Cutting the Dragon's Tail

by Lynda Chidell

  On a depressing note, Ronnie’s work, although very satisfying to watch, became slower and slower. We began to think we had made a big mistake and that the boat would never be finished. To make matters worse, the aircraft hangar, a truly excellent place for boat building, was declared unsafe by the municipality, and its demolition was ordered.

  Even more upsetting, it was about this time I received news from England that my father, who had been ill with cancer for a year, had died. I had flown back to England the previous Autumn to see him, but it still came as a great shock to be without him – particularly as I would so much have liked to have shown him our completed boat and treated him to some sailing. He had sailed since a child and was responsible for my interest in the sport. For much of his adult life he had worked in Hong Kong, one of the homes of Chinese junks. As a younger man he had worked in South Africa, like his father. So I suppose my choosing to build a Chinese junk in South Africa must have come in some way from him.

  We decided to keep extending the construction time allowed in Ronnie’s contract, waiving the penalties we could have enforced. Lynda even became his welder for a week, not just to help, but also to make the point that we were serious about sailing this boat! Perhaps his male pride would be hurt…

  One more target date was set, but this one was final. Ronnie had to hand over the forward interior of the boat (the ‘forward area’) to us by 8th February, 1985.

  6. The Fitting-Out Starts

  At long last Ronnie kept one of his promises. He finished his work in the forward area by the required date. We –mainly Lynda at this stage – had half a boat to tackle.

  Where should we start? Would our lack of skills be a problem? We knew that over the next year or so we would have to carry out all sorts of tricky work involving carpentry, plumbing, electrics, painting, diesel mechanics, refrigeration, and the fitting of specialist yacht equipment. To make matters worse, at the time of our arrival in South Africa our only tool was an old food mixer converted twenty years earlier to a drill and disc-sander by my great-uncle Charlie in Northern Ireland!

  However, we could read. We could learn from others. And we were determined to build a boat as perfect in detail as we could possibly manage. With hindsight, I would say that our work was as good as many professionals could have done, and often more robust; the main difference being that our work probably took twice as long to carry out, as we groped with unfamiliar territory.

  Our first task in the gleaming white interior was to add insulation (necessary in a steel boat to reduce noise, to eliminate condensation and to help with interior temperatures). We decided to use three millimetre cork sheeting, sealed by fibreglass tissue at all frames and stringers. This was firmly glued to the hull with contact adhesive everywhere above the waterline. Combined (as was usual) with an inner wall or ceiling panel, this proved tough, effective and durable.

  Then came the flooring, followed by the installation of the main electrical wiring – heavy twin and earth cabling, running through sleeved twenty millimetre diameter holes in each overhead steel deck frame. Uncle Charlie’s drill was not man enough for this! So our first Black and Decker electric drill had to be bought. The sizes of the cables were worked out during lunch breaks at work, when the electrical engineers turned their attention to more interesting ‘junk’ items. The aim was to minimise the voltage drop in each of the fifteen twelve-volt circuits.

  In the meantime, Lynda set herself up as master carpenter and plumber, and worked methodically aft from the forward collision bulkhead. Figure1 shows the interior and deck plans we were using at that time (1985–1986), being our seventh – and, we thought final – attempt at the perfect layout. However, as the years went by and we gained experience of life afloat in extremely varied climates and conditions, we changed even this! The revised layout is shown in Figure 2. I have also shown some cross-sections (see Figures 3 and 4).

  Lynda’s first job was the forward heads (this was one of the areas we changed later in Cyprus, by which time we had other priorities and felt that two heads – even in a charter boat – were enough!) Then came the master cabin with its large double berth and single sea-berth, and aft of this the two two-berth ‘charter cabins’, each with their own heads. Aft of the charter cabins Ronnie was still occupied, cutting, grinding and welding away in areas destined to become the engine room, the galley, the saloon, the lazarette and the wheelhouse (also called the pilothouse). Forward of where Lynda was working was the large forepeak locker, in which we planned to stow our two anchor chains and keep all our spare paints and ropes.

  Our stock of power tools had increased by this time to two drills, two jigsaws, an angle grinder, a belt sander, an orbital sander and a vacuum cleaner. We were also lucky to have the use of another boat builder’s circular bench saw and his planer/thicknesser. Later we bought our own portable circular saw and also a portable router. Besides our open-backed vehicle, our most useful piece of equipment was probably the Black and Decker workbench. Also, to prevent ourselves becoming totally dehydrated, we had – on loan – two portable electric fans.

  7. March 1985: The Turning Point

  Although we were having the satisfaction of at last seeing some progress on Tin Hau, it was worrying to see Ronnie’s work slowing almost to a standstill. Additionally, the hangar demolition contract had just been let by the council to Ronnie, of all people! We would shortly have to move. We needed new premises. We needed to work out how to shift a half-built steel hull. And we needed a replacement for Ronnie. Although he had taken on an assistant, a welder by the name of Mr Fredericks, Ronnie himself had definitely run out of steam and was going no further. This was a very disturbing situation for us with no easy answer.

