The Brendan Voyage by Tim Severin Read Free Book Online Page A

I had not thought of myself as superstitious, but I took the trouble to count the number of illustrations reproduced in the textbook. There were some 5,000 of them, and only one showed a twin-masted boat. It was on that single page that the book which I found accidentally had fallen open.
    An important name kept cropping up in the libraries: John Waterer. He had written the majority of books and articles on the historic uses of leather. It was a subject vital to my project, so I got in touch with him and found myself invited to a most suitable rendezvous in the vaults of Saddlers’ Hall, the headquarters of one of the ancient guilds in the heart of London. John Waterer turned out to be as deep-dyed an enthusiast as John Goodwin. An energetic gnome of a man, his activity belied his eighty-three years. His twinkling eyes and huge ears, as he darted about his vault full of leather saddles and bridles, leather tapestries and book bindings, even leather mugs and jugs, reminded me irresistibly of an industrious dwarf in
Snow White.
John Waterer could not have been more helpful. Patiently he introduced me to the subject of leather science and leather history. He told me about the differentways of turning animal skin into leather by tanning and by other treatments. He explained how and when the various methods had first been used, why one leather differed from another according to the treatment or whether it came from the skin of ox or calf, goat or sheep, or such exotic animals as moose and buffalo. The depth of his knowledge was profound. He was not a university-trained academic, but had begun work in the leather trade as a luggage-maker. Like John Goodwin the curragh-maker, he too had been gripped by the fascination of his work and had probed deeper and deeper into its history. Now he was the acknowledged authority in the field, consulted for his opinions by archaeologists and museum curators. To me there could not have been a better guide into the esoteric subject of leather.
    A fortnight later I attended a meeting at the headquarters of the British Leather Institute. John Waterer had written to John Beeby, who handled public relations for the institute, and explained I needed help.
    “I want to build a leather boat to sail across the Atlantic,” I told John Beeby.
    “Does John Waterer think it can be done?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Then I think we’d better help you. I will get in some experts.”
    I was elated. Brendan Luck was still with me, and forty-eight hours later I found myself at the Institute explaining my ideas about Saint Brendan to three men whose expertise could help to turn my dream into reality. Dr. Robert Sykes was head of the Research Association of the British Leather Manufacturers and had an international reputation in leather science. He was precise, sensible, and at first a bit skeptical. Next to him sat Carl Postles, tanyard manager from the firm of W. & J. Richardson in Derby, a family business making saddlery and other fine leathers since the seventeenth century. Finally there was the burly figure of Harold Birkin, whom I was to get to know and admire very much over the next few months. Harold was the direct opposite of the scientific Dr. Sykes. Harold lived, talked, and doubtless breathed the business of making leather for special purposes. From a small tannery in the delightful town of Chesterfield, overlooked by the crooked wooden spire of St. Mary’s Church, he sent a variety of exotic leathers to customers all over the world. His leather was used deep in the coal mines for air pumps or out on the snowfields for dog-team harnesses in the Antarctic. Harold was a one-man thesaurus on the best sort ofleather for any job. He could tell you the right leather for a naval fire hose, a sewing-machine drive belt, or an industrial safety glove. One of his prize possessions was a two-inch-thick chunk of walrus hide that sat on his desk like a petrified slab of wasps’ nest. Yet he could also make you