The Solent has never seen anything quite like it. In the bi-centenary year of Nelson’s Trafalgar triumph, and just a short distance from where his Victory is berthed, an international gathering of seafarers and their craft gathered to display their skills and seamanship to an international audience.
The Fairplay Cup was followed, just a couple of weeks later, by the higher-profile, but less signifcant, naval review during which the opposing forces of ‘Red’ and ‘Blue’ refought the great battle – presumably the politically-correct avoidance of identifying any of the original opposing nations was in case the wrong side won in this much-delayed second-leg.
The great-great-great-granddaughter of Horatio Nelson and his mistress Emma Hamilton, 75- year-old Anna Tribe, was quoted in the UK press as describing the idea as “stupid”. She went on: “The French and Spanish are adult enough to appreciate we won that battle.” We’ll see.
It is certainly an international gathering at the reception on the evening before the event. As in previous years, it took place at the headquarters of Sunsail, which can provide more sailing vessels than even the 33 that Nelson had at his disposal or the 39 that France and Spain ranged against him. It would be easy to say that this is where the similarity between Sunsail’s and Nelson’s fleets breaks down, yet some of the tactics employed the following day were not unlike Nelson’s strategy of combining close action with broadsides. There are certainly some Frenchmen among the crowd in Sunsail’s extended and refurbished clubhouse, none of them, however, in the Total boat, representing France in the battle line, or in Monaco’s representative, V.Ships.
A glance over the names in the team photos on these pages will show that there are far more nationalities vying for honour in the Fairplay Cup than just the three who turned out 200 years ago. And, with the cross-cultural make-up of many of the crews, the Fairplay Cup is surely a more fertile bed for world peace and prosperity than the G8 summit in Scotland earlier this month.
In just one room, you might find representatives from the UK end of Hong Kong’s Pacific Basin, making their first appearance in the event. Or you could talk to Totem Plus, regular racers from Israel. From the Nordic countries, ABB – another new recruit – and Wärtsilä have sent their local forces into the attack, while US-based ChevronTexaco’s London operation entered two boats – they can’t both be last, presumably.
The Isle of Man – proud of its non-EU status – is here again in the guise of Dorchester Maritime while London, the scene of Nelson’s state funeral in 1805, fielded five entrants, including the eponymous London Offshore Consultants, here to right last year’s wrong when they were denied a podium place by a slip of the pen.
London lawyers Holman Fenwick & Willan, Stephenson Harwood and Michael Else & Co came well briefed but they were up against double-headed competition from Lloyd’s Register, clearly attempting to set some goal-based standards.
From the more picturesque end of the River Thames came Castrol Marine while Redhill – the throbbing heart of world marine publishing – produced three entries, including newcomer Safety at Sea International, whose boat name, Safety First, was surely inviting attention. Fairplay’s Press Gang and Fairplay Solutions’ Prime Mover were back again and, just as Nelson would have accepted no make-weights in his fleet, they were certainly not there just to make up the numbers. Fairplay’s name has been on its own trophy before and it can be there again; its crews know what their duty is.
Expectations
As Nelson prepared his fleet, he sent out his famous flag signal – England
expects that every man will do his duty. It was not quite the message he had
wanted to send – ‘expects’ was in the code book; his preferred word, ‘con.des’
, would have to be spelled out – and it caused immediate confusion, according
to The Historical Maritime Society’s website. Of course we’ll do our duty,
said his sailors. Why is he asking?
Can his Fairplay Cup counterparts count on similar devotion from their crews? Do today’s skippers enjoy the rapport that has become known as the ‘Nelson Touch’? A quick survey of those enjoying the eve-of-race buffet and the breakfast next morning was not encouraging.
One of Chevron Texaco’s crew certainly has the wrong idea of what the Nelson Touch might involve, bemoaning over a beer that his boat will have no masseuse on board.
Others are more realistic in their expectations. Wärtsilä, for example, has come with three goals: one, to finish better than its seventh place of last year; two, not to come last and, three, to come first. At least, that’s what its crew members said before the event. Afterwards, they spun a rather different yarn based, its post-race report noted, on a careful analysis of the socioeconomic environment.
