by Derek Hansen
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘It was the right thing to do.’
I could think of hundreds who’d disagree.
I went to see Mack on Christmas Day to show him my new side-cast fishing reel and give him the present Mum had bought for me to give to him. I’d found it in the sports shop. It was a picture calendar with a different photo of Great Barrier Island for each month. Some showed dawn shots of beaches and forests but others showed fishermen proudly holding up enormous snapper. Mack loved his present and approved of my new reel, but I have to say he was definitely lacking in the spirit of Christmas. I asked him why.
‘I was supposed to spend Christmas Day with the Mynotts,’ he said. ‘They withdrew the invitation after church last Sunday.’
I was stunned but then I remembered seeing the Mynotts walk out just after the Gillespies.
‘I’ll ask Mum if you can come to our place,’ I said indignantly.
‘Don’t bother, laddie. Nice of you but I’ve been invited up to the Church Army.’
‘I thought Captain Biggs was going to Brian’s place. He told me he was.’ It was normal for Captain Biggs to spend Christmas Day with someone from the congregation. Each year a different family volunteered. One year he spent Christmas Day with us and it was agony.
‘Ah well,’ said Mack. ‘Same thing happened to him.’
I was horrified. There were never many people staying at the Church Army at the best of times, usually just Captain Biggs, a trainee Brother (they came and went with monotonous regularity) and four Sisters. They rattled around the big old building like marbles in an empty petrol tin. I knew Sister Glorious and Sister Kathleen had gone home to their families, as had the current trainee. At best Mack would be spending Christmas with Captain Biggs and two old Sisters who had no life beyond the Church Army. Both were as dry as last year’s kindling. I was right to be horrified. I could picture their Christmas dinner. It would begin with carols, sung holding hands, followed by Captain Biggs’ long-winded grace, homemade soup, roast chicken served with soft-baked potatoes, gravy and maybe some peas and carrots. If there was any ham it would be tinned. Dessert would be a slight improvement, a Christmas pudding made and given months earlier by someone’s earnest mum, topped with runny custard. Maybe they’d have a Harvey’s Bristol Cream each. Mum always gave Captain Biggs a bottle of Bristol Cream Sherry at Christmas. It was his weakness and an expensive ‘thank you’, an appreciation for everything he did for us, especially the club nights. I hoped Mack would fall off the wagon and they’d finish the bottle between them, although I reckoned it would take more than a dozen bottles to make the occasion joyful. I pictured them in the cavernous, draughty, austere dining room, four lonely souls adrift at a table built for twelve. I hoped they wouldn’t have paper hats because that would make it just too sad.
Mum and Dad both opened up shop the Monday after we returned home from our trip. Business was slow as it always was at that time of year because many people were still on holiday. Mum kept herself busy checking the school stationery as it came in and arranging the display. Just as Christmas was a bright end to the year from a business point of view, sales of school stationery got the fledgling year off to a bright beginning. While Mum kept her mark-up modest to be competitive with the bigger stores, the sheer volume she handled made sure she did well.
The moment we got home Nigel and I went straight down to Eric and Maxie’s to tell them what we’d been doing and see what they’d been up to. Eric immediately wanted to know if I’d heard what day the U-boat captain was arriving. He was really excited about meeting him. In honour of the commander, the sofa had forsaken Dresden and begun flying missions out over the Atlantic to depthcharge submarines. I told Eric what Captain Biggs had told me. The Rangitiki was due to arrive in Auckland on the Friday before we went back to school. Eric was ecstatic. Nigel and Maxie, of course, couldn’t give a toss. They weren’t interested. On the Sunday half the congregation had walked out they’d rejoiced in Captain Biggs’s discomfort. They thought it was a hoot, further proof that Captain Biggs was a total twat.
Since it was too hot to play any games down at Grey Lynn Park we decided to ride our bikes to the beach. We went via Gary’s place as we always did to see if he wanted to come with us. His mother answered the door and told me Gary wasn’t allowed to play with me any more. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Gary was my second-best pal. We’d been pals for ages. He was in my team at club. He was one of our gang. I could hear him protesting, begging to be allowed to go with us, but his mother wouldn’t bend. We rode off but for me a lot of the brightness had gone out of the day. I could sense the dark clouds beginning to gather over my head.
When I got home I told Mum what had happened. She put her arms around me and gave me a hug. ‘It’s just a storm in a teacup,’ she said. ‘Give them time. They’ll get over it.’
I saw Mr Gillespie walking home from work a couple of days later while Eric and I were riding back across the park. I thought it was a good opportunity to break the ice and maybe put in a good word for Captain Biggs, so I slowed and said hello. He didn’t salute or call me ‘Captain’ or even acknowledge the fact I’d spoken to him. The most popular father in the neighbourhood ignored me and ignored Eric for the crime of being with me. He cast us off like dirty underwear. I was devastated.
