It is unlikely that the problem of finding new interests to absorb the increased leisure of a changing economic world will ever be a serious requirement of naval life. However, the desirability of having a hobby has always existed for the members of a profession which not only exacts long hours of clear thinking during the routine activities of our fleet, but which requires the utmost imagination in planning the ability of that fleet to meet successfully any problem that the future may present. Such an intensive life, coupled with the fact that one lives in a room no larger than the old- fashioned clothespress, makes some definite form of relaxation a necessity to mental equilibrium.
Leisure time in the Navy may come fitfully, never for long periods, and often not at all for weeks; but when such time does become available, the man who has a hobby to which he can turn is more contented than one who has no refreshing outside interest. Although the majority of naval officers indulge in various athletic sports, these activities should probably be classed as physical necessities rather than as hobbies. Needless to say, there are many times and conditions in the Navy which not only make such recreations impossible, but which, with irritating inconsistency, even increase the personal need for a hobby.
The limitation of space aboard ship is not without its effect upon the seagoing practicability of a hobby. Perhaps the most convenient recreation is reading. Most officers do spend a certain amount of time in the study of naval history, international relations, foreign affairs, domestic current events, and other liberal aspects of their profession, but such reading is actually an expected part of that profession and is not a hobby. Nor can the term be applied to a very hypocritical form of reading which is practiced by a few border-line mentalities. It is their custom to locate obscure facts in the encyclopedia just before dinner and, upon questioning their companions at the table, to profess the most profound amazement at the ignorance displayed. However, the lighter forms of reading may be considered as legitimate recreation. Fiction does distract the mind and project it into a different world, although seafaring men of the early days would be as horrified at the thought of a naval officer reading a novel as they are at the idea of a soda fountain for the crew.
Akin to reading, but requiring an entirely different point of view, is writing, the hobby of many naval officers. Whether or not they attain recognition as writers is of no consequence. The personal value of writing lies not only in the diversion experienced, but in the discipline of thought processes and the improvement of self-expression. Also, writing lends itself to the confines of life aboard ship. Nevertheless, both writing and reading are entirely mental hobbies, whereas the tastes of some of us require an additional touch of physical occupation.
Musical ability is the rare possession of certain naval officers. Others, unfortunately, have only musical ambition, which sometimes leads them to the purchase of portable instruments. The resulting cacophony can be drowned by amplifying the radio, although it is a question as to which is more disconcerting. Luckily, few naval officers at sea have seriously set out to dispel the legendary laughter directed at the amateur pianist.
But the list of naval hobbies is by no means limited to music and authorship. The Navy boasts of several officers who are quite adept as artists in oil or water color, although the requirement of natural ability does restrict their number. We also have photographers, magicians, linoleum block cutters, and stamp collectors, but in spite of the fact that naval hobbies are innumerable, very little consideration has been given to a hobby which is doubly appropriate in that nearly all naval officers are, to a certain extent, of a mechanical turn of mind. Many of those who experience that inner delight in contemplating the gradual completion of a tangible project under the workmanship of their own hands have thus become interested in ship-model building.
Ship modeling is a very ancient and venerable seagoing hobby. In the old days the leisure time of many a sailor was spent in the tedious conversion of beef bones into a graceful model of his ship. Were he confined in prison for a number of years he was usually able to complete his model. Often he rigged her with strands of human hair, sentimentally donated by some sympathetic lady. Curiously enough, the tact that the running rigging should be represented by light-colored strands and the tarred standing rigging by black strands seemed to present no moral handicap. Of course, a model built of bone is probably a more difficult task than most naval officers would care to attempt. It is even doubtful in these days if either blonde or brunette tresses of sufficient length for shrouds, sheets, backstays, and braces could be readily obtained. However, such natural obstacles need not discourage the prospective builder of ship models, for linen thread serves very nicely as rigging material.
There is a great deal more available information concerning the construction of ship models than is ordinarily realized. Of books, there are perhaps a dozen, each of which presents complete instructions for building a specific model. One book describes in detail the construction of a model Spanish galleon. There is a booklet on building a model of the Flying Cloud, and another on that most elaborate of early English men-of-war, the Sovereign of the Seas, built by Phineas Pett for Charles I. A 2-volume publication explains every step in the construction of a model Cutty Sark, the last of the famous tea clippers. A recent volume describes the built-up ship model, constructed in the same way as a real ship. The U.S. frigate Constitution is the subject of a pamphlet prepared especially for model builders by the Bureau of Construction and Repair, Navy Department, and published by the Government Printing Office.
