Is it really some five years since the project was first announced to be in principle approved? Anyway, it has finally arrived and is up and in action. We hope now to be warm enough in winter, and at least cooler in summer. The considerably larger space, providing plenty of much needed storage, will allow us to build and to repair boats at the same time; the slide of the fonner workshop foundations into the canal is over and the floor sufficiently well founded and supported for us to be certain of stable levels when we come to put up the new boat-building table. We await the re-routeing of the water main, the old one having been spectacularly holed during oversite work. But tea/coffee/chocolate is still available if you happen to call - do!

Our building programme is likely to concentrate on smaller boats - perhaps another quad/IV+, Out of Mind, for J14 boys and girls to match Out of Sight launched last term. At present we have enough VIlls to boat two crews at each age level, but the reduced numbers in the club overall together with the increasing proportion of numbers of girls compared to boys (now in all age groups) suggest that IVs in particular may well be in greater demand, almost certainly backed up by a larger fleet of sculling boats suitable for general "knock-about" use. But all this involves time and funding both of which are in short supply - the former the more so now that Adrian's talents are also in use in the CDT department at school, the latter as, I fear, the recession has not passed by our otherwise idyllic backwater unnoticed - with the materials/boatsmith elements of a new boat approaching 600 per seat there are limits to what we can afford. Many of the older boats built 25 or more years ago by Terry Page (in particular the Restricted IVs, most hors de combat in the boathouse roofspace) are of doubtful viability in the long term and in any case take almost as long to repair and refurbish as building new. If we build a few more boats for sale outside we help finance our own but have less time to build them; the increasing amount of work coming in from local clubs (we like to help out if we can, of course) brings in some funds but once again occupies time which could more usefully be spent on our own craft. At least now if circumstances should permit the appointment of a workshop assistant we have the space to allow all the extra work to be taken on. Meanwhile we have no excuse for not earning our coffee breaks

We believe that ours is the only one specifically designed and rigged for 14 year-olds, others being conventional VIlls fitted out for sculling. The hull is slightly longer than that of a typical 10-stone VIII, is much narrower on the waterline and the underwater sections are comparatively minute semi-circles for most of its length. The freeboard has been reduced too which we hope will improve stability (compared to Neomorph, built to similar principles but larger) as this enables the crew to sit relatively lower in the boat. Even with our inexperienced Novices on board, as with the assortment of more experienced scullers who took part in the 'sea-trials' in the Spring, the boat has seemed to run well: certainly in the inaugural Invitation Race at National Schools' this Summer, boat and crew survived the course and their stop-go passage creditably - after falling behind on each of a whole series of mishaps (catching a bad crab in an oct has much more severe consequences than in a sweep-oared VIII; a new drill will need thinking up and practising). Once they got going again they were able to cruise back into contention with some ease. Meanwhile the Radley crew who won the race very easily gave us all some insight into the potential of this class of racing. One wonders whether it will be confined to the 14-and-unders in the future - it would seem to be a pity if sculling became associated merely with the youngest who then dropped it in favour of sweeps before they had really had time to do more than have a very inexpert 'go' for but a year or less.

Readers may be intrigued to know how fast an oct will go. Present indications are that unless rigging changes can produce a radical improvement, not at present anticipated, an oct will not travel all that much faster than a conventional VIII, perhaps only a couple of lengths or so over 1500/2000 metres.

The theoretical rigging of the new boat exercised us over many weeks of meetings and telephone discussions - and myself practically in a single using assorted pairs of thought-of scull-oars and rigging dimensions (a bad shock to my ever more feeble and unfit system!) Our present arrangement uses Matt Wood riggers with Axior swivels together with the relatively new HiLock plastic oars from Reredos. For the technically-minded, these are 297cm overall, buttoned at 86cm with a pin-to-pin span of 156 cm; the asymmetric blades (NOT 'meat-cleavers' though) are quite a bit smaller than a normal "adult" would use. Many thanks to all who helped solve (?) the problem, particularly Don Ellis of Reredos and Tim Watson of King's School, Worcester, who gave generously of their time and expertise. Rafts

At the end of July there was a Summer Flash Flood one night and by morning with the by now receding level half way up the boathouse steps the rafts were discovered upstream end downstream and jammed drunkenly under the bank and overhanging trees. Investigation suggested strongly that the chain mooring had been released and the steel cable cut. After some argument it was agreed that the original upstream section was missing, presumably careering uncontrolled somewhere on the way to the Atlantic, doing heaven only knew what damage to moored craft as it did so. One feared an insurance claim to shake Lloyds finally to extinction. The search party (JMB, AJG and myself) found the section stuck on Warleigh weir and it seemed possible that before the water went down we might be able to haul it up the torrent. While we launched a rubber boat plus engine Adrian went and hired a special low gear winch which ultimately proved useless as it had been provided with an operating lever- bar which wouldn't fit the ratchet mechanism, though this was not discovered until he had been let carefully drift out in the rubber boat anchored to the bank to attach the wire hawser to the stranded raft. Giving up the winch, we tried towing with the Land Rover - to no avail until the raft decided to move but unfortunately with a sideways and downwards lurch to the level below the weir, whence no amount of manouevring and pulling would persuade it to reverse the process. Adrian took to the rubber boat again and foolhardily or bravely shot the weir, took the raft in tow, and joined by JMB, set off on the fast-flowing flood downstream. All this had taken the three of us some 4 hours or more, and it was well gone lunch time. I drove the Landrover via Bathampton shop and met the intrepid sailors in their ill-matched craft at the Ladies/Minerva Club some 2 hours later with a beer and a few crisps. It was happily a fine Summer's day and after tying the raft to some trees we felt the day had been adventurous fun, albeit only the beginning of the problem.

