A Distant Dream

by Vivienne Dockerty

  For her, gone were her thoughts of touring the world, the pioneer of the Aldridge family, living an independent life and finding a job somewhere. In the short time that she and Harold had become acquainted, they had found themselves to have similar interests and certain values in life. She felt compassion for the man who she now knew had watched his wife as she died from terminal cancer. Harold in turn, had begun to feel a certain attraction to this kind-hearted woman, who had spent her years in unselfish duty to Patrick and her brother’s farm. His heart was touched and although he could see that they may well settle down with each other in the future, there was still a lot of ocean to travel before they could make any plans.

  *

  Opened in 1869, the brainchild of a Frenchman called Ferdinand de Lessep, the Suez Canal was a heavily travelled shipping lane – 101 miles long, 984 feet wide, many lives had been lost in its construction.

  With the Christmas celebrations over, strange though it had been to some to be experiencing the festive season in glorious sunshine, instead of seeing snow and robins, it was time to dock at the Port of Aden at the beginning of the Red Sea. The place was full of volcanic dust. It was smelly, dirty and not the type of location where a tourist would wish to sightsee, unless they wanted to wander through the narrow streets where market stalls had been erected to sell the unsuspecting a souvenir or two, or be taken for a short ride on a camel led by a fez adorned Arab. The three hours allocated to taking on fuel, water and other supplies was enough for most passengers to stay on board. The Suez Canal, though, was an impressive sight and sailing along it was an experience that many would boast about for years to come. Most of the canal was not wide enough for two vessels to pass, so several passing bays had been created to keep the shipping moving. There were no locks, which is common in European waterways, because the Mediterranean and the Red Sea are at the same level and vessels could only drift at low speed, to prevent the banks of the canal from eroding.

  Patrick and Mel, standing together arm in arm on the promenade deck, watched wide-eyed at the vast sand dunes disappearing into the distance, a military encampment complete with white tents and dilapidated trucks, a couple of camels loaded up with a merchant’s goods, the flat roofed dwellings which made up the houses of the small Ismailian villages and fishermen sailing by in long narrow boats. Tugs and ferry boats criss-crossed the narrow isthmus and ships’ horns from cargo boats in the passing bays sounded in greeting as the R.M.S Arcadia sailed slowly by.

  “Something to tell our children” Patrick said dreamily, his thoughts drifting to the future, when he and Mel would have settled down and begun to raise a family – a little girl with long dark hair and a sturdy boy with big, blue eyes.

  “Our children?” Mel gazed at him curiously, whilst fleetingly asking herself if that was what she wanted, to settle down with this bashful young man. Thoughts of travel and a career as a lecturer in European history came also; it was what she had always wanted to do.

  “Don’t you want them too?” Patrick looked lost as he realised that maybe her vision of the future was not the same as his.

  “One day” she acknowledged slowly. “But Patrick we’ve hardly got to know each other, don’t you think you might be racing ahead?”

  “I love you Mel,” he babbled, hoping he could persuade her with his feelings. “I have from the first day I saw you by the souvenir shop. We’re meant together. I’ll get a job, we’ll travel if you want, the children can wait until you’re ready for them. I want to have what my parents had, until some selfish bastard who wanted world domination destroyed their world.” He quickly got down on one knee, much to the embarrassment of Mel and the surprise of the other passengers, who like themselves were watching the ship’s progress along the canal. “Marry me Mel.”

  “Get up, you idiot, you’re making a show of us.” Mel hissed, looking at him in annoyance because in her eyes, he was humiliating himself. “We’ll talk about it.”

  So what was he supposed to do? He asked himself, when after what he had thought was a romantic proposal, Mel suggested that they go for a drink and discuss their future without an audience. Was it wrong of him to have made his proposal in front of other people, though wasn’t that what a man who was in love with his girlfriend usually did? Didn’t they go down on bended knee to pop the question? He was sure that was what one of the lead actors in a recent film that he had seen had done. He supposed he’d blown it now, as he trailed miserably behind her shapely figure, dressed as she was once again in her puffed sleeved blouse and short, dirndl skirt, this time barefooted. He’d made a fool of himself by asking her to marry him when she had dreams of becoming a lecturer and he was a farm worker, “a bog trotter” as those boys had called him, not even good enough to wipe her boots.

  “Patrick” she said gently, taking her hand in his, after he had ordered two glass of iced tea from the waiter and was sitting at her side, unable to meet her eyes. “Patrick, it’s not that I wouldn’t want to marry in the future, but I’ve only just finished college and I was hoping to see a bit of the world, get my studies over, get a job, be independent.”

  “I thought we loved each other, I thought that what I was supposed to do. I don’t know how to act, how to behave myself, I’ve never had a girl in my life before.”

  Mel nodded. “I know that, but now is not the time for you and I.”

  “Well, there’s nothing more to say then” he said bitterly, getting up to go, already beginning to feel his ready tears about to surface. “I wish you luck with your future Mel, but you’ll never find anyone to love you more than me.”

