L ondoner Ken Harris was just 22 when the lifeboat towed the 24 m Vigilance into Littlehampton Harbour on England’s south coast in 1955. For years she had lain rotting in Shoreham Harbour, used as a makeshift store and pontoon, before being bought cheaply by an Australian adventurer with plans to sail her back to Perth in search of treasure. Using improvised tarpaulins for sails, he made it barely 20 miles west before the Coastguard declared the vessel a hazard to shipping and had her towed into the River Arun. Harris, young and impressionable, was captivated by the dream. Shown a treasure map, he lent the smooth-talking Australian £80 – his hard-earned wages as a shopfitter. That was the last time he saw him. The Australian fled to Canada, sending Harris a note bequeathing him the wreck in lieu of repayment. Vigilance was no ordinary wreck. She already had several lives. Built in Brixham in 1926, she was the last of a dying breed – an engineless sailing trawler launched just as steam and diesel were taking over. She was worked hard for just eleven years before falling out of fashion. Having cost £1,000 to build, she was sold for £525, a sad reflection on the lack of demand for working sailing vessels at the time. She lay idle on a mooring in Brixham until breaking free and being badly damaged during a hurricane. Patched up, she spent the war years as a barrage balloon vessel, but after passing through several hands in 1949, The Vig, as she is known, was bought by Harold Owen to become his private yacht based in Shoreham. Then came the fire. Tragedy struck in 1952 when Owen drowned, and on the day of his cremation, Vigilance caught fire. Rumour had it his wife torched the boat to keep her sons from going to sea. The interior was destroyed, and the structure badly damaged. To most, she was beyond saving. But Harris did not see ruin. He saw a future. With nothing more than a handwritten note and sheer determination, he claimed ownership. The harbour authorities were only too happy to be rid of both man and vessel. With evident relief, the harbour master issued a receipt, adding pointedly that he would have »no further connection« with either Harris or the vessel. He found a patch of mud to leave her in – and there, in 1957, he began work on rebuilding her. For the next 17 years, Vigilance did not move. Through cold winters and long summers, Harris worked often alone, slowly, stubbornly, bringing the dead ship back to life. He had no yard, and almost no money. Harris devised his own methods, working around the limitations of a boat he could never afford to haul ashore. What he had was patience – and an almost impossible standard. When fittings were required, he made them – hammering out a ton and a half of iron by hand. He shaped wood into blocks, carved deadeyes, and slowly re-stitched the ship together piece by piece as if rebuilding a memory. The deckhouse was fashioned from a hard wood called »ironbark« obtained from Portsmouth dockyard where they had been used as rollers. Two metres long and with a 35 cm diameter, Ken bought eight for 15 Shillings each and was given a further eight for his trouble. The topmast came from a Thames barge, the hefty main boom cost £10 and the bowsprit was cut from a 15 m × 40 cm pitch-pine log he found floating in Cowes harbour. 69 Fotos: Pickthall Pictures read more
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