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A classic boat race brings home the vulgarity of today's have-yachts A classic boat race brings home the vulgarity of today's have-yachts
(3 months later)
The cloud was so low and the air so blurred with drizzle on the Firth of Clyde last Sunday that even the most knowledgable spectator would have found a yacht race hard to follow. We weren't knowledgable enough. A long bowsprit made the Ayrshire Lass (built 1887) identifiable, but all we could say about the rest of the smaller boats heading for the finishing line in Rothesay Bay was that they looked very lovely – for reasons that were hard to articulate, though a sailor or a naval architect might have pointed to the smooth overhanging stern that is such a feature of yachts designed by William Fife, or to the wooden masts, spars and booms that mark older yachts in general.The cloud was so low and the air so blurred with drizzle on the Firth of Clyde last Sunday that even the most knowledgable spectator would have found a yacht race hard to follow. We weren't knowledgable enough. A long bowsprit made the Ayrshire Lass (built 1887) identifiable, but all we could say about the rest of the smaller boats heading for the finishing line in Rothesay Bay was that they looked very lovely – for reasons that were hard to articulate, though a sailor or a naval architect might have pointed to the smooth overhanging stern that is such a feature of yachts designed by William Fife, or to the wooden masts, spars and booms that mark older yachts in general.
They sat low in the water and came dipping round Bogany Point on a following wind after a straight six-mile run across the firth from Largs. The bigger yachts had been set a longer course, but eventually their leaning shapes began to appear through the mist: the Solway Maid, the Fintra, the Saskia, the two-masters Latifa, Kentra and Astor. All of them came from William Fife's drawing board in the 1920s and 30s, which were the final decades of the Clyde's era as one of the world's great yachting playgrounds, replete with regattas, slipways, grand clubhouses and boatbuilding firms such as Fife's of Fairlie that for a time set standards of sailboat design unrivalled outside New England.They sat low in the water and came dipping round Bogany Point on a following wind after a straight six-mile run across the firth from Largs. The bigger yachts had been set a longer course, but eventually their leaning shapes began to appear through the mist: the Solway Maid, the Fintra, the Saskia, the two-masters Latifa, Kentra and Astor. All of them came from William Fife's drawing board in the 1920s and 30s, which were the final decades of the Clyde's era as one of the world's great yachting playgrounds, replete with regattas, slipways, grand clubhouses and boatbuilding firms such as Fife's of Fairlie that for a time set standards of sailboat design unrivalled outside New England.
What we were witnessing was a recreation of that time through an event called the Fife Regatta, which every five years since 1998 has drawn yachts from all over the world to race in the estuary of their birth. This year 20 Fifes took part out of the 50 or more thought to be still sailing, though three generations of the Fife family built more than 1,000 from the early years of the 19th century until the last of them (William Fife III) died in 1944. "Fast and bonnie" was his motto, but as fibreglass, aluminium and steel replaced wood and as the adjective "Clydebuilt" vanished as a recommendation, so Fife became a footnote in the history of a rich man's sport. Then in the 1980s, the same feelings that had preserved buildings and old cars and steam locomotives spread to yachts, which began to be expensively restored, sometimes so completely that barely a plank was original.What we were witnessing was a recreation of that time through an event called the Fife Regatta, which every five years since 1998 has drawn yachts from all over the world to race in the estuary of their birth. This year 20 Fifes took part out of the 50 or more thought to be still sailing, though three generations of the Fife family built more than 1,000 from the early years of the 19th century until the last of them (William Fife III) died in 1944. "Fast and bonnie" was his motto, but as fibreglass, aluminium and steel replaced wood and as the adjective "Clydebuilt" vanished as a recommendation, so Fife became a footnote in the history of a rich man's sport. Then in the 1980s, the same feelings that had preserved buildings and old cars and steam locomotives spread to yachts, which began to be expensively restored, sometimes so completely that barely a plank was original.