Seeing so many customers or potential customers, they faced a dilemma over whether “to unleash the full sailing potential of the Joule Fuel Team ... or whether to take a more customer- focused approach.” You do not need to turn to the results table to know that “the latter approach prevailed.”
Castrol, too, is measuring itself against past performance. Two years ago its crew managed third place in one race, only to spoil things with a 21st in the other. This year, their goal is to make it at least into single figures, if not to win; “it’s our turn this year,” said one of their number. If only it were that easy.
Totem Plus has been coming long enough to know that it certainly is not that easy and that, even in a one-design race, “if your boat isn’t tuned or its bottom is dirty, what can you do?” Even V.Ships – last year’s winner and generally viewed as the team to beat – seems to accept that this may not be its year. Although its core team of experienced sailors is back, team manager Alan Armstrong admits that he has not raced a yacht since last year’s event. It is also a year since he last had a decent breakfast, it being impossible to get hold of bacon in Monaco, apparently.
First timers ABB have come with a team made up entirely of superintendent engineers – apart from one accountant – and the stated ambition of having an enjoyable sail. By the next morning, they had become more focused and decided to go for it. “All of us agreed that we would try our best,” said their spokeswoman Sophie Madeley; words that would have made Horatio proud.
Some are here for the money. Holman Fenwick & Willan and Michael Else & Co have agreed a wager of £5 for every place that separates them at the end of the event, risking as much as £90 on the event. It was surely a dangerous bet for Michael Else to accept: as newcomers to the event, Holman Fenwick & Willan are not in the form book, – Lloyd’s Register As the seconds ticked down, boats spilled over the start line and a general recall was inevitable www. making it somewhat risky to accept odds.
History in the making
It is often said that history is written by the victors, and that is certainly
the case with Trafalgar. A contemporary French press report, for example,
would have us believe that France and Spain won the battle with trifling losses
and despite a “long and dreadful” storm. The accepted history is that England
suffered far fewer casualties and that the wind died as the battle wore on,
the various ships eventually drifting around looking for targets through the
smoke. Who is to say, now, which version is accurate.
A comparison comes to mind when comparing reports from the various boats about the Fairplay Cup weather reports. Fairplay’s man on the spot, for example, swears that, just two days before, he found a forecast on the web predicting bright sunshine and little wind. But, since he was in Tokyo at the time where the rainy season was getting under way beneath a clear blue sky, he should have known that things were bound to be counter-intuitive.
Of those race reports that mention a forecast, predictions range from “an idyllic force three with sunshine” from Stephenson Harwood to a Force 5 prediction from Total, an expectation that had not deterred them from indulging in curry and beer the evening before. ABB anticipated “Force 4 with rain in the morning.”
Fairplay’s man with the soggy notebook wrote down what Sunsail’s race organiser, Rob, said at the skippers’ briefing: south or south west four to five; decreasing in the afternoon. Cloudy with occasional drizzle and mist. Visibility moderate to poor with fog patches. Is this really the middle of ‘flaming June’?
It did not sound good, it wasn’t good, it got worse and Totem Plus were not impressed. “Our conclusion,” their race report notes dryly (and nothing else stayed dry that day), “is that the Israeli weather is slightly more convenient – the only convenient matter in our country.”
Chasing away
Trafalgar marked the end of a lengthy chase across the Atlantic and back and,
although the journey from pontoon to start line hardly provides the same challenge,
it is nonetheless a crucial phase of a successful Fairplay Cup campaign.
It is during this trip that manoeuvres can be practised, sail options tried and crew tested. For Totem Plus, it also offered an opportunity to check the first aid box. Before they had even left the pontoon, one of their crew had managed to mash his fingers between boat, mooring line and quay, requiring much cleaning and bandaging. Despite this, being a “stubborn team,” Totem’s log records, “we continue in high spirit.”