  “Patrick…”

  He walked away to sit in his cabin reflecting on the people that he’d loved and had been taken away. To be fair, he couldn’t say that of Kathleen, although he knew that there might be a parting of the ways when they got to Tilbury because of Harold, but she had always shown her love for him, no matter what he did.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “Mel not joining us for dinner tonight?” asked Harold, as the three of them met up for a pre-dinner drink, whilst waiting for the maitre d’ to announce the restaurant open.

  “Lover’s tiff,” said Kathleen astutely, after noticing that Patrick’s eyes looked a little red and and he was wearing a “hang dog” look. “Still you’re young yet, Patrick, plenty more fish in the sea and you don’t want to go tying yourself down just yet.”

  “It wasn’t a tiff; I stupidly went down on one knee and asked her to marry me. It’s not funny.” He glared at the couple, who couldn’t help but laugh at the seriousness on his face.

  “You did what?” Kathleen chuckled. “You and Mel must have been watching that film they were showing, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. Did she turn you down, is that why you look as if you’ve lost a pound note and found a sixpence?”

  Patrick nodded. “I really thought she felt as I did.”

  “Well, she told me only the other day that she was having a gap year, seeing a bit of the world and returning home to study at university. You can’t expect her to give up her dreams just because she met someone she liked on holiday.” Kathleen felt relieved at the turn of events.

  “I suppose not.”

  “Come on Patrick, cheer up, we’ll be docking at Port Said in the morning and Harold has said he’ll treat us to something from the bumboats, seeing as its just been Christmas.”

  *

  Port Said, “the valiant city”, was situated at the west side of the Suez Canal, a little further up the Mediterranean coast. It was founded by President Sa’id of Egypt when, as Ferdinand de Lesseps, the architect, gave the first symbolic swing of the pickaxe at the beginning of the construction of the Suez Canal, Port Said and its twin city, Port Fuad on the eastern side of the canal which could be reached by little ferries, was deemed to become a vital part of the area’s economy.The ship was to anchor there for a few brief hours, intending to top up with fuel for the final leg of its journey then take on more provisions and a hold full of cotton to se
ll in London. Most passengers were anxious to be on their way, as the weather was hot and humid and the only relief was to sit in the air conditioned lounges. They preferred to bargain with the dusky faced traders who swung their goods on poles from their little boats that abounded around the vessel, calling out “cheap, very cheap,” in high pitched, pidgin English.

  Of Mel there had been no sign, neither sitting with her friends in the restaurant that previous evening, nor later when they watched a show in the entertainment lounge. Patrick assumed that she had taken her meals in her cabin and hadn’t wanted to be seen around. He missed her – missed the way she held his hand, laughed at his attempts at making jokes, her sweet tasting lips when she had offered to kiss him and the cute little outfits in which she liked to dress. His world had been brighter since she had walked into his life.

  Harold, told of the situation by Kathleen, who was relieved that the young lady hadn’t got her claws in him, sought him out to commiserate.

  “You know, Patrick, marriage is a commitment for life and I can vouch for that. My wife and I were wed for thirty years before the cancer took her, God bless her. You need to really know that person before you ask them to marry you. You’ve known Mel for what, a couple of weeks and you were ready to propose to her?”

  “But I love her, Harold. She’s the first girl who has ever made me feel this way, well, the only girl that has made me feel this way. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. To be honest Harold, that is what I thought you had to do if you love someone, go down on one knee and ask them to marry you.”

  Harold patted the young man’s knee in sympathy. The lad hadn’t got a dad to guide him, to tell him about the birds and bees and how to woo a young lady.

  “Tell you what, Patrick, how about you and me having a couple of jars together? I’ll tell you about my conquests before I settled down with Joan.”

  *

  She watched him through the window of the library door. Patrick was hunched over a book at one of the tables and Mel, her heart going out in sympathy as she looked at his lonely figure, wondered at her readiness to let him go. He was a nice bloke, a kind bloke, better than any of the boys she had met back home in the Barossa, better than this gang that had been her and Sue’s companions whilst being on board. The problem was that he was too nice. He wasn’t tough like her brothers, strong minded or self willed. He was an innocent, rather immature, he behaved in an awkward fashion and was difficult to get to know. He wasn’t the type of man she would want if she were to ever marry, if the truth was told. And yet – No. It was a career, not a marriage, that she looked forward to – a brilliant career as a lecturer, or even a professor one day of European history. A husband and children would come later, of that she was sure.

  *

  Kathleen, aware of Patrick’s descent into despondency, tried to cheer him up with promises of what they would do when the ship docked at Tilbury.

  “I’ll come with you to Ireland. We’ll see if the name of Mayo in my ancestor’s letter is one and the same” she said, staring at him fondly. “We’ll catch the train to Liverpool and travel by boat to Dublin. Harold said it docks in a place called Dunleary. You’ll remember where you lived before your parents went to Liverpool, won’t you? Yes – then we’ll go there, have a look around, then decide if you want to stop there or travel on with me.”

  “It isn’t fair that I continue to be your burden, Kathleen, which I have been for the past ten years. Don’t think that I’m not grateful for all you’ve done, but you should be following your own dreams of the future, your independence from your brother Joseph. I’m a big boy now, I can manage on my own.” He gasped as she pulled him tightly to her, giving him a motherly hug.