The result was the "classic" or "vintage" yacht, and a cult among yacht-lovers that, like the auteur movement in the cinema, made the maker's name of paramount importance. In the US, the name that looms largest is Nat Herreshoff, whose racers won every America's Cup between 1893 and 1920. In Britain, the third Fife and the Glaswegians GL Watson and Alfred Mylne form the leading trinity, though only the first had his own yard. All rose to their success during the peak years of British imperialism and America's gilded age, when the gap between the rich and poor and the excesses of the wealthy were as large as they are today. This was the first age of the great yacht; it can be no coincidence that we live in the second. It might have been a racer or a cruiser, driven by steam or sail. Whatever the type, the one certainty was that it required huge amounts of money to build and maintain. A competitive racing boat might have a crew of 20 or 30, to increase or reduce sail quickly or spread themselves down one side of the deck to counterbalance the wind.The result was the "classic" or "vintage" yacht, and a cult among yacht-lovers that, like the auteur movement in the cinema, made the maker's name of paramount importance. In the US, the name that looms largest is Nat Herreshoff, whose racers won every America's Cup between 1893 and 1920. In Britain, the third Fife and the Glaswegians GL Watson and Alfred Mylne form the leading trinity, though only the first had his own yard. All rose to their success during the peak years of British imperialism and America's gilded age, when the gap between the rich and poor and the excesses of the wealthy were as large as they are today. This was the first age of the great yacht; it can be no coincidence that we live in the second. It might have been a racer or a cruiser, driven by steam or sail. Whatever the type, the one certainty was that it required huge amounts of money to build and maintain. A competitive racing boat might have a crew of 20 or 30, to increase or reduce sail quickly or spread themselves down one side of the deck to counterbalance the wind.
We saw a crew doing something like that on Sunday, huddling together in their uniform red outfits as the Astor sped towards the finish. There might have been 20 of them – more crew than there were spectators, because only half a dozen of us had gathered at this little headland to see the boats sail by. It was hard to believe that before the first world war, yacht racing had been a popular spectator sport and dense crowds had stood at this and other viewing points on the Clyde and formed partisan loyalties to boats owned by Scotland's industrial plutocracy. Paisley's two formidable business dynasties, Clark and Coats, owned about 80% of the world's thread-making capacity, and when in 1885 they took their rivalry to sea in a yacht race that led them 60 miles around Ailsa Craig, two packed excursion steamers followed the race all the way even though the weather was bad enough to strand John Clark's boat on a reef.We saw a crew doing something like that on Sunday, huddling together in their uniform red outfits as the Astor sped towards the finish. There might have been 20 of them – more crew than there were spectators, because only half a dozen of us had gathered at this little headland to see the boats sail by. It was hard to believe that before the first world war, yacht racing had been a popular spectator sport and dense crowds had stood at this and other viewing points on the Clyde and formed partisan loyalties to boats owned by Scotland's industrial plutocracy. Paisley's two formidable business dynasties, Clark and Coats, owned about 80% of the world's thread-making capacity, and when in 1885 they took their rivalry to sea in a yacht race that led them 60 miles around Ailsa Craig, two packed excursion steamers followed the race all the way even though the weather was bad enough to strand John Clark's boat on a reef.
By 1897, Clyde regattas were covered by no fewer than nine yachting correspondents and several specialist photographers. Four years later the town of Dumbarton turned out en fete for the launch of Sir Thomas Lipton's Shamrock II, which the tea tycoon and self-publicist hoped would win him the America's Cup (the second of five attempts). As Martin Black writes in his wonderful biography of Shamrock II's designer, GL Watson, the yachting challenge "generated as much excitement and fervour" among the general public as golf's Ryder Cup produced 100 years later.By 1897, Clyde regattas were covered by no fewer than nine yachting correspondents and several specialist photographers. Four years later the town of Dumbarton turned out en fete for the launch of Sir Thomas Lipton's Shamrock II, which the tea tycoon and self-publicist hoped would win him the America's Cup (the second of five attempts). As Martin Black writes in his wonderful biography of Shamrock II's designer, GL Watson, the yachting challenge "generated as much excitement and fervour" among the general public as golf's Ryder Cup produced 100 years later.