Unfortunately, he was the team’s spinnaker-handling expert, so it seemed that he would be giving instructions on sheet handling from his sick-bed – not unlike Nelson who, as he was carried below mortally wounded, spotted that the tiller ropes needed to be re-rove and gave an instruction that it be done.
The first race was to be at 11am, giving crews about two hours to load beer, wine, food and Fairplay Cup smocks. As some boats soon discovered, spare battens would also have been worth taking along.
First away from the pontoon was the Holman Fenwick & Willan crew, who were thus able to enjoy in full the first of a number of arresting VHF conversations during the day.
They were cheered by banter between ‘Freddie’ and ‘Brian’ who “started off with a fairly lighthearted conversation, showing absolutely no regard for radio etiquette nor VHF protocol, but soon took to reciting alternate lines of Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ to each other,” their log records. “A more bizarre courtship was difficult to imagine at 9am on a Thursday. God bless them, in whichever Coastguard institution they now reside.”V.Ships also heard the exchange, but felt that “remembering to say ‘over’ after every line during the rendition was impressive.”
V.Ships had started off the way they hoped to continue, coming together, their reporter recalled, “like a team more suited to an Americas Cup campaign than, as some may feel, the more light-hearted Fairplay Cup event – a point clearly shown in how swiftly and efficiently the essentials of lunch and beverage were taken aboard.” Light hearted? We don’t do this for fun, you know.
On board Stephenson’s Rocket II, crew were alarmed to arrive and find that their racing mistress Sarah Allan had got to the boat first and emptied all of its water tanks. “I pointed out,” she wrote later, “that there was no point in carrying extra ballast when we already had extra ballast boys on board.” That must have made you feel valued members of the team, guys. Fortunately, there was enough bottled water on board “to allow the crew a cup of tea each.” Each?
Her three ‘ballast boys’ would have felt at home in Nelson’s navy, where life was hard and comforts few. One was assigned a forward position as wave breaker. All had a difficult first tack, struggling to climb the vertical coach roof and finding themselves bedraggled and clinging on. “It was going to be a long day,” Sarah sighed later. At least they weren’t being shot at.
By now, as Sarah’s report notes, the Solent had become “wet and wild”. Although there have been wet and wild Fairplay Cups before, there was something about this wetness and wildness that seemed more penetrating than before. Bouncing around on the rigid inflatable boat, Fairplay’s snapper certainly needed his now-standard equipment of two plastic bags to keep his camera and notebook dry.
Sharp shooting
But a camera cannot take photographs from inside a plastic bag, so it had
to venture out from time to time to snatch some of the action. And those moments
seemed to coincide with the next wave slapping under the RIB’s bow and shooting
a shower of spray onto the lens. Once every piece of dry fabric had become
saturated from wiping it clear, getting sharp shots became something of a
lottery.
A shame really, as the camera was a brand new digital instrument for which a crater on the moon would be within its resolution. The results of his day’s labours, then, are a few usable shots and a portfolio of mush – but very well defined mush. Nelson, with his blind eye, would have found them entirely acceptable: “I see no ships” would be an apt caption for many of them.
LOComotion’s crew felt they should practise their spinnaker work. It proved to be an education for everyone. “We tried to gybe it and it went wrong,” said one of LOC’s crew in the bar afterwards. But this is not just an idle experiment during the practice cruise; this is in the final minutes before the first race. At the ten-minute gun, “we had the spinnaker half way up and round the spreaders with the pole somewhere in the middle of it. We had no genoa and a reef in the main, we didn’t know the course and we’re thinking ‘in ten minutes we’ve got to start and competently.’” A crisis management course in ten easy minutes.
Bystanders on board Holman Fenwick & Willan’s Show us Your Writs were impressed. “Sadly for them,” their log records, “they approached the line at quite a lick and looked less heroic when the kite got dumped into the water beside them.” All this, of course, was in full view of the committee boat and a general broadcast banned spin- V.Ships press Lloyd’s Register’s Powered by Gas crew during the first leg nakers for the first race.