Christian Berger duly arrived in Auckland on the last Friday in January and Captain Biggs, who’d managed to survive the bishop’s censure, brought him home. I know Mack went up to see him on Saturday because he told me all about it. They talked for ages, he said, right through the afternoon. He said Christian Berger was exactly as I’d portrayed him in my story. I would’ve given my right arm to sit in on their conversation but Captain Biggs hadn’t thought to invite me. It wouldn’t have occurred to him. There was no place for kids in adult gatherings. I’d resigned myself to the fact I wouldn’t meet Christian Berger until church on Sunday. Mack promised he’d introduce me after the service and promised to include me if he and the U-boat captain got together at his place. You can imagine how excited I felt. Stuff Mr Gillespie! As far as I was concerned he could go jump in the lake. I was about to meet a real, live U-boat commander. I couldn’t have been more excited if we’d had a second Christmas.
I was the first to the chapel. I got there so early I was given the job of handing out the kneeling pads and hymn sheets. There were fewer Roneoed copies than usual because Captain Biggs had come to terms with the fact he’d be preaching to half-empty pews for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t hide his amazement when the chapel began to fill. If anything the turnout was even bigger than it had been on that fateful Sunday before Christmas. Forever the trusting shepherd, he thought his flock had finally seen the light and come to heel, that the faith and Christian principles he preached had triumphed over ignorance and prejudice. One look at the tight-lipped faces should have told him otherwise. There was nothing particularly Christian about the congregation’s motivation. People had just come to see what a U-boat captain looked like and put a face to the object of their hatred.
The kids who went to club always occupied the first four rows on the right-hand side of the chapel. Some brave parents usually sat in the three rows behind, between us and the vestry, in an attempt to keep some of the more unruly kids under control. Most adults and all of the girls sat on the other side of the aisle as far away from us as they could—the air could get pretty putrid when sneaky fart competitions took place. The Church Army Sisters and Brothers usually occupied the front pew, with the exception of Sister Kathleen, who played the organ. My position as one of the club captains meant I had an aisle seat, and the job of trying to exercise some control. I chose to sit at the end of the fourth row where I’d have the best view over the pews on the left-hand side and of the entry to the chapel. If anything, the kids were quieter than the adults. It occurred to me that somebody should’ve been put in charge of controlling them. More adults watched the door than faced the altar. There was an air of expectanc
y you could cut with a knife.
I checked out every pew but failed to see a strange face. There were a few notable absentees. The Gillespies were missing but that came as no surprise. They hadn’t been back to the chapel, choosing instead to attend church services at All Saints. Some of the families who’d walked out with them did likewise. I nearly fell off the pew when I spotted my parents. They were occasional churchgoers at best. Rod sat on one side of them, Mack on the other. I knew immediately why they’d come. I should’ve guessed they’d be there. Nobody could take on one member of my family without taking on the lot. They’d come in case I needed support. My parents weren’t the only infrequent visitors. Every inch of every pew was occupied. The neighbourhood had come to greet the U-boat captain just as crowds turned out at the airport to greet Stirling Moss, the only difference being they weren’t intending to greet him with cheers.
Captain Biggs made his way down the aisle and said a silent prayer in front of the cross as he usually did. This was the cue for the congregation to stop talking, face the front and compose themselves, maybe even say their own silent prayer. I could hardly believe it when the muttering and whispers continued. It was all right to greet friends and look around before the service started, but definitely disrespectful thereafter. Captain Biggs coughed discreetly but to little effect. It took Sister Kathleen to bring everyone into line. Never one to brook any nonsense, she cranked up the volume on the organ and let rip with the opening bars of the first hymn. Voices stunned into action dutifully sang ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ but it wasn’t Jesus who was foremost in their minds.
The congregation never really settled down. People were continually stealing glances towards the back of the chapel, particularly when everyone else had their eyes closed in prayer. As the service wore on, the glances became less frequent and disgruntled parishioners began fidgeting, impatient for the service to end. I think by the midpoint of the service, everyone was feeling a bit cheated. The showdown had been building for five weeks and the main attraction had failed to turn up.
More out of habit than hope I stole another glance towards the door and saw Sister Glorious standing by the back wall. A stranger stood beside her. Why was Sister Glorious standing at the back? Who was the stranger alongside her? My pulse rate doubled. I felt Eric’s elbow in my ribs. He’d noticed the stranger, too. It had to be the U-boat captain, although he didn’t look anything like as steely as I’d expected. He didn’t look a bit like Curt Jurgens. He didn’t even look German. The man was tall and fairly solid but there was an air of resignation about him. He could hardly have been less impressive. I could tell by the growing murmur that others had noticed him, too. In the middle of the last hymn, Sister Glorious led him out of the chapel.
This was too much for some people. Normally when the last hymn finished the congregation stood while Captain Biggs and the Sisters made their exit so they could take up position outside the door and shake hands or exchange pleasantries with everyone as they left. This time they didn’t stand a chance. The first people were heading for the door before the last note of the organ had died away. Once protocol had been breached, mob rule took over. There was a stampede. Collitt led the charge of the CEBS, almost trampling me in the process. God’s House had more in common with a cattle yard than consecrated ground. Everybody wanted to see the U-boat captain, some determined to let him know exactly how they felt.
