The Voyage of the Golden Handshake

by Terry Waite

  ‘He seemed very taken aback when he learned you were here,’ Guy remarked. ‘It seems there has been a colossal mix-up somewhere and two passengers are in the immigration lock-up. Come on - we’ll go and visit them.’

  Guy set out with the chaplain in tow, who was marvelling at the confidence, and seeming access to the whole of Libya, of his former college friend.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ Guy warned him when they approached a low brick building with armed guards on duty outside. ‘Leave all the talking to me.’

  The chaplain was more than happy to leave the talking to Guy as he still was totally at sea regarding the whole affair.

  On entering the building, Guy greeted the staff in Arabic and proceeded to a large office where he had a long conversation in the same language with an official, who looked as though he might run Libya as well as the Immigration Department. They were served strong black coffee and sweet cakes, and there was much smiling and occasional outright laughter. When an hour or so had passed and the chaplain, as promised, had not uttered a word, they rose and the capo shook hands all round before handing them over to a deferential fellow with a large bunch of keys on his belt.

  ‘Where are we off to now?’ asked the chaplain in a whisper.

  Guy motioned him to be quiet and just to follow. They descended some steps and went along a corridor. The deferential chap, who immediately on leaving the office had lost all signs of deference, unlocked a cell-type door and ushered them in.

  When the chaplain had adjusted his eyes to the gloom, he saw two duffel-coated, bobble-hatted individuals sitting on the floor and staring at him. Looking closely at them, he thought he might have seen them before - but before he could say anything, the stouter of the two cried out, ‘Good Lord, the last time I saw you, you were being pitched off the stage at the start of the cruise.’

  Guy gave a quizzical glance in the chaplain’s direction but said nothing.

  ‘By gum,’ said the slight fellow. ‘If it isn’t the padre.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Hardcastle,’ said Guy.

  ‘Right first time,’ said the little chap, struggling to his feet.

  The larger of the two piped up, ‘We are Balcony Suite passengers on the Golden Handshake.’

  ‘Good,’ said Guy. Then he announced: ‘Come on, you are off back to your Suite’.

  After fond farewells were said in the upstairs lobby and assurances were given of eternal friendship, the little party were escorted to a car and this time Albert and Alice were gently ushered into the vehicle. They drove to the dockside, still uncertain what the events of the day had been all about, but were too tired to care. At the entrance to the Customs Hall Guy said that he had to leave quickly as he had to attend a prayer meeting. He bade farewell to the Hardcastles and promised to keep in touch with the chaplain. The party of three rejoined the car and were driven, in state, back to the Golden Handshake.

  As the Hardcastles made their way up the gangway, followed by the chaplain, they heard the strains of music. It was Uncle Giovanni on the piano accordion and Mr Contoni on the clarinet, doing their best to play the tune ‘See the Conquering Hero’. At the top of the steps stood the Admiral, the Captain, the Hotel Manager, the Cruise Director, Harry Parkhurst and even the doctor. The Head Chef, Mike Tucker, stood by with an enormous cake, fashioned like St Paul’s Cathedral and bearing the words Well done Padre. Behind them stood the passengers, who applauded for all they were worth as Uncle Giovanni broke into ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.’

  The Admiral slapped the chaplain on the back and handed him a glass of champagne.

  ‘Well done, old fellow, well done. You’re a credit to the cloth, of that there’s no mistake. Congratulations.’

  The chaplain sipped a little of his champagne and blushed, still wondering what he had done to warrant such a turnout.

  All Albert could say was: ‘It’s a grand little ship this. A grand little ship.’

  26

  As the Golden Handshake sailed away from the oil terminal, beeps sounded in the Suites and cabins, and passengers gathered around the information points.

  ‘This is your Cruise Director, Enzo,’ began the message.