Ship-model information can be found not only in books but also in various magazines. Some of the models that have appeared include a Roman galley, a Chinese war junk, Columbus’ Santa Maria, the Mayflower, Drake’s Revenge, the whale ship Wanderer, the Nova Scotian fishing schooner Bluenose, Donald McKay’s clipper ship Lightning, Perry’s Niagara, Farragut’s Hartford, Byrd’s City of New York, and the new liner Manhattan. The modern Navy has been represented recently by models of the Pensacola and Indianapolis.
The plans differ in scale but for shipboard building the larger models may be reduced to a length of 12 to 18 inches, a size that can be constructed very handily at the regulation desk. Another advantage of the smaller size is that it requires fewer details; in fact, small models are sometimes spoiled by including too many details, with a cluttered result.
If we can believe a certain story, another danger in attempting models that are too small is principally psychological. The alleged tale concerns a man whose hobby was building working miniatures of steam engines. Each succeeding model was smaller than its predecessor. At last the patient builder constructed a very tiny one, using a silver dollar as a base. His success fired him with new enthusiasm and his next model was built on a half dollar. Immediately, he started another model, this time on a quarter. When last reported he was an inmate of a well-known institution, the padded walls of which protected him from casualties as he wrestled with the problems of steam engine construction based on a dime.
Not long ago I read an article, the author of which asserted that the very height of foolish nervous activity was perfectly demonstrated by a man who had built a full-rigged ship on a pecan shell. You will understand my consternation when I explain that I had just completed a model of a brig, for the hull of which I had used an English walnut shell. Needless to say, I hastened to console myself in the comforting natural truth that most English walnuts are larger than most pecans, and I cannot deny that my alarmed mind found refuge in a satisfying exaggeration as to the disparity involved.
But let us return to the practical. The tools and materials necessary for building ship models are few, and none of them is bulky. A sharp knife, a pin vise with a few small drills, a hand scroll saw, a small pair of pliers, a tack hammer, sandpaper, brads, and a tube of glue are enough with which to begin. Of course, one may obtain additional equipment ranging all the way from needle files and dental instruments to a tiny woodworking “shop,” a machine designed specifically for model builders, and with which it is possible to turn out any form of precision woodwork although the entire assembly of motor-driven lathe, drill, saw-table, and sander is no larger than a typewriter.
A ship model need not be elaborate to fulfill its purpose as the expression of a hobby. One’s first models should be very simple. A water-line model is the easiest to construct, inasmuch as it is cut off at the water line, and therefore involves no under-water hull carving. Later, as skin increases, the builder will likely wish to try his hand at carving a complete hulk Although the naval officer, as an amateur ship-model builder, will scarcely expect to construct the marvels of the professional, he will experience the pleasure of seeing a ship gradually take form through the skill of his hands and the ingenuity of his mind. All ship-model building requires patience and, if the amateur wishes to gain the most value and enjoyment from his hobby, he will engage in it only when he feels a definite interest in it. He will attain a higher standard of workmanship if, instead of rushing his model to completion, he adopts the attitude that the date of launching is quite immaterial. Indeed, an old salt in one of Mr. McFee’s novels says that a ship model should never be finished. There should always be a few more parts to construct, or fit, or rig, when the builder is in a mood to require and to enjoy his hobby.
A good ship model is more than a piece of handicraft; it is a work of art. Its artistic excellence depends not only upon the builder’s skill in producing carefully constructed and accurately proportioned details, but also upon his ability to endow his model with the grace of the real ship and with the tang of the sea.
If you have never tried your hand at ship modeling, you can begin with a scrap a pine, a few round sticks, and a small tin of gray paint. You will be pleasantly surprised at the creditable water-line miniatures you can make for wardroom tactical school. At least, during your occupation with your new hobby you will not be interrupted, as are the devotees of certain other hobbies, by a vicious fist pounding against the bulkhead and a shipmate’s raucous voice growling, “I say, old fellow, aren’t you just a bit off the key?”