  “Never say that, Patrick” she cried, her voice muffled against his chest, as he was at least a foot taller than her. “You’ve been the reason for my existence for all these years.”

  She suddenly pushed him from her and sat back on the settee where they were sitting together in one of the lounge rooms. Her eyes were full of tears and she groped into the black leather handbag that Harold had bought her from one of the Aden bumboats, frantically looking for a handkerchief. “Have you any idea what it was like for me as a woman, not having a chick nor child that I could call my own? You coming into my life gave me purpose and helped me to feel that I was needed. I wouldn’t be at all happy if I lost you from my life after all this time.”

  “But what of Harold?”

  “Yes, Harold and I have tentatively discussed a future together. He is undecided whether he wants to go back to Melbourne or stay with his elderly parents and help out on their farm. Either way and most of all, he has agreed that your happiness should be my chief concern.”

  *

  It was a few days later, when on entering the beginning of the Bay of Biscay, the ship began to feel the effects of a storm that had been brewing in the unpredictable Atlantic. It started with scudding rain and an unfamiliar lurching of the decks. The passengers, unused to more than a heavy swell in the oceans that they’d been travelling, felt alarm and more than a little seasick. With no sun to warm their limbs and a chilly whistling wind that heralded that they were definitely now in the northern hemisphere, many passengers crowded into the public salons or sat in the safety of their cabins, surveying the waves through their portholes as they lashed over the ship. Sick bags began to appear at strategic points along the bannisters, corridors began to stink and fights broke out amongst fractious families, who hadn’t bargained for any of this.

  It was just after dark, when those people who had sea legs, or hadn’t visited the doctor for pills and had managed to finish their dinner, felt as if the ship had plunged to the bottom of the ocean, sighed, pulled itself up, then hit the depths once more. It was a stomach churning experience and Patrick was thrown to the ground as the ship keeled over, whilst he waited in the salon for Kathleen and Harold to appear for an after dinner drink. He couldn’t help but think that this was the end for him. There would be no return to the land of his birth, no listening to the chirrup of the birds in the trees outside his window, just a watery grave for him and the other passengers. He heard screams, thuds, the sound of breaking glass as he lay there winded, feeling other bodies close beside him and listening to their cries of alarm, because the lights had gone out. As the vessel buckled under the weight of the mighty waves, he felt panic, then grief that he might never have a glimpse of Mel nor Kathleen again.

  Then above all the mayhem came the sound of the loud speaker and the authoritative voice of the captain from his precarious position on the Bridge. He asked for “lock down”, all passengers must make their way calmly to their cabins and stay there until the vessel was under his control again. There was a rush as those not thrown from their perches on the bar stools or armchairs, began to find their way to the exits, helped by sympathetic members of the crew with light from their torches. Patrick got to his feet unsteadily and began to follow suit.

  “Which deck?” A crewman shouted over the roar of the wind, then grabbed Patrick by the shoulder, whilst trying to marshal the crowd that had gathered by the doors in consternation, not sure which way to turn.

  “C Deck.” Patrick spoke quickly, looking over the railings uneasily at the huge, white tipped waves that might engulf them at anytime.

  “C Deck, wait over there. When I’ve enough of you, I’ll guide you down to the corridor.”

  “Patrick” Her hand gripped his and they were pushed along together, the crewman deciding to tell his group to follow him to the carpeted landing below. The ship lurched, causing them to be hurled into the bulkhead, there were screams from the females and stalwart gasps of consternation from the men.

  “Patrick? I came looking for you. I was scared that the ship might go down and I had never had the chance to tell you –” Mel shouted above the melee, but he didn’t hear her words, lost as they were in the din of confusion as people began to head down the next set of stairs.

  “Mel!” He grabbed her han
d as they made it to the corridor, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket for his cabin key. There was no time to think of the niceties of convention; he dragged her through his cabin door and set her on his bunk.

  “Patrick–” Then her mouth covered his with joyful kisses and explanations were no more.

  *

  It was with noticeable relief from all on board, when the ship nosed its way into Tilbury Docks and the last twenty four hours could be put down in history as a passing nightmare. Amazingly, the Arcadia was only four hours late, even though the captain had hove to once out of danger, to give all his passengers a chance to sleep and those who had suffered from broken bones or scalded by boiling water, as two stewards had, chance to be seen to by the doctor.

  Not that there had been a lot of sleeping going on in Patrick’s cabin. A lot of talking certainly, interposed with much physical contact and lots of giggling, and to give them their due, the couple were respectful of Patrick’s wish to wait until they were married, before the ultimate intimacy. It had been difficult for two young people to deny themselves the pleasure of each other’s bodies, confined as they were for hours on a narrow bunk suitable for only one person, but their decision felt justified when Kathleen, worried that Patrick had come to harm and had made her way during a lull to check on him, brought them back to reality. Whilst Mel hid herself under a blanket trying not to laugh, as Patrick assured his ‘aunt’ at the cabin door that he was well and not worried about the storm in the slightest, the seriousness of their situation could not go ignored. In a few hours time when the ship had moored at its destination, decisions must be made.