  The solution, we hoped, lay with the press. We approached the local newspaper, the Eastern Province Herald. Before we knew what was happening, a reporter visited us, together with a photographer, Barry Lamprecht, who later became a crew member on our epic maiden voyage. The visit led to a long article. Then we were the subject of a radio programme. Finally, South African television found us and started paying regular visits in preparation for a documentary film.

  No offers of new premises were forthcoming, but the council declared they would allow all unfinished boats in our hangar to be finished in an adjacent hangar (in my opinion in the same structural condition).

  Ronnie’s most recent excuse for his lack of progress was that he had been having difficulties finding large-diameter steel piping for our through-deck mast supports. ‘Why not try Algoa Oil and Pipeline?’ suggested Hashim, one of my friends at work. That proved to be an excellent idea. In fact, it led to the end of all our problems.

  On phoning the company, I was put through to a man by the name of Graham Moolman, commonly called– as I was to learn later– ‘Munchie’ Moolman. ‘No problem,’ he said– his stock phrase. He could supply just the pipes we required, cut to the lengths we wanted. Furthermore, it would be done that day. What a refreshing change from Ronnie!

  Having helped us with our mast collars, Munchie listened carefully to our story and applied his mind to how Tin Hau should be moved.

  ‘Why not jack her up and roll her round to the other hangar?’ he suggested.

  ‘Roll her on what?’

  ‘A dozen four inch diameter steel oil pipes,’ he replied. ‘We can lend you some.’

  ‘And how can we pull or push the boat?’

  ‘With a mechanical horse,’ he said, ‘I can arrange one for you, if you want.’

  Munchie proved as good as his word. We organised the strengthening of the cradle and managed to jack it up and get the pipe rollers into place. A day was set for the four hundred metre move– 28th February. Early that lovely, clear, sunny morning, our gang of friendly ‘volunteers’ arrived at the hangar, closely followed by Munchie and his baby (Munchie spent much of the day changing nappies) and the mechanical horse (a lorry without its trailer). The move went smoothly, although it took some time. The cost was measured in cans of beer, n
ot rand.

  ‘And now for your next problem’, said Munchie, when we had finished. ‘You need a replacement for your Ronnie Nel. I have an idea.’

  He proceeded to tell us how Algoa Oil and Pipeline employed some of the best welders in the country, qualified to the highest levels and able to meet the exacting standards of the offshore oil industry. Perhaps one or some of these men might be persuaded to take up the challenge of completing Tin Hau’s steelwork, working weekends and evenings. ‘Leave it to me’, said Munchie.

  Sure enough, about a week later, a vehicle turned up at the boat and two men clambered out. They strolled up to the hull of Tin Hau and proceeded to examine

  her critically, without saying a word. Perhaps these were Munchie’s welders? They told us they were, and we learnt their names– Tony Bryant and Paul Miller, originally from Yorkshire and Glasgow, respectively. However they were not impressed, and we were made to feel more and more glum. They disappeared as abruptly as they had arrived, muttering something like ‘perhaps we will be in touch’.

  We carried on with our joinery, depressed by the thought that not only was Ronnie’s speed of work a problem, but his standard of welding was deficient too. However, we were comforted by the knowledge that his earlier work, in constructing the framework of Tin Hau, was well done. At least we were past the stage of having to refer to the lines drawings, which made the remaining welding work much easier to explain. I gave Tony and Paul a long list of what still needed doing, in the hope that they might be tempted.

  And tempted they were– or perhaps what they really felt was pity for two crazy idealistic dreamers in need of help. Their offer came through very quickly. They were prepared, they said, to complete all the steelwork on Tin Hau in a period of little more than thirty weekends, and they named a figure for their work which was acceptable to us. We breathed a sigh of relief, paid Ronnie what was due to him and gave Tony and Paul the go-ahead. At last, everything started moving quickly, and the work was of a very high standard.

  8. Twelve Busy Months

  During the twelve months prior to the launch, Lynda and I worked harder than ever before, conscious at all times of the importance of getting things right. One nut insufficiently tightened, or one shackle sized wrongly, could have been enough to lose the boat and not just our lives, but those of our crew as well. I was under no illusions about the seas off the South African coast, and the vast distances we would have to cover in an untested boat.

  We applied all our time and effort towards the construction of Tin Hau, with no breaks at all except those required for sleeping, eating and a few enforced hours taken on Christmas Day. I did, however, have a significant distraction from boat building during the first three and a half months of this period, in that I had still had a normal office job. Lynda, on the other hand, just had the boat. On viewing our efforts, one visitor to the hangar– a retired sea captain– declared over and over again in amazement, ‘You people are not playing, you’re not playing games...’ As though people could consider building a boat a game!

  Having said all this, perhaps it is worth making the point that although we were usually filthy, bruised, cut, tired and hot for weeks on end, we were happy– in a perverse sort of way!

  9. Away from Port Elizabeth

  Not all the work going on during this period was taking place in Port Elizabeth. For example, the three sails were being made in Hong Kong by the sail maker, Cheong Lee. They were done extremely well, but too quickly– in that we received them before the shipping papers. This caused a degree of panic, as we took measures to avoid paying expensive demurrage charges at the harbour.