The V.Ships crew were not impressed. Describing the decision as ‘controversial’, they believe it proved a costly one. “As a light crew, we felt disadvantaged upwind and were looking to gain with the skill, flare and prowess of our fine spinnaker work,” their log-keeper said.
Instead, “we enjoyed lighthearted chat, occasionally reverting back to how we could increase our boat speed.” It was probably just this sort of lighthearted chat that Nelson was enjoying with Captain Hardy on Victory’s quarterdeck when he was hit in the shoulder by a musket ball.
Battle is joined
When Nelson finally started the action that culminated in Trafalgar, he was
responding to a signal that the enemy’s ships were leaving Cadiz. He set off
away until the one-minute mark but by then, it seemed to the happy snapper,
some boats were already over the line. When the start time finally came, the
race officer had no option but to announce a general recall.
Oddly, no-one in the bar that evening had been taking part in this race. At
least, that is the only conclusion that can be drawn from the fact that everyone
Fairplay’s man with the notepad spoke to had made an excellent start. Castrol,
for example, was quite sure that they would have gone on to win the first
race if there had not been a recall. One crew member on Stephenson’s Rocket
II clearly thought its name bestowed rocket speeds. “Is it all over? Did we
win?” he asked his comrades.
Wärtsilä’s Joule Fuel takes in a reef as a new five-minute hooter is sounded with the entreaty from the committee boat from his holding position some distance offshore, heading south east to stop them going through the Gibraltar Strait and into the Mediterranean.
But the wind inshore dropped, the combined French and Spanish ships anchored and Nelson reached Gibraltar with no-one to fight. So he had to turn round and look for them. It was, in short, a false start.
And so it was for the Fairplay Cup. From the press boat by the outer mark, the ten minutes went slowly. And so it did on many of the yachts, it seemed, as they ran out of space before they ran out of time. The seconds dribbled that yachts should “try to be behind the line at the start.” So that’s where we went wrong.
This time, skippers seem more cautious on their approach to the line. All boats are clear, there is no doubt about that, but one of the duties delegated to the media boat is to identify which boat is first across the line, on which depends a trophy later in the day. The race committee is far to busy checking for recalls to worry about that. We note the successful boat’s number and turn our attention to following the pack.
In some previous years, the camera crew have incurred the wrath of more than one skipper as they hang around close to the outer mark. This year, we kept our distance, only to find that most of the action was at the committee boat end of the line. So the photographer did not have a clear view of the collision.
Making an impression
In hindsight, it was inevitable that it should be the Safety at Sea International
entry that would be first to eliminate itself from its own safety trophy.
Quite sporting, in a way although Michael Else’s crew, also involved in the
collision, may not agree.
Niklas Bengtsson, who was on board Safety First, blamed the wind. The boat was doing fine “for about two minutes,” he reported, although from the sidelines it seemed more like two seconds. The nearest boat was about 15m away and a little behind when “there was a little gust and the helmsman had some slight difficulties maintaining its course.” Shortly afterwards, “a lot meaner one approached and the boat unintentionally tilted and the rudder lost its power.” The boat luffed “and the poor chaps in the boat closest to us had no chance of avoiding putting some gel coat on our aluminium.”
One onlooker – that favourite Safety First has eliminated itself. Watch and learn. By the time those involved in the prang have sorted themselves out, the rest of the fleet is away and, just like Nelson’s fleet 200 years ago, is split into two. Most tacked quickly onto port tack and headed for the shallow water to avoid the now-flooding tide. Among the three that stay in the deeper water is V.Ships, at this stage sailing with a reefed mainsail. Only the first mark can confirm the wisdom of either strategy, and the press boat, already frustrated by the constant spray, heads there to wait with its stern to the weather. We wait. And we wait. The tack out from the shallows is a long time coming as crews judge the tide and their moment when they can make the buoy in one tack. One in particular – too far away to read its sail number – left the manoeuvre much later than its rivals. It was Stephenson’s Rocket journalistic source – reckoned a third boat was involved in the melée, forced into a crash tack by Safety First’s antics. Oddly, Niklas makes no mention of it. It was presumably Total’s Lubmarine, whose report of the day noted its near miss and a subsequent check of Safety at Sea International’s website. Its next issue would feature an article about lifejackets and “they were obviously trying for a practical demonstration,” their log records.
