NEW FEATURE - Every month we will feature one design from our extensive archives. Behind every design and yacht there is special story. In this inaugural issue we look at the famous cruising yacht Northward.

NORTHWARD

50ft Classic Sailing Yacht
Design No 327
1930

Length Overall 50.3ft
Length Waterline 35.6ft
Beam 11.0ft
Draft 7.3ft
Displacement 6.3Tons
Sail Area (Sloop) 1016 Sq.Ft.

A bermudan sloop of 20 Tons TM, "Northward" was one of Mylne's more famous yachts. Built by McGruer and Co in 1930, she was both cruised and raced extensively on the Clyde and West coast, winning the Clyde Cruising Club Blue Water Trophy in 1937 and again in 1939, when she weathered a force 9 gale. Partially in recognition of these exploits, the poet laureate of the day, Cecil Day Lewis, wrote a famous poem about her (see below)

Northward raced on into the 1950's and 60's, receiving a mizzen and more manageable ketch rig in 1962. The poet's reference to a "flame-spun pall" was prophetic for, sadly, she met her end a few miles off Portland Bill when a gas leak caused a violent explosion in the early hours of the morning. Her owner, who was sailing single handed, was half way up the companionway at the time and was thrown clear by the blast.

To view the original drawings click here

Scaring the cormorant off his wave perch, floated
Forth on the Springtime into my element.
I, the yacht Northward.

Seven brothers built my body of Oak and Elm,
Woke in the dumb wood a spirit of seafaring,
Hoisted the spruce tree to command a new world
Silent of bird voice.

None is so beautiful, whether undaunted,
Flaunt I my colours close to the wild wind's eye,
Or cleaving calm seas, gold on my spinnaker,
Dream down the evening.

Men say, who sight me naked on the pure sky,
Surely such craft once carried in his flame-spur
Pall, a dead Viking past the horizon
Into Valhalla.

Lands' End to Lewis I know, but I love best
My Western Islands where the rain purrs on
Blue profound anchorage, where the moon climbs
Over the Coolins.

When you are done with me, let met still be happy,
Wrap my ribs deep in tides Hebridean;
And for a riding light, clear above me,
Set the Aurora.