  ‘I am afraid that following today’s delay in Libya and the unfortunate closing of our normal ports of call, the next few days will be spent at sea. As soon as we have clearance for our next port, I shall let you know where it is. Meanwhile, we shall have the usual full programme of events for you to enjoy. There will be lectures, and the language classes will continue at eleven each morning. In the evenings we shall have special entertainment for your delight. Tonight, after the excitement of the day, I think we all need an early night. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.’

  Considerable problems faced Captain Sparda following the Libyan adventure. Although his ship was allowed to depart, and the passengers released, he had been warned to stay away from Libyan ports in future and not to even think of calling at the two Ancient Roman sites that were on the original itinerary. He was to consider himself lucky that his ship was not confiscated, and had it not been for the intervention of the great leader himself, who had a high regard for the clergyman, he would have lost his ship. The Captain thought that the clergyman referred to was the chaplain, not Guy, and his respect for him increased tremendously. The serious news concerning future visits was kept from the passengers, of course, and was known only to the Admiral, Sparda and Harry Parkhurst. Where was he to go now? Port fees were excessive these days and he had no desire to get caught up in troubles that might surround a visit to Egypt, although the country had to be encountered in one way or another as he wished to travel through the Suez Canal. So, he decided to cruise around for a bit and then make for the Suez and see what happened.

  Back in the Balcony Suite, Albert and Alice were more than happy to be rid of their heavy clothing.

  ‘That’s the last time I use that balcony,’ said Alice. ‘The very last time.’

  ‘They’ve all been closed,’ replied Albert, ‘but not to worry. Being in a Balcony Suite, we still get free laundry once a fortnight.’

  ‘Aye,’ his wife agreed, ‘that’s a great thing about this level of Suite. Not only do we get the washing done, but every Sunday afternoon we get a plate of biscuits brought to our Suite. Lower cabins don’t get that, Albert.’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ replied her husband. ‘They certainly don’t.’

  When Captain Sparda had finished consulting with his senior staff about the route to be taken during the next few days, he went in search of the chaplain, who modestly had taken himself off to his cot in the sickbay. The poor man was exhausted and had gone to bed early, hoping to get some ‘primetime sleep’ as he had heard the doctor describe sleep before midnight.

  Sparda entered the empty Medical Centre and shouted out, ‘Chaplain, where are you?’

  A door opened and this time, remembering the unfortunate episode with the surgical nightshirt, the chaplain had wrapped himself in a blanket before appearing.

  ‘There you are,’ said Sparda, gazing at the blanket-swathed cleric. ‘Where’s your chariot?’ Try as he might, Sparda could not resist teasing the clergyman but today, following what everyone considered to be a remarkable achievement that had undoubtedly saved the World Cruise and perhaps ‘Golden Oceans’ itself, Sparda wanted to speak to the chaplain personally.

  ‘Your brave actions today have been noted,’ he began. ‘All the senior staff are recommending you for one of the highest honours the company can bestow - The Golden Eagle Award.’

  ‘But Captain …’ stammered the chaplain.

  ‘Enough, lad, I’ve not finished. In recognition of your calling we shall make a special one-off award to you personally, called the Golden Chalice Award. At some time during the cruise the Admiral himself will present you with your honour. Meanwhile, one of the Balcony Suite rooms has become available due to the fact that there was a slight problem with the wall, which was repaired quickly. As it was possible to see into the next Suite, the couple in
there moved out and are happy with their new quarters. You, Chaplain, will now have superb accommodation - as you so richly deserve.’

  The chaplain pulled the blanket further round his shoulders and was about to stammer a reply when the door burst open and in walked the doctor.

  ‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he said in his usual breezy manner. He stared at the blanket-wrapped cleric.

  ‘Got the shivering habjabs, Chaplain? I know the remedy for that, for sure. Evening, Captain sir’, he continued respectfully. ‘I trust you are fighting fit.’

  ‘Perfectly,’ replied Sparda. ‘I came to inform the Reverend Gentleman that he will be moving to a Suite and will be honoured by the Admiral.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said the cheery medic. ‘This calls for a celebration.’ He pulled up two chairs for the others and seated himself behind his desk. He opened a drawer and took out a bottle and three glasses.

