The amazing racing story of the Bluenose

This little vessel recently sailed onto our windowsill at home, a gift for services rendered helping Lizzie's parents move house back in October.  We've been after a nice boat model for a while, and this one - the Bluenose - jumped out at us as the one that would look particularly handsome in our lounge.

Well as it turns out, we have acquired a model of the most famous of all Canadian ships, with the real Bluenose attached to quite a fascinating history.  Her origins lie in the creation of the "Halifax Herald North Atlantic Fisherman's International Competition," a contest between real working schooners that pitched town of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, against its arch rival, Gloucester, Massachusetts.  These two fishing powerhouses  had a long tradition of racing each other to the fishing grounds of the West Atlantic, and both towns were excited to formalise these races, even if the days of saltbank schooners were fast drawing to a close.  In the ensuing battle, The Nova Scotian Delawana faced the American ship Esperanto.  The Americans won two of the three races to take the cup, leaving Nova Scotian pride shattered, and planning for revenge.  

Lunenburg today (source: lunenburgns.com/)

The result was the Bluenose, a schooner that would race her way into Canadian legend.  In her first Fisherman's Trophy, she brought the cup back to Canada, before retaining it in 1922.  Then, during the 1923 competition, an on-course collision brought about protests and controversy that led the Bluenose captain, Angus Walters', refusal to complete the competition - nor would his opponent, Captain Ben Pine of the Columbia, accept the prize.  

The launch of the Bluenose in 1921 (source: Bluenose II)

Seven years then passed without contest until, in 1930, Ben Pine travelled up to Lunenburg to challenge Walters to a race - the Bluenose against the Gertrude L Thebaud, with prize money provided by the Thomas Lipton Tea Company.  An American victory followed, but a year later there was a rematch, and this time, the coveted Fisherman's Trophy was back on the line.  A comfortable Bluenose win cemented her place in Canadian hearts, and led Captain Walters to utter the famous line: "The wood ain't growing yet that'll beat Bluenose."

Angus Walters with the Fisherman's Trophy (source: Canadian Encyclopaedia)

There next followed a trip to England where the schooner impressed King George V, before the Bluenose was incorporated onto the Canadian Dime - a place it still holds today.  Further triumph followed in the 1938 Fisherman's Trophy, when the Bluenose once again took on her adversary, the Gertrude L Thebaud, in a best-of-five series.  Tied 2-2, and with the Bluenose suffering damage, Walters begged: "one more time, old girl, just one more time..."  The Bluenose won the trophy by three minutes, setting an average speed of 14.15 knots - the fastest pace ever recorded over a fixed course by a canvassed vessel.

The Bluenose in action (source: Canadian Encyclopaedia)

Towards the end of the 1930s, fishing schooners became obsolete, and the Bluenose was sold to work as a freighter in the West Indies.  On 28 January 1946, whilst carrying a cargo of bananas, she struck a coral reef off Haiti and was abandoned on the reef.  You would expect that to be the end of the Bluenose story - but it isn't quite.  Fast-forward to the early 1960s, and the launch of Bluenose II, built predominantly for the tourist trade, and captained on its maiden voyage to the West Indies by the same Angus Walters.  Bluenose II still plies the waters around Nova Scotia, a reminder of greatest Canadian vessel ever to grace the ocean.

1988 Canadian postage stamp featuring the Bluenose and Captain Walters (source: Canadian Encyclopaedia) 

Winter colour

Winter roles remorselessly on, grey days and ice following windy days and rain, the ground cold, the world lifeless.  Almost.  I don't think anybody actually enjoys this time of year, but a quick snoop around the garden this weekend revealed one-or-two moments of comfort, slowly peeling away the heavy cloak of January that seems, at a glance, to have shrouded our world in darkness.  The odd flash of red berries, the pastel hue of an emerging crocus, the sultry blue of the first grape hyacinth defying all the weather - well, who can resist a little smirk?

First off, primroses.  Millions of them.  I've been hard at work over the last few weeks planting in these lovely little woodland plants wherever I can find a good enough space.  Compact, colourful, and delightfully perennial, they're a mainstay in what we are dubbing "the winter border," an at-present incomplete space that we're building up especially to give colour to future winters.  Viburnum, cyclamen, and Helleborus niger - the wonderfully named Christmas Rose - are amongst other stars of the corner, offering a lovely bit of subtle colour, and ensuring that something is in bloom on every single day of the year.  It's a border that we'll be working on more as the year progresses.