Wärtsilä’s crew were also well placed to watch Safety First’s “innovative tactic of tacking into the charging line of approaching craft.”
The other task allocated to the media boat is to choose the winner of the
safety award. We remind ourselves of the task in hand and keep our eyes peeled
for safe and courteous action. There was little of it around and the exercise
became a process of elimination: Totem’s crushed fingers rule them out. Within
seconds of the start, Safety First has eliminated itself. Watch and learn.
Split fleet
By the time those involved in the prang have sorted themselves out, the rest
of the fleet is away and, just like Nelson’s fleet 200 years ago, is split
into two. Most tacked quickly onto port tack and headed for the shallow water
to avoid the now-flooding tide. Among the three that stay in the deeper water
is V.Ships, at this stage sailing with a reefed mainsail. Only the first mark
can confirm the wisdom of either strategy, and the press boat, already frustrated
by the constant spray, heads there to wait with its stern to the weather.
We wait. And we wait. The tack out from the shallows is a long time coming as crews judge the tide and their moment when they can make the buoy in one tack. One in particular – too far away to read its sail number – left the manoeuvre much later than its rivals.
It was Stephenson’s Rocket II, and their report acknowledged the significance of the decision. After an average start, they noted, “although we pulled through the fleet, we over-stood the first mark because we could not see it through the rain.” What they could see, “somewhere on the horizon” was the leading boat, LOComotion, which had also taken the inshore route.
They were first to arrive at the mark, closely followed by Lloyd’s Register’s Powered by Gas – one of those that had stayed further out. So which strategy was right? Neither, said one theorist, who said that wind conditions today had meant that boats had been ‘headed’ when inshore but ‘lifted’ when further out, “so what you lost with one you gained with the other.”
Body count
“Are you the person responsible for picking up the bodies?” This astonishing
comment from the radio galvanised attention across the fleet. It was from
the captain of a WightLink ferry, plying his short route across the Solent
and addressed to our committee boat. On the RIB, with the safety trophy in
mind, we are agog.
He is annoyed at the antics of a Sunsail yacht, No 18 he says, that had just gybed under his bow. Only by putting the ferry full astern and hard a-starboard was he able to avoid a collision. What really upset him, though, was that those onboard treated it all as a joke.
This is ripe material for some ribbing this evening for whoever is causing this rumpus and we scan the scene. We can just make out the ferry, way over in the mist. Whichever boat is involved must be well behind in the race. We check the race paperwork: Sunsail 18 is not taking part in the Fairplay Cup. If ever proof were needed for telepathy, this was it: the sense of disappointment as every competitor came to the same realisation was tangible.
The post-race reports confirmed it. “We listened with some glee” recalled Holman Fenwick & Willan’s log-keeper. “It seemed as though the ferry captain wasn’t troubled by the old rule that power gives way to sail during his cadetship, because he was in no hurry to mention this in his five-minute tirade to the race committee.” But it brought to mind how the Battle of Trafalgar is reported. Any account of the action always includes a casualty list, naming each ship and the number of dead and wounded; Victory, for example suffered 57 deaths and 102 wounded. Perhaps a similar table should be included in the eventual report of today’s activities. We already have a couple of entries, and we are about to get another. Following the fleet on the downwind leg, the photographer tries to shoot off a few spray-free shots, only to see those on ChevronTexaco’s SpinnaQua waving. We wave back. They continue waving. Eventually we realise that something is awry and motor across: two of their crew are suffering from seasickness and the skipper feels it is best that they go ashore. Can we take them?
It proved an interesting manoeuvre as the helmsman brought his yacht under control and the RIB driver came alongside what now seems a towering and rolling hull. The luggage is flung across and the first casualty perches on the rail and jumps. We pull away and approach again to repeat the exercise and then leave the race for a few minutes while we deliver the two team-members to Gunwharf Quay, just outside Portsmouth Dockyard.
