Feb 1, 2003
My experiences with commercial enterprises, whether large or small, have not always been the most cordial. In fact I have sometimes thought that if ever I were to lose the use of my eyes and a couple of limbs, I would go in to business of some kind, confident that I would be on a pretty even footing with most of my competitors.
When we lived in Samoa, I built a little yacht, or more precisely a sailing dinghy.
One of my colleagues in the Department of Agriculture there was an English Geordie called Alan Higgins, a skilled boat builder as well as a skilled bludger. As part of his removal expenses when transferred from New Zealand he had brought with him a beautifully constructed little racing keeler, a “Flying Fifteen”. He had also managed to have included in his “personal effects” enough seasoned kauri which he had scrounged, to build in his spare time, a 30 foot cruising yacht in which he intended to sail back to New Zealand.
I used to crew for him on the Flying Fifteen, and he encouraged me to build a little yacht of my own. The design he chose for me was this 12 foot sailing dinghy called “Solo”, designed for “Yachting World” magazine as a training craft for the Olympic “Finn” class. The designer was the same guy who designed the Flying Fifteen, and he was a genius. Not only did the boat sail like a dream, but it was designed to be buildable by an amateur with little experience and a tool kit consisting of not much more than a hammer and chisel, a saw, some glue and a few cramps.
To start with I had to write to Yachting World in England for the plans. I sent them a cheque to cover the postage as well. Three months later I got a letter from them, sent surface mail, asking if I wanted the plans sent airmail, and if so would I send a further 7/6! A few months later the plans arrived. They were excellent.
The boat was designed to be built in marine plywood, and since there wasn’t any to be had in Samoa, I had to send to Sydney to a firm called Cemac in Gardiners Road for it. Being quite keen to get on with the project, I sent them a bank draft with the order so there would be no delay. How wrong can you be!
I wrote to them in February. Nothing happened. I wrote again in June, mentioning three ships that had come from Australia and that were at that time in the harbour at Apia and could have conceivably have brought the ply with them. I got a reply a few weeks later, apologising for the delay, but explaining they were waiting to ship the ply on the ss”Rona”. A few enquiries on the Apia waterfront revealed that the “Rona” plied between Sydney and Naples, via Papua New Guinea. There was no way it would ever call at Samoa. I still have the copy of the letter I wrote in response.
I must have been rather more forthright in those days, for after pointing out the shortcomings of the “Rona” as a means of getting things from Sydney to Samoa, I went on to say that I could only conclude that his shipping clerk was waiting for some vessel to sail up Gardiners Road and ask for the bloody ply. I suggested a couple of other ships that might have a better chance of success, and recommended that he send the ply to Suva and get it transshipped from there. Perhaps the use of the Australian adjective touched his heart, for in due course the ply arrived. He had however cut the longest sheets in half in order to make a more compact package. So I began my boat building career with an exercise in scarfing and joining the cut sheets of ply end to end in order that they would cover the length of the hull. Fortunately I had some amazing American glue called “Weldwood”. It came as a powder, and when mixed with a little water it set in an hour or two into a substance as hard and as durable as glass. I have never been able to get it in New Zealand. Presumably our importers are about as efficient as the Australian plywood suppliers.
(I notice that the supplier of “Seaply”, Cemac Pty Ltd., is now a subsidiary of Fletcher Building Ltd., and that, I think, explains a great deal. Did the Cemac culture perhaps spread through Fletchers and bring them to their subsequent sorry state.)
However, not all my business dealings have been so dismal, and it is only fair to say that when I wrote to Bowker and Budd in England for the cloth from which to make the sail for my boat, it arrived promptly and in good order. Perhaps that is why that firm has endured for more than a century. Or is it rather that you can’t even rely on commercial institutions to be consistently incompetent.