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ he said, looking at the chaplain. ‘You only drink jungle juice don’t you?’ He poured a tonic into the chaplain’s glass and two stiff measures of something from other tropical climes for himself and the Captain. Then he held his glass high.

  ‘Here’s to the Great Leader,’ he cried, ‘and more especially to his spiritual adviser, the chaplain.’

  Glasses were raised and the toast was drunk by all three. It was the end of a perfect day!

  When the ship was being fitted out in preparation for the World Cruise, Admiral Harrington had wanted the passengers to be able to keep in touch with their family and friends via the internet. He had investigated the possibility of installing wifi in every Suite and cabin, but, as the cost was prohibitive, he contented himself with equipping a small computer room with four screens which would be available to passengers and crew. He did not think it worthwhile to employ a full-time technician to be responsible for this facility, so the role was given to Mr Angus MacDonald, the Chief Engineer - ‘Beefy’, as he was aptly known to the crew. Angus was none too pleased to be given this additional charge as passengers were constantly complaining about the slowness of the service, and the vast majority had not the faintest idea how to use a computer, let alone send an email. A great deal of his time was spent sorting out internet problems when he already had enough worries with the rudder, which was still not totally fixed.

  Angus had attempted to delegate his computing responsibilities to a junior crew member, but the lad was so inept that he caused the whole internet and the ship’s navigation system to close down for three hours. This gave the navigator agonies as he quickly had to revert to pulling out old charts and sharpening his pencils, something he had not done for many a year. The computer room was originally open from ten in the morning until mid-day, but as the Cruise Director complained bitterly that this timing conflicted with his language classes, the times were changed from the morning slot to ten at night until midnight. This really upset Angus as it meant he had to be available at this late hour, something which, quite understandably, he did not like. It led to a fierce confrontation between the engineer and the Cruise Director. Had several crew members not stood between the huge Scot and the manipulative Enzo, the ship would have been like the proverbial village - short of an idiot! At least, that is what Angus said.

  The day began well enough in the engine room, even though the engineer had no idea where they were making for. Captain Sparda had said that they would cruise around for a day or so before entering the Suez Canal, and so that is what they would do. Fortunately, they had been able to take fuel on board in Libya, which was the one and only blessing received from that port of call. The route took them along the coast of Libya then along the Egyptian coast until just beyond Cairo where they would arrive at the Canal.

  Instead of proceeding in a direct route along the coast, the Captain, conscious that there was time to kill, manoeuvred the ship as one might manoeuvre a pleasure cruise around Poole Harbour. As he was in foreign waters he was careful to keep outside the twelve-mile territorial limit, especially now that the ship was not in the best of relations with Libya. What he had failed to remember was that some time previously, Libya had laid claim to the Gulf of Sidra and he was sailing merrily through disputed territory. It would not have been so bad had he not cruised up and down, and backwards and forwards, much to the annoyance of the engine room. The passengers appreciated it very much and there were cries of delight on deck when the Captain ordered another change of direction.

  ‘I wish the wee fella would make up his mind,’ complained Angus. ‘One moment it’s full speed ahead. Then it’s slow. Then reverse. If this damn thing could sail underwater, we would be thirty fathoms down by now!’

  Sparda had been enjoying himself doing a figure of eight motion and was about to set course again for Cairo when he noticed two vessels approaching at speed; one from the Libyan coast and the other from the direction of Egypt. Both were flashing signals at him which, due to the very bright sun, he was unable to understand. Alas, the communications on the ship had failed once again, due to a problem with the system which Angus had yet to resolve, and so there was a temporary loss of radio contact with the outside world. As the boats drew nearer, it could be seen that one bore the Libyan flag and the other was an American vessel. They both stood off some distance from the Handshake and began to call the ship through very powerful loudhailers. Unfortunately, at that very moment the rudder started to play up and the Handshake turned rapidly and began to head directly for the Libyan boat. Loud shouts in Arabic emanated from the vessel, which speedily moved away just as the Golden Handshake turned once more - and this time headed for the American boat. There were scenes of panic on the bridge as both Sparda and the Staff Captain attempted to gain control.