With time on their hands, they welcomed our suggestions as to what they might do until the evening. As they were both French, it seemed only generous to point them in the direction of Nelson’s flagship, where they could learn the full significance of what the great Admiral had done for the nation. Presumably then, when Fairplay’s scribbler mentioned this in his remarks before dinner, the single finger raised in salute by one of the two grateful crew was an expression of appreciation for this thoughtfulness.
Of course, the RIB’s radio message to the committee boat explaining our departure was heard across the fleet and some were unimpressed. On ABB Express, for example, “we listened to the request for folk to be taken off another yacht due to sea sickness” while one crewmember was feeding the fishes off the back of the boat. “Why get off?” she said.
The RIB’s untimely departure would have stirred memories for Nelson. During the summer of 1805, Vice-Admiral Robert Calder had had an opportunity to engage the French fleet “but failed to press home the action,” one historian notes. As a result, he had to return to England to face a court martial, depriving Nelson of a powerful 98-gun ship.
By the time the RIB rejoined the race, it was in its closing stages, with the leading boats approaching the .nal mark, so we must rely on the accuracy and honesty of those who stayed the course.
Take the Wärtsilä crew, for example, who had gallantly sacrificed their undoubted potential for a mission “to maximise the happiness of present and future customers” by positioning their Joule Fuel “in the rearguard of the fleet so as to be able to render assistance to any other boat in trouble.”
But ABB had Wärtsilä in their sights and, at the .rst mark, “tried to take her on the inside but were not quick enough around the buoy. Or spare a thought for Fairplay’s Prime Movers, who were one of the many who were first across the line at the aborted first start and thus saw their efforts wasted.
It was a short leg from the last mark to the finish and, while the cameraman hung around snapping long shots of a spread-out fleet, the RIB driver pointed out that, if he didn’t get a move on, the leaders would be across the line. A full-throttle dash just allowed time to wipe the worst of the spray off the lens and catch LOComotion as it completed the race, with Show us Your Writs about 30 seconds behind and and Class Leader about a minute further back.
No time for lunch
Historians do not trouble themselves about what Nelson and his men ate for
lunch, although the Coronation chicken roll that appeared from the grocery
bag on the RIB would no doubt have been welcomed by the patriotic admiral.
What is certain is that the Battle of Trafalgar did not stop for lunch. Firing started at noon on 21 October, 1805, with news of victory reaching Nelson shortly before he died at about 4.30 that afternoon – about the same timescale that it now takes to run two Fairplay Cup races.
On the RIB, there was just time to extract a roll of toilet paper from the committee boat to serve as lens cloth for the rest of the day when the radio came to life again. A member of V.Ships’ crew needed to go ashore for medical reasons and the last handful of lunch was tossed into the deep as we scrambled to attention. By now we knew the routine and the casualty was brought on board and taken ashore.
A lull in the battle
Was it only this morning that we last stood on dry land? A walk up the pontoon
to use the facilities thoughtfully provided by the mayor and corporation of
Portsmouth reminded us that there were small pockets of warmth and dryness
in the world while the temptation offered by Tootsie’s all-day breakfast made
the prospect of an afternoon of more cold spray even less inviting.
So we took a leisurely view of our return to the battleground beyond the harbour entrance. Too leisurely, as it turned out, hearing the starting sequence for the second race over the radio as Portsmouth’s millennium landmark, the Spinnaker Tower – only now nearing completion – disappeared behind us into the mist.
Those who did not have the opportunity for shore leave were captivated by more radio chatter, this time between the inspirational . shermen ‘Nick’ and ‘John’. Their shared distress about the state of the finishing grounds – “I cast the nets three times and just ended up with two tonnes of weed” was the least of their complaints – seemed to have cultivated such a spirit of morose melancholy that it came as no surprise to hear them complain to all those in radio range that “you can’t get a crew.” Maybe it’s just Nick and John who can’t find crew.
