, his sailmaker is akin to a bespoke tailor. For a man who could reveal the sail plans of whole fleets through an indiscretion, secrecy is the watchword – so anything can be said in the confines of the loft confessional. Clipper or Terylene simply would not do and we had to try. In the end, without the bike, Mark found a supplier in north Europe, and, better still, we got a grant from National Historic Ships to cover the considerable difference in costs compared to Terylene, but it was a close shave.


I remembered this when Peter Dodds of sailing barge


Mirosa said he was considering a synthetic mainsail because he could not find flax anywhere. Peter was not about to give up easily and was thinking of trying Russia and Poland, but I suddenly realised that was not the point.


98 CLASSIC BOAT APRIL 2012


“Maybe we are doomed to dumb- down authenticity”


And the process continues, so it may not be long before even Dacron is not around. We now see two-ply sail construction on classics because of course it seems better. Maybe we are doomed to dumb down authenticity in the same way we abrogate seamanship to the convenience of powered winches. I hope not but fear so.


Once it seemed as if we lived in a world of constant improvement. As a boy I stood outside looking at the moon while men were landing


on it on the TV indoors. Soon there was a space station circling the earth. Concord was set to fly supersonic round the globe.


Then progress somehow became globalisation. We can have fresh peas from Africa all year round and we are all in it together. There was no escape from the iron laws of the market as our jobs were exported to the third world and only occasional criticism of sportswear companies accused of exploiting child labour made us question the manner of our manufacturing demise – as if it was only morality that mattered.


The myth of progress is now revealed for what it was. Concord is no more, our utilities belong to other countries, you cannot now furnish a house with British- made items unless you develop a somewhat reduced set of domestic circumstances, and the space station will plummet to earth rather than become a jumping-off point for a generation of Captain Kirks. In July 2010 the Guardian reported that cargo ships had slowed to speeds slower than the Cutty Sark to save fuel. Plus ça change then.


Does anyone know where Peter can get his flax? Or should we accept the inevitable and take up virtual sailing? Join me for a weekend on the iSmack?


GUY VENABLES


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