Word: yachted
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1930-1939
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...that next February they will have a male heir. The Crown Princess, whose gadabout Prince Consort Bernhard last spring took a three weeks' bachelor vacation, leaving her at The Hague, told friends last week: "Benno and I will soon go for a cruise in the Baltic on the yacht we were given as a wedding present...
...more exclusive than polo, class J-yacht racing or court tennis, sportsmen who want to indulge in Vogelschiessen must present a pedigree. Only descendants of these old Saxon craftsmen may shoot. With steel crossbows and steel-tipped wooden bolts, the Thierfelders, Dietzes, Dreschers-now butchers, knitters, iron workers-took turns last week shooting at a double-headed eagle, jig-sawed out of wood and mounted on a pole 30 ft. high. Purpose of the sport is to knock off a claw, a beak, a wing, and thereby win a prize-such as an electric fan, a thermos bottle, a clock...
...morning late in May the Tira was gone from her mooring, and gone from their Santa Cruz homes were Lyle Tara and two of his Irish messmates, 17-year-old James Henninger and 16-year-old William Grace. For weeks there was no word of boys or yacht. Merchant Foote broadcast descriptions of the Tira up & down the coast. Then, 28 days later, the Tira heeled swiftly down Banderas Bay into Puerto Vallarta, 2,000 miles from Santa Cruz, on the west coast of Mexico. News travels slowly from Puerto Vallarta, an isolated fishing village hemmed in by coast ranges...
Last week Merchant-Yachtsman Foote set out for Puerto Vallarta to claim his $25,000 Tira, undecided as to what sort of punishment should be meted out to boys who would swipe a yacht to hunt buried treasure. Some people thought Merchant Foote would exact no greater penalty than making the boys, as crew, sail the Tira back to Santa Cruz. "Gosh," he said wistfully as he departed, "I wish I had been on that trip. . . . I have been used only to cruises around Monterey...
Presently he replaced the instrument. A bell rang aboard the Q. E. D. Mother Fokker's call had been the launching signal. A wicker-jacketed bottle of Zuyder Zee water burst against the yacht's bow, workmen knocked away the keel blocks, loosed the hawsers, and the Q. E. D. started down the ways. But before more than a few feet of her hull had entered the water, she came to a dead stop. Her stern was stuck in gooey Harlem mud, there to list forlornly until the next high tide floated her up, long past midnight...