For V.Ships, their loss of a crewmember was bad news. “Our already light crew was made lighter as we sacrificed numbers due to deteriorating health onboard,” their log records. “Crew positions were changed and thoughts turned towards the next race.” Their performance would have to be sparkling; with a sixth place in the first race, something rather better would be needed if they were to retain the trophy.
The fog of war
Those who were there recall the start of the second race as a confusing one,
as the line had been reversed and the committee boat was now at port end of
the line. “Some would say this is completely crazy,” suggested Stephenson
Harwood’s race reporter, as it put the committee boat right in the firing
line as 19 boats “with crews of mixed experience” bore down on it.
It somehow escaped unscathed and all boats got away, with even Safety First avoiding contact – its crew were clearly trying new tactics. Those tactics, as it turned out, included destroying the mainsheet traveller, which parted company with its track in a shower of ball bearings that would have made Nelson’s gunners proud.
Others had also used the lunchtime interval to review their strategy. Onboard ABB Express, for example, there was a determination to improve on their 19th place. New tasks were allocated, they had to be quicker round the boat and they had to avoid losing the wind.
Their strategy was to make a rush from the back, for which they found themselves well placed. “We made good headway; we were flying,” they reported later. “Then it’s a haze. What went wrong? We lost the wind in our sail and lost ground on the fleet.” To make matters worse, “we ended up in the main shipping channel with a rather large container ship coming up on us.” There was little dissent over their skipper’s suggestion that it might be an idea to get out of the way.
Then, slow to respond during a tack, one crew member was nearly lost overboard. In short, “it was a disaster ... so we decided we would take a nice easy ride back and drink the beer.”
At the other end of the fleet, Holman Fenwick & Willan viewed their second race as the more tactical of the pair. After a poor start, “we made our way up the fleet to again secure second position behind LOComotion.” They had dreamt of better, “so our hopes for the remainder of the day were threefold: to win the best boat name prize, to beat LOComotion to the bar and to learn that Stephenson’s Rocket was the offending boat about whom the irate ferry captain had so much to say.” They only managed to achieve one of the three.
Behind them was Lloyd’s Register’s Class Leader, on which helmsman Stuart Duffin set his crew an incentive to finish quickly by denying them their cold beers until after the end of the second race. He had, recalled their log-keeper, “moulded the rather motley crew into a race-hardened team without the need to resort to violence.”
His instructions, however, were not always intelligible. As one tack was completed, he was heard to shout to crewmember Martin Goodchild “skirt! skirt!” As their report observes, Martin “wasn’t quite sure where to look or what to do, wondering if Stuart had spotted a particularly attractive young lady on the foreshore and was keen to share in his good fortune.” Disappointingly, he simply wanted the skirt of the foresail released from the pushpit, although that manoeuvre itself had its dangers. As Martin scrambled across the foredeck, a particularly fierce gust left him clinging to the spinnaker pole for dear life.
Out in front, LOComotion felt blessed. In the bar later, they agreed that getting round the first mark in the lead is always an advantage. “And we were lucky with one or two lay lines,” said one crew member. “They came to us as a gift from God.”
That first leg had again split the fleet, this time into three. While most again headed into shallow water, four boats stayed well out in the deeper water while three adopted a middle course. And, once again, none of the options seemed to offer an obvious advantage at the mark. But it was a struggle to pass the buoy, as Pacific Basin found to their cost and collided with the buoy amid much shouting, leaving a stylish dash of yellow on their port side. Taking the penalty 360 degree manoeuvre cost them valuable time, contributing to their tenth position in the second race. They had been forced onto it, they complained in the bar later. One that made the mark in one tack was Stephenson’s Rocket II, crediting its ability to defeat the now-strong tide to its “ballast boys’ hard hiking over the rails.” But, despite surging forward on the downwind leg and reclaiming a few places on the next upwind leg, “those LOC boys were doing another horizon job to victory.” Despite this, they managed . fth place in the second race, fighting off a strong challenge from V.Ships, and winning a prize for the most improved boat across the two races.