How do we get the raft back again? It's still there gradually being camouflaged by Nature. Any suggestions?

It was Lindsay Reynolds who discovered it in the river virtually hidden by bankside bushes except from his vantage point in his sculling boat - as I found when, having said I would identify the cow, ring its owner and - No, I didn't think I needed any help, I took the dogs off down what little is left of Dick Hole's Coaching Path towards the weir. The cow was immobile and had clearly given up any idea of trying to find a way up the bank. All attempts to bully beef - thrown sticks, verbal abuse, and swimming dogs - produced a weary flick of an ear but otherwise nothing. If it had been in the water long it would be cold and I was about to set off back with haste when I saw a farmer's lad (young man) coming upstream on the other bank. He confirmed he had lost a cow and I directed him via a short diversion along the railway line where it runs close to "Bad Corner", thence he, uncomplaining and steadfast, fought his way down through mountainous hazards of nettles and brambles to a point some 4 to 6 feet vertically above the cow. Hitting the cow with a stick produced about as much reaction as before; the lad seemed unlikely to be able to lasso the calf (rather less than half grown at the most). I offered to get a rope and bring it down by rubber boat which itself might help. By the time I returned, the lasso, improvised from the lad's denim jacket or shirt, was somehow in place but only seemed likely to throttle the beast when pulled from above - and pushing from the rubber boat was too unstable to be of any real help. The dogs enjoyed the spectacle and the swimming. The cow rolled its eyes, the whites showing blood-shot; alive but not kicking. I took the halter and the lad joined me in the boat to look for a less steep exit. At first she made a few feeble attempts to walk on the bottom/swim but, rolling her eyes ever more heavenwards, gave up while we towed her on her side by the neck downstream some 200 yards to a small water level fisherman's stance below a slightly more promising slope behind it. The cow was not at all interested in its legs any more, but our combined efforts got it precariously onto the stance where I remained struggling to prevent it toppling into the water again while the lad went off to get his van. As the van approached the cow raised its head and a bovine thought-balloon saying "food's coming" drew from her the first serious attempt she had made to help herself. Her legs were cold and "dead", I was unable to maintain either my balance or that of the cow and it went slithering back into the water and I half did. I emptied my wellies. Some while later the status quo on the by now mudbath of a stance, which was threatening to part company with the bank, was restored. The tow- rope from the van round the cow's neck merely seemed likely to hang it as the animal got jammed under the overhang at the top of the bank. Pauses for rest and for thought. The lad wanted me to roll the cow on top of a piece of ladder which had brought, and, while I was to have kept the poor thing balanced, stretcher plus cow were to be towed up and into the field I wasn't convinced of the practicability of this manoeuvre and, leaving the lad continuing apparently to try to throttle the beast by hanging, went prospecting in vain for a better route up the bank. We were joined at this stage by another farmer on the opposite bank -"Any suggestions?" - "You could try a helicopter". But he did go off to telephone to base farm (somewhere near Bradford upon Avon) which was thought by this time to be likely to be manned. A little upstream the bank looked worse but closer inspection suggested that the river was shallower, the bank lower and less steep: if the nettles and brambles were flattened if we could get just a little effort from the by now very weak cow (it was over 2 hours since we had started the rescue operation let alone the time she had been standing practically submerged in the river before that) if if, with a bit of luck It was worth a try. The poor thing made no attempt to stand or swim as we pushed it back down the mud-slide and into the river, tugging it, neckwise and with pitiful eye-rolling, the few yards upstream....We started the van up again, the cow flicked an ear and rolled its eyes...The lad pulled on the rope, I got into the river and righted the animal which was threatening to turn turtle completely (I fancy a cow would float with its legs upwards wouldn't it) and, heaving mightily from below and beneath its back end and immature milkbar, not so suddenly, I, lad and beast, there we were, all in a heap on the bank being gazed at amazedly from above by the three dogs, heads all questioningly on one side - " What on earth are you up to now?" they seemed to inquire.

Stung by nettles, scratched by brambles, bitten by horseflies and gnats, smelling like an old-fashioned shippon, I emptied my gumboots, climbed back into the rubber boat and pleaded leave to go home, anticipating the not-too-long and none-too-soon arrival of the boss and his tractor.

I don't know whether the story has much more to it nor whether the beast survived, but an electric fence appeared along the river bank the following day. In their way the dogs had tried to help but were as useless as usual and thought the whole episode was laid on for their entertainment and to encourage a good appetite for their supper, some three hours later than usual. There's nothing so much fun as messing about in boats. The interior of the new workshop during construction in August 1992 - photo by Jo Short