By the time I managed to squeeze through the doorway Sister Glorious and the stranger were totally surrounded. She looked scared and way out of her depth. I think it was only her youth and fragility that kept everybody reasonably calm. People were loath to speak their mind in front of her. If the stranger had been alone I have no doubt he would’ve been assaulted. However, the tide of anger couldn’t be held back forever. Mrs Rogers, a pinch-faced, narrow-minded busybody whose husband—according to Dad—had died just so he could get some peace, was the first to speak. She claimed the right by virtue of the fact that she was the Gillespies’ next-door neighbour.
‘How dare you enter our chapel!’ she screamed.
The stranger turned white. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.
Mrs Rogers heard his accent and hesitated.
‘You’re the U-boat captain, aren’t you?’
‘Me? God no,’ he said. ‘I’m a reporter. I’m from the Herald.’
I laughed, but I’m pretty sure I was the only one and it certainly didn’t help the situation. Think of a lynch mob with no one to lynch. Their anger had to go somewhere. Now picture a twelve-year-old boy who’d stupidly just put up his hand.
‘What are you laughing about?’ someone shouted.
‘Come here! I’ll give you something to laugh about.’ Mr Rycroft, Clarry’s dad, was glaring at me. I’ve never seen anyone froth at the mouth but at that instant he came awfully close.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Mr Rycroft was one of the good dads, always cheering us on at athletics. Everyone’s eyes were on me, most of them hostile, and it suddenly occurred to me these people I’d grown up among might actually want to hurt me. In desperation I looked around for help and saw Collitt pushing his way through the crowd. I just knew he couldn’t resist the temptation to thump me and make himself out to be a hero in the process. And there was Mack, charging towards me as though he’d recovered all of his old strength, but it still looked like Collitt would reach me first. Just as I was really starting to panic a hand clamped down hard on my skinny little shoulder. I nearly screamed but in that instant I realised there was something familiar and comforting in the touch. It was Dad’s hand. Dad had come to my defence.
‘Your boy’s the cause of all this,’ said Mrs Rogers accusingly. ‘Him and that traitor Mack.’
I was aghast. In front of everyone she’d called Mack a traitor and he’d managed to elbow his way through the crowd until he was standing right behind her. Her words hit him like bullets.
‘There’s no call for that,’ said Dad.
‘No call?’ Mrs Rogers was spitting in her fury. ‘Mack is a disgrace and a traitor to the boys who went off overseas to fight. Given half a chance I’d tell him to his face.’
‘Then thee best turn around,’ said Dad.
Mrs Rogers spun around and turned as red as the tail-light on Dad’s Chev. I think everybody felt her embarrassment. Her mouth opened but no words came out. She all but ran away.
‘Come on, son, we’re going home.’ I hadn’t realised it but Mum, Rod and even Nigel had moved up alongside Dad and me, closing ranks. Dad looked as defiant and steadfast as John Wayne, Mum looked ready to take them all on single-handed. A big lump formed in my throat but it was about to get even bigger. ‘And thee,’ said Dad to Mack. ‘Best thee come with us.’
One of the first people Dad brushed aside was Graham Collitt. There’s nothing on earth meaner than a bully denied a cheap shot. Collitt looked cheated, as though he’d mistakenly put all his pocket money into the collection plate. I thought at the time we’d won a small victory but in reality it was no more than a dignified retreat. Both Mum and Dad had been very guarded and not responded to the thinly veiled insults of some of their customers and acquaintances. They’d done their best to exclude themselves—and me—from the hostilities. But circumstance had forced them to make a stand and to their credit they hadn’t hesitated. They’d stood up for me, for Mack, for Captain Biggs and for their principles. In so doing they’d also stood up for Christian Berger, a German, a U-boat captain and a man they’d never even met. This time they both knew there’d be no cushioning of the consequences.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Rudder jammed!’
Captain Berger made his decision. Torpedo tubes had sprung leaks before and somehow the Chief had always managed to stem the flow. He had to believe he could do it again. His Chief Engineer, Friedrich von Wiebe, had sailed with him on every patrol since he’d assumed his first command. He was a man Captain Berger could trust with his life and often did. He trusted him now. Safety lay in dep
th but at a depth untried even with an undamaged hull. He cut speed to a quarter and descended, putting metal sheets and welds under pressures they were never meant to withstand. New sounds filled the submarine as the pressure increased alerting the crew to their danger. Sonar waves bounced off the hull.
‘Got you,’ they said.
AN EXTRACT FROM ‘DEATH OF A U-BOAT’
Christian Berger agreed to be interviewed without hesitation, despite Captain Biggs’s reservations. ‘It is an opportunity for me to set the record straight,’ he argued. ‘So far all they know is that I was a U-boat captain and that’s hardly going to win me friends. Once they know more, know more about the kind of man I am, perhaps they will change their minds.’
‘Perhaps,’ Captain Biggs said doubtfully. He still hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing how quickly his lambs of God had turned into a pack of baying hounds. ‘If that’s your decision I’ll bring the reporter in. Make yourself comfortable in the meeting room.’
‘No, you take him to the meeting room. You make him comfortable. I will join you in a few minutes. It won’t hurt to make him wait.’