Some of this craze is easily explained. Few other sports could be watched in a Scottish summer; the yachts sailed past resorts crammed with working-class families; small-boat sailing had by then become a popular middle-class hobby; Clydeside workers felt that ships and therefore the sea were proud features of their natural heritage. Moreover, the boats were owned by industrial capitalists who lived locally and made or sold tangible things – tea, thread, transatlantic liners. The modern oligarch or financial speculator has multiple addresses and obscure sources of wealth, and the ships he chooses for his amusement, the so-called superyachts, float like giant steam irons in Mediterranean anchorages, as ugly and secretive as the sins committed to afford them.Some of this craze is easily explained. Few other sports could be watched in a Scottish summer; the yachts sailed past resorts crammed with working-class families; small-boat sailing had by then become a popular middle-class hobby; Clydeside workers felt that ships and therefore the sea were proud features of their natural heritage. Moreover, the boats were owned by industrial capitalists who lived locally and made or sold tangible things – tea, thread, transatlantic liners. The modern oligarch or financial speculator has multiple addresses and obscure sources of wealth, and the ships he chooses for his amusement, the so-called superyachts, float like giant steam irons in Mediterranean anchorages, as ugly and secretive as the sins committed to afford them.
Does owning a nice thing make you nicer? Or might it simply make you better liked? The evidence isn't easily obtained. Proof would require impossible experiments with control samples: sheikhs with and without their racehorses, Abramovich with and without Chelsea, the late J Paul Getty plus and minus his Rembrandts. But with old sailing yachts we at least have the word of an owner: the Swiss-German businessman Ernst Klaus, who said recently, "Wherever you go in a classic boat, you never provoke negative reactions."Does owning a nice thing make you nicer? Or might it simply make you better liked? The evidence isn't easily obtained. Proof would require impossible experiments with control samples: sheikhs with and without their racehorses, Abramovich with and without Chelsea, the late J Paul Getty plus and minus his Rembrandts. But with old sailing yachts we at least have the word of an owner: the Swiss-German businessman Ernst Klaus, who said recently, "Wherever you go in a classic boat, you never provoke negative reactions."
For 20 years Klaus has owned the ketch Kentra, a 100ft long and built by Fife in 1923 for another Paisley thread magnate, Kenneth Mackenzie Clark, grandfather of the diarist and politician Alan Clark. We saw her under sail in Sunday's drizzle and again on Monday lying off Tighnabruaich, her white hull shining in the sun. There could be no question of negative reactions. Sailing ships make a fine, free public display and touch us sentimentally, romantically and aesthetically. Knowing that their owners share our admiration, we feel that they cannot be all bad.For 20 years Klaus has owned the ketch Kentra, a 100ft long and built by Fife in 1923 for another Paisley thread magnate, Kenneth Mackenzie Clark, grandfather of the diarist and politician Alan Clark. We saw her under sail in Sunday's drizzle and again on Monday lying off Tighnabruaich, her white hull shining in the sun. There could be no question of negative reactions. Sailing ships make a fine, free public display and touch us sentimentally, romantically and aesthetically. Knowing that their owners share our admiration, we feel that they cannot be all bad.
Kentra is now for sale for £2.45m, which is a tiny fraction of the price of a new superyacht. Oligarchs and financiers worried by their public image might like to consider buying her both for their pleasure and as a precaution against the angry mob.Kentra is now for sale for £2.45m, which is a tiny fraction of the price of a new superyacht. Oligarchs and financiers worried by their public image might like to consider buying her both for their pleasure and as a precaution against the angry mob.
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