Our garden is inherently woodland, so is the perfect environment for primroses.  I've planted a few more out on the bank, and many more down on the grassy terrace, around the container pond.  The point of this planting isn't just for us to enjoy; in fact, this whole primrose project has a more important meaning.  Recently, we joined Butterfly Conservation, the charity dedicated to saving British butterflies and moths.  As any discerning wildlife gardener will tell you, now is just about the most important time for getting colour into your garden; overwintering butterflies will soon be scouring the bare gardens for essential early nectar, whilst hibernating queen bumblebees rely on such energy sources to see them through to finding a nest site.  Our primrose patches, early daffodils, crocus bulbs and hyacinths should ensure just that, pushing our wildlife through the critical phase, before the real big hitters of spring start to arrive.

I'm still waiting for that one wonderful day you get each year, when for the first time the Sun's rays cut through the cold, birdsong floats high on the air, and even if it's still a little nippy, you know then that spring is taking hold.  Until that day, I'll content myself with a nice bit of winter heather, and the song of one of our most underrated garden birds, the great tit, wafting across our winter garden with perfection.  Beautiful.

A Moomin winter

A few weeks ago, I received an out-of-the-blue email from Finland, from the good people at Moomin.com.  At some point last year, I had completed a questionnaire on their website, and had been picked at random to be one of their winners - imagine it!  A week later, and into our letterbox popped a little parcel with the most intriguing of stamps.

Lizzie is, of course, the biggest Moomin fan, so all of this was music to her ears.  We carefully opened the envelope, expecting maybe a couple of postcards, when a whole load of goodies dropped out.  Beautiful writing paper, a pen, a cosmetics case, a bike reflector, and a genius Finnish invention, a pot lid lifter, to keep one's cooking from boiling over on the stove.  Suffice to say, it made our day - thanks very much to everybody at the Moomins!

I suppose at this time of year, the Moomins would be deep in hibernation, keeping cosy in their secluded little home, whilst all around them the winds howled and the snows fell.  I wouldn't be lying if I said I'd be happy to join them, such is the cold and grey that makes up the seemingly endless month of January, but as we plough on through, the days are slowly getting lighter, the primroses are showing their vibrant colours in the garden, and croci and daffodils are making their first forays above the ground.  The newness of spring will soon be in the air once again, and I for one intend to go out and find the best of it.  In the meantime, I'd be contented with a little more winter's sleep, and it looks like I'm not the only one... 

Beautiful Poppy

We have been very saddened this weekend, following the death of Lizzie's wonderful black Labrador, Poppy.  Lovely Poppy, who grew to be a grand old lady yet remained full of excitement and enthusiasm until the very end, leaves behind a huge dog-shaped hole in all our lives.  In her departure we feel much sadness, yet her beautiful memory remains etched on our hearts forever.  Goodnight Poppy; I hope you have fun at Heaven's all-day buffet.

My Grandad, the airman

Look what I recently found in Torquay's TK Maxx!

It's a tin model of a bi-plane that made my heart leap when I saw it sitting, all alone, on the shelf.  Everybody knows I like an aeroplane, but I can usually walk away from these delightful objects, because I already have a collection of more accurate scale models.  Not today though; I grabbed this one with both hands, and took it straight to the tills.  You see, the first thing I thought of when I saw this plane was my Grandad, the airman.

Grandad in his uniform.  The white flash on the hat indicates a volunteer

Grandad volunteered for the Royal Air Force at the latter part of the Second World War, and undertook training in the iconic yellow biplane, the de Havilland Tiger Moth.  The war drew to a close before he was ready for combat flying, but being able to fly the aircraft solo was one of Grandad's proudest achievements for the rest of his life.  This is his flying log sheet, detailing his training in the DH82A model.  He achieved his first solo flight on 8 March 1945, in the aircraft N9441.

An actual Tiger Moth

Grandad passed away in 2013, but he is always fresh in our memories, and now that I have this little plane sitting on my bookshelf, I'll remember him every time I see it.  If he was still alive today, it would have been his Christmas present - I'm sure he would have loved it.