‘Vertues Found

Following the recording of the sad events in the chapter Vertues lost, it seemed to me appropriate that the reader should now have his spirits uplifted.

So, there are quoted here several extracts from stories of voyages, short and long, in high and low latitudes, but, (excepting a couple) with one common denominator "The Vertue"

To Iceland in ‘Fialar’ ( See full story elsewhere on this site)

L. E. L. Sills sailed her in 1964, with two shipmates, on a 2250 mile passage from Fraserburgh, around Iceland, and back to Oban.

"The wind freshened, and there was a big white cloud over Rona when a rainsquall came up; five minutes later the white cloud had dissolved, more wind came, and one of the best sails of my life started. The little boat sped off, before the wind at times, and running free at others, doing a big semi-circle round the North side of Rona. The sea was big and lumpy, the Atlantic swell all confused as it got into 40 or 50 fathoms where we were, but there was not a dangerous breaking sea — there was not quite enough wind for that.

Fialar’ was just like a teenage porpoise at a Beatle concert. leaping and careering along, half out of the water at times, laid right over and skidding along on her ear at others, swooping, staggering, sometimes rushing across the waves.

‘Speedwell’ — Sailing home from Singapore

"Speedwell" — built in Kowloon, was sailed from Singapore to Portsmouth by Lt. Cmdr. A. G. Hamilton RN and R.E.M. Ashmore. Of the end of the voyage he records:— "Off we went that night, easing North under bare poles until at four in the morning we picked up St. Catherine’s. As soon as it got light we decided to have a go at getting in even if it was still blowing, so we set the No. 2 staysail. nearly took off, lurched drunkenly through a crowd of -looking minesweepers also Pompey- bound. and whizzed m water off Bembridge where Ashmore dropped our last box of matches into the bilges. We breakfasted accordingly on champagne, tinned peaches and bread and marmalade and a final gesture, set the fully reefed mainsail to get us to up to Spithead. Passing Blockhouse we were half airborne, marine but wholly delighted. We had made it. It was a great.

La’ — Weymouth to Cadiz and return, 1956.

Charles Freeman, then owner and skipper, wrote following the hose who feel they would like to experience long distance must have a good crew, a good ship, and a genuine love of I had all three, but my star was lucky. The sea. is not is or unforgiving, she is just immutable. She may smile on e may overpower you; she will certainly find out your ises. Respect she demands continually, respect she must ~e given. The reward she gives is a knowledge of one of those ~hich have been described as too wonderful — "the way of a he midst of the sea."

utor to "Yachting & Boating Weekly" 1970.

Lay be biased, but if anything has lived up to its name it is a

By today’s standards it is old fashioned with its heavy displacement, cutter rig, small cockpit. narrow beam, and such an anachronism as a bumpkin, but it has its virtues. It will run true as a dart. heave-to like an old duck, work its way to windward in felative comfort when the going gets tough, and sail itself beautifully —characteristics that few modern 25 footers can boast. One of my most vivid memories of a ‘Vertue is of trying to catch a halyard that had come adrift and was just out of reach. "Here — use this!" said the helmsman, and handed me the tiller as the boat saikd on.

‘Concerto’ — delivery from Fambridge to Shoreham. Mike Peyton recalls:— "What a sail we had. With six rolls in the main and the small

headsail ‘Concerto’ ran, reached and wriggled her way across and through the sands of the estuary. The sky was a hard bright blue which was reflected in the flooding tide and everything ~emed brighter than bright; oilskins, buoys, the occasional freighter and the Barrow lightship seemed to have been freshly painted that very morning, and the paint still wet. It was exhilarating sailing and only the cold made one glad to relinquish the tiller and screw oneself through the hatch. I switched on the radio for the midday forecast, and a professional preaching voice boomed out:

‘And lo, there came a gentle wind"

"Wrong programme" said a voice from the cockpit.

‘Stelda’ — single handed from England to the West Indies, 1969.

Extract from the Author’s book "Stelda George and I":— 24th November, "Awoke at 0100 hours. What a fantastic sight

‘Stelda’ is foaming along dead on course at 5 knots under twins and trysail in a smooth sea with brilliant moonlight and a real trade-wind sky. The roar of her bow-wave the only sound —effortless".

"This was a fascinating experience. George helmed her with a delicacy of touch which made me catch my breath. The two of them seemed completely oblivious of my presence, and I tried not to make a sound as I stood in the main hatch enjoying my coffee and this night, and I stood for several hours, unable to tear myself away from the enjoyment of it. When eventually I decided to again I found myself creeping quietly below lest I disturb them"

e are two extracts from yesteryear. The second should help

i for ever the ghastly sight of one’s tousled, bleary-eyed crew

‘nbles his was through the hatch to take over the graveyardird Bound — From the book "Yachts and Yachting" by

lecken (William Cooper) 1873.

l do not know anything more glorious or exciting than to stand at the helm of a noble yacht, with a slashing breeze making her leap the seas, the spindrift flying out from her lee side, feeling oneself the master of her every and she like a thing of life answering every thought of the id every movement of the hand; topping the white crested like a bird, gliding swiftly down the hollows, nipping now and then foam wreaths over her snowy deck, and anon cleaving a giant billow, scattering rainbows of sea froth like pearls, ies, and sapphires around her, agreeable companions on the deck, a stalwart active crew forward, a full bread locker, a eef cask, and the grog tub brimming, with a pleasant port Lily friends looming at the end of the bowsprit."

A jotting from the Log Book of ‘Stelda’ (Sail No. 120) after I bought her in 1968:— what do you think of her?" I asked, after we had moored up after a short sail in a lumpy sea. Walter, a man of well-chosen words let his eye wander over her while I waited anxiously for his opinion "Built like a church. Comfortable as an old boot" he said. And that was the end of the matter.