  In the engine room the air was blue as the crew on duty, already worn out by the morning’s sailing, now had to cope with a malfunctioning steering gear. Suddenly and without warning, the engine gave a huge shudder and stopped. The two motor boats, thinking that a deliberate attempt had been made to ram them, pulled some distance away but continued to hail the Golden Handshake. When they saw that the ship was now stationary in the water they cautiously approached yet again. The exchange that took place between the bridge and the boats is best left unrecorded. As it was conducted half in Arabic with the Libyan boat, which no one on the Handshake could understand, it meant that there was a total lack of effective communication. The American boat stood some way off, so there was no telling what they were saying.

  At one point Enzo, the linguistic Cruise Director, was brought out to translate but he simply caused further misunderstanding, so much so that a crew member from the Libyan boat gestured that he should be thrown into the water, at which point the Captain ordered Enzo below decks. In the engine room, Angus and his team were working feverishly to re-start the engine and to steady the rudder. By a minor miracle they achieved this, and once the engine was started, sufficient rapport, albeit fragile, had been established with the visitors and enough understanding gained for the bridge to realise that the Golden Handshake would be escorted to the Canal with immediate effect. The Staff Captain was put back in charge and now was able to continue gently towards the Canal.

  Harry took the Captain to one side and explained what might have been the cause of the events of the day.

  It had been known, he said, for mysterious ships to collect huge quantities of arms from Libya and transport them to equally mysterious destinations. That is what might have attracted the attention of the Americans. As for the Libyans, well, they were probably simply laying claim to what they believed to be their territorial rights.

  Sparda listened intently. Messina was tranquil compared to this part of the world, he thought. And on this point he was right.

  The approach of the two speedy motor boats naturally attracted the attention of the passengers, many of whom were on deck enjoying the sunshine and showing their appreciation of the Captain’s nautical skills. As it became clear that the marine visitors wished to apprehend the Golden Handshake, the crew we
re ordered to instruct the passengers to go below into the main restaurant and lie on the floor in case shots were fired. This caused much excitement and not a little complaining from those who entered the air-conditioned interior in their bathing costumes. As they were prohibited at this time from returning to their cabins to change, they lay shivering on the floor until helpful waiters came and covered them with tablecloths.

  Albert and Alice had by now dispensed with the warm clothing they had been given for their night on the balcony and had changed into clothes more suitable for warm weather. Alice wore a light floral dress which she had made herself from a pattern she found in a popular magazine, and Albert wore one of three pairs of elastic banded trousers he had bought from a bargain offer advertised in his Sunday newspaper. Those, together with three shirts purchased for six pounds each from the local supermarket, completed his summer wardrobe.

  The couple had just put on their new lightweight outfits and had gone on deck for some sun when they were ordered below into the cold of the dining room.

  ‘This is a queer do and no mistake,’ said Albert as he lay shivering on the floor. ‘I could do with me old duffel coat back now.’

  ‘I don’t understand this at all,’ remarked Alice as she drew the tablecloth over her ample shoulders. ‘They certainly provide plenty of variety on this boat.’

  After what seemed an age the all-clear was announced and there was a general exodus from the room.

  After the drama of the morning, once safely in the confines of the Suez Canal, calm reigned on board. Radio communications were restored and explanations given, and it was a relief to the Captain when the ship passed from the coast of Libya to travel along the coast of Egypt. At the entrance to the Suez Canal the escort, which by then was an American vessel, departed and they were on their own once more. The journey through the Canal was one of relentless dullness as there were only sand dunes and the occasional burned-out tank to view, and so the crew had to work especially hard to provide a variety of activities to pass the time away.