No such prize for Fairplay Solutions’ Prime Movers, who dropped from ninth in the first race to 15th in the second – the biggest decline across the two events – which they blamed on fishermen Nick and John’s depressing lunchtime entertainment and on a minesweeper.
With the naval review scheduled for a couple of week’s later, preparations were in hand in the Solent and the minesweeper was apparently part of the clerk of works’ battle fleet. And it did not like visitors. It had already given ABB Express a ticking off over the airwaves and it seems that the Prime Movers had snared its diver on the bottom of its rudder. At least, that’s their excuse for their slowdown.
By the second mark, the three race leaders had emerged once again as LOC, Lloyd’s Register and Holman Fenwick & Willan, in that order, with another windward leg in front of them.
Once again, LOC judged their tack to perfection and, from where the photography boat was positioned, it was clear that they would make the mark while most other yachts fell away to leeward on the tide. From then on, there was never any doubt that LOC would repeat their feat from the first race, but for both second and third places also to duplicate was a first for the Fairplay Cup.
To the victor go the spoils
It is quite likely that some of the details recorded on these pages are not
true. Some would say that this is nothing new for Fairplay, but that would
be unfair. Relying, as we must on this occasion, on eye-witness reports from
on board many of the boats, it is likely that indiscretions have been expunged
from the record, that achievements have been built up.
And contemporary reports of Trafalgar are no different. As we have already
noted, a French press report at the time recorded Britain’s defeat. But a
correspondent to The Times last month recalled visiting the military museum
in Madrid with a party of serving officers, where they were shown a display
celebrating the victory of the French and Spanish over the British fleet at
Trafalgar. “When we protested that in fact we won this one,” the letter correspondent
wrote, “our Spanish hosts pointed out that Nelson was killed.”
That same issue of The Times also includes a full page facsimile of its front
page of 7 November 1805 reporting an account of the battle. If that reproduction
is entirely faithful to the original, historians have overlooked the fact
that it was possible even then to book low-cost airfares online. Or perhaps
that advertisement was placed in anticipation of its republication 200 years
later. And we will gloss over the detail that that report of the victory was
published sooner after the battle than this supplement will appear after the
Fairplay Cup. New winners What cannot be denied is that LOC, at their third
attempt, have put a new name on the Fairplay Cup’s plinth. And, as the photographs
show, they were generous in victory, emptying two bottles of bubbly into its
capacious bowl before passing it round all the tables. Two centuries ago it
might have been brandy, which was available in sufficient quantity onboard
Victory that Nelson’s body could be preserved in it for its journey back to
London and a state funeral. And what of the Safety at Sea International trophy?
With various collisions and injuries ruling several boats out, the choice
was limited. Should it, for example, go to the Dorchester Maritime boat, which
had inadvertently inflated one of its lifejackets? Or to the RIB driver, for
providing a regular rescue service during the day? It was eventually awarded
to ChevronTexaco’s SpinnaQua, for safely executing two crew transfers and
for making the decision to do so despite losing any chance of a good position
in the race.
The prize for being first over line went to Fairplay’s Press Gang; it emerged that the race officer had found time to spot the first across after all. The fact that his choice was not the one that Fairplay’s reporter had noted need not concern us here; the race of.ce had a higher vantage point and is more experienced at such things.
The best boat name was adjudged to be ChevronTexaco’s Bonny Fore Sail, while two new categories were introduced this year: a bottle of best whisky for the most improved boat between the first to the second race, won by Stephenson Harwood, and the least improved, scooped by the Fairplay Solutions crew, who went backwards by six places between the two races.
With the preliminaries, and some mercifully short remarks from Fairplay’s managing editor, it was time for dinner and the customary gift at each place. This year, of course, it was a memento of Trafalgar – a specially minted crown coin to mark its bicentenary and issued by Gibraltar, which played a key role in Nelson’s strategy.
Less than two weeks after the Fairplay Cup, 167 ships from 35 countries – including France and Spain – gathered in the same Solent waters to mark Nelson’s triumph. Next year’s Fairplay Cup will match that.