HOW WOULD YOU react when confronted with three seven-year-old boys who had seen, say, a model you had built 15 years ago, and who wanted to build their own? Would you tell them that, because of inflation, it would cost three times as much now as it did then? Would you look them over and decide that they were too young, by five years? Could you enjoy working with the boys for three months? The working model they had seen was a Barnett-Stromness lifeboat built from a set of Modelmaker plans in 1967 and re-named St Nicholas lifeboat Christina Mary.

First of all, I wrote to the boys' parents, asking if they were willing to contribute a third of the total costs.

While awaiting their decisions, plans were reduced to half size for the boys to use in conjunction with my own model.

They came for something like six months although the models themselves took only about half that time to build.

My model was partly dismantled to reveal the 'bread and butter' method of construction: the hull built up in shaped layers. The requisite shapes were then traced from the plan on to thick pieces of wood, all that was available free of charge. For the following month the boys sawed out stacks of long, curved strips. These waterlines, as they were called, were glued on top of each other and to either side of marked centrekeels to form three hulls.

It was heartening to see the boy's enthusiasm. They really entered into the spirit of things with the Surform, which filed these hull blocks to template shapes against, across and with the grain, all at the same time. A labour of love: very difficult, wasn't it boys? How it revealed personality and character.

Oh, what a struggle it was, and what a mess you made! Cleaning up took hours . . . gone are those days! Tools had to be shared, in five minutes relay fashion, so that each boat remained, more or less, at the same stage of advancement. That held back the boys and made them help each other: they exercised discipline. Next came the painting: white below the boot-topping, dark blue topsides and bright red fendering. While the boys were busy, sloshing about and having fun, the plywood decks were cut and fitted. Then, in the bath, the lifeboats were launched.

There were yells and shrieks of delight as the water was churned to 'heavy seas', objects were placed to create 'broken waters' and even 'shallows' appeared as, the bath being emptied, the 'tide' went down! That was how the boys came to understand stability and buoyancy. The hulls refused to sink, despite deliberate swampings, and always kept an even keel: such was the measure of their success, and they could not wait to take the boats home.

After that, the plywood cabins, the control panel and all remaining deck fittings were made, the boys gluing the various parts together and painting the upperworks white. There were problems fitting the twin propeller shafts and electric motors. Parts were wired to switches and batteries, and included an electric searchlight. There were two working models, each costing £75 of -which those parents were to pay a third.

Wow! As the boys had visited Falmouth lifeboat while on holiday they chose that port as their model lifeboat station.

And what better, in view of best efforts, than to give their Christian names to the lifeboat models? Carefully painted thin paper flags were added and, on the wireless mast aft, there was a Red Ensign; on a pole, above the foremast, the large RNLI flag; and code flags stretched overall bearing the message: 'Volunteering aid and help to anyone in danger at sea'..