  In Swaziland, Jeff Perring was building a twelve-foot plywood sailing dinghy to Tom Colvin’s design. I wanted the very best of dinghies, and needed to know its shape and form in good time so we could plan where it could be stowed and how it could be launched.

  In the Transvaal, our anchor chains were being prepared; the first step in the seemingly unsolvable riddle: Which comes first, the chain or the gypsy?

  In Natal, the aluminium masts were being extruded by Huletts Aluminium. I will return to the subject of our chosen boat masts and their associated rigging. Ronnie had just said: ‘Go out into the Knysna forest and cut down a tree.’ Tom Colvin had given little in the way of a detailed specification.

  Even further afield, in England, Perkins Diesel Engines of Peterborough were preparing three large wooden crates containing the engine and all the stern gear. Years later, I could still phone David Read (who was then area manager– Africa) with any query concerning our engine– an engine which never let us down.

  In Southampton, Fast and Freeze handled the freezer; again, a subject on which I could write at great length. I remained happy with our decision to use the twelve-volt ship’s batteries as the power source, although three years later I constructed a transformer so that the freezer motor could also run off mains alternating current.

  Kelvin Hughes of Southampton supplied various Admiralty Sailing Directions (Pilots), charts and our VHF radio, but they made the mistake of writing an illegible invoice– illegible, that is, to the South African customs officers who immediately charged the maximum duty. On the subject of customs, all the duties we paid were reimbursed when we left South Africa, but only after some protracted wrangling with the South African bureaucracy in Pretoria. This concession applied only to import duty, not to Sales Tax (the South African equivalent of VAT at that time).

  Mars Electronics supplied our most expensive piece of electronic equipment, the radar. In spite of their most helpful suggestions, it never worked properly and we were thankful to see it replaced in Cyprus with an updated model, the Vigil RM. This device was invaluable. I always felt I was cheating when I turned it on, as navigation became so easy. With such features as the ‘variable range marker’, the ‘variable bearing marker’ and ‘track’, it became much simpler to monitor shipping; moreover, in poor visibility this was our only set of eyes.

  Aladdin’s Cave in Bursledon, Hampshire, who specialised in second-hand or surplus chandlery, sold us various items, including our three Lavac toilets (a good, sound make) and – on hearing it over the telephone – a hand-held foghorn.

  London Yacht Centre proved to be our final choice of a large UK chandler geared towards export, and they proved quite satisfactory. We placed a huge discounted order with them, having spent weeks scrutinising their Simpson Lawrence catalogue. Amongst the items we chose which were successful were the Barton cruising blocks, Scanmarin fenders, Marlow rope, Henderson Mark V pumps and Duff anodes; however some items (such as a plunger operated foghorn) were very poor, and had to be thrown away after a few weeks (or months) exposure to marine conditions.

  Later we were more experienced in the choice of yacht equipment, and could see well beyond the plastic veneer, the brass plating or the exaggerated description in the catalogue. Our original principles, however, never changed:

  Do without it altogether, if possible.

  Go for well known manufacturers and proven makes of equipment.

  Buy quality items – the sea will punish anything second-rate.

  Before buying, always work out every detail of how and where the article will fit on the boat.

  Remember the KISS principle (‘Keep It Simple, Stupid’); remember that everything must look right as well as perform efficiently. These principles are ably summarised by the formula:

  Satisfaction = (Beauty + Performance) ÷ (Complication)

  Don’t waste too much time and money dilly-dallying. ‘Deeds not croaks’ was a phrase I learnt as a child from a picture book about a contented frog.

  Try to get two or more uses out of each article, if possible.

  A good example of the final principle was provided by our four plastic buckets, which we considered to be amongst our most valuable pieces of equipment. They were given the prime stowage position on deck under the open slat midships seat, held in place by shock cord – not even a deck box lid had to be opened to get to
them. They were used regularly for many purposes such as deck washing, laundry, ‘bucket baths’ at sea, storing scrubbing brushes and other cleaning aids, and providing a temporary home for any fish caught or shells collected.

  We eventually received all this equipment on time in Port Elizabeth, but just about every shipment had its dramas. One of the more amusing ones (if we could still find room for a sense of humour) was the time when a British clerk in the Home Office decided to apply his own personal sanctions and ban exports to South Africa of goods of a sensitive nature. This included our radio and radar. It took a lot to persuade him that such actions would only harm us – British citizens – and would have no effect on South Africa’s political system.

  Before returning to the main story, perhaps this is an appropriate moment to consider the important subject of money. Barclays bank had already proved their cunning and skill to me fifteen years earlier, when they had taken to bribing students at universities with free hand-outs of pens and other goodies. This time they were impressive once again, and what they told us removed much of the financial risk in building Tin Hau overseas. I learnt that by using the ‘forward rate of exchange’ system, I could order all the rands I needed well in advance, at fixed rates of exchange, and on certain agreed dates. The really good news, however, was that the exchange rate was expected to vary in our favour during the boat building period, to such an extent that at the projected end of it (1985), we would be receiving twice as many rands for each pound as at the beginning. This meant that we could budget a higher figure in rand terms than had previously seemed possible.