by Terry Waite
The chaplain stood and thanked everyone for coming.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ he said to the group who had seated themselves in different parts of the room. There must have been about twenty people present, both male and female, and about five male crew members.
‘Tonight,’ he went on, ‘we want to select two choirs: the Golden Glory Choir to sing at the Sunday-morning services, and a smaller group, the Benbow Singers, to sing at the Admiral’s birthday. Angela and I will listen to you each in turn and then we shall select which choir you join. Everyone will be in one choir or the other. Now, who will begin?’
Immediately the twins from New Zealand came forward. One could never accuse these remarkable ladies of holding back in life.
‘We belong to the Ypuck Singers,’ said Philippa.
‘And have been members for fifty years,’ chimed in Petra. ‘Each year we sing at the Napier Art Deco Week, don’t we, Philippa?’
‘We do indeed,’ said her sister.
Felix de Barkley who turned up for every event on board ship, could not remain quiet.
‘I suppose that explains why the town was once devastated,’ he quipped.
Few people knew that he was referring to a great earthquake that had flattened the town years back and so he did not get much of a laugh.
Ignoring the interruption, Angela asked the ladies what they would like to sing. They could choose anything as Rod played by ear and there was little that he could not manage.
‘There is a lovely little song that we have sung many a time at the Arts Festival,’ said Philippa, ‘but it may be too difficult for dear Mr Saddleworth to play without music.’
‘Try me,’ said Rod, raring to go. ‘What is it?’
‘Well,’ said Petra demurely, ‘it’s called There’s a Hole in my Bucket. Philippa will sing one part and I shall sing the other.’
De Barkley put his hand to his head. ‘Oh God,’ he cried. ‘What a tuneless load of old cobblers that is.’
‘Please, Mr de Barkley,’ admonished Angela. ‘They may choose what they feel comfortable with. Do begin, ladies.’
Rod struck up and the twins sang the first couple of verses. Alas, the New Zealand vocalists had passed their peak well before the Napier earthquake struck, and their rendering was not in any way aided by the tuneless dirge they had elected to sing. Even the chaplain looked pained and he certainly was not one to talk.
Angela held up her hand. ‘That will do now, ladies. Thank you both very much.’
‘But Angela dear, there are another fifteen verses yet, plus the ones we added to give the song a local flavour,’ said Petra, anxious to continue.
‘This is just an audition,’ replied Angela patiently. ‘We have to keep each item short otherwise we will never hear all twenty-five people.’
She made a mark against their names and asked for the next person. This time a member of the ship’s company came forward.
‘Ah, Mr Angus MacDonald!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am so glad you could get away from the engine room to join us this afternoon.’
There could have been no greater contrast between the somewhat petite sisters from the river valley and Angus MacDonald, eighteen stone of muscle from Scotland. Few people could understand what he said as his accent was somewhat broad, despite the fact that it had been said that some Scottish people spoke the clearest English going. By listening carefully, Angela made out that he was going to sing a song made famous by the doorbells of the Balcony Suites, ‘Ye Tak the High Road’.
His voice shook the room as he indicated in song the road he would take to his beloved home country. The twins, accustomed to what might be described as ‘Drawing Room’ singing, placed their hands over their ears and de Barkley sought shelter behind a curtain.
‘Thank you, Mr Angus MacDonald,’ said Angela, always politeness itself. ‘You have a strong voice and ought to be part of a bass section in the choir.’
The audition took a very long time indeed, but by the end of the session a choir of six had been chosen to form the Benbow Singers and the remainder were selected for the Golden Glory Choir. Rehearsals could now begin in earnest.
Sri Lanka was not too far away by now and the ship was holding together remarkably well despite earlier problems. Back in his cabin, Mr van der Loon was congratulating himself on getting another booking on board a ship. Word had got out through emails that his show was amazing, and quick as a flash an invitation had come in to transfer to another vessel immediately the Golden Handshake arrived in Sri Lanka. And so Mr van der Loon began packing ready to leave for pastures new.
Back in the engine room after his brief audition for the choir, Angus MacDonald urgently sought a meeting with the Admiral, the Captain and Harry. He was responsible for the Internet on the ship and the move to more amenable opening hours satisfied both himself and the passengers. The quality was, to put things mildly, appalling. Users were being charged from the very second they opened the computer until the last flicker had disappeared from the screen. All too frequently the service broke down completely and, as for speed, or to be more accurate, lack of it, that was something to be marvelled at.
‘I could tak the bloody high road and the low road from Land’s End to Jimmy Porridge’s,’ he said, ‘and still get there before an email sent from this ship.’
Angus had a unique humour not always understood by Sassenachs or indeed many of his fellow countrymen. By ‘Jimmy Porridge’s’ he was of course referring to John O’ Groats, but who was to know that? Despite the internet troubles, that was not the main issue he wanted to discuss with the ‘Three Wise Men’ as he sometimes called them. On one of the few occasions he had been able to get onto the web, he had come across the Wikiwatts site. Remembering the noxious Toby Troy, he investigated
further and came across the following trailer:
“Alarming Revelations - British Admiral in
Spy Scandal.
Innocent Cruise Passengers
Used As Cover for Intelligence Gathering.”
‘Next week our special undercover reporter, Tobias Troy, will reveal the shocking details of a massive cover-up. He will tell how Intelligence agencies, together with the Church of England, duped innocent holidaymakers on board a British cruise ship. He will describe the reckless behaviour of the Captain off a foreign coast when his Intelligence- gathering mission was apprehended. He will name names and nail villains. This report is a must for all who love truth and wish for greater transparency by our Government.
Whilst the internet held up, Angus printed the item and it was this he held in his hand as he entered the Captain’s tiny office. Angus was a man of few words and, as has been stated before, that was fortunate as no one could understand him. This time he was agitated, and the moment he sat down, he began a long spiel about the discoveries he had made on the web. At least, it was long for him - even though it was only about three sentences in length. The Wise Men stared at him baffled.
‘Could you kindly repeat that, Mr Aberdeen,’ said the Admiral with a puzzled look on his face. ‘I didn’t quite catch every word.’
Angus repeated the substance of what he had said but this time added a further sentence. The Wise Men looked at each other and then returned their gaze to the informant.
‘Do you have that important information in writing?’ asked the Admiral, not having a clue as to whether it was important or not. Fortunately Angus had not forgotten the copy he had made and he handed it over. The trio studied the copy together then the Admiral spoke.
‘This could be serious for the whole of Golden Oceans,’ he said. ‘It could radically affect our sailings in Poole Harbour - and as for the Frinton service, well, I can see this sort of mis-information greatly disturbing the inhabitants of that part of rural Essex. Essex County Council could easily refuse us a permit to sail from there - and what then? It’s all too bad, Mr Aberdeen. All too bad.’
It was now Sparda’s turn to speak and, as his loathing of Troy was so intense, rather than co
mment on the document before him, he let fly some of the most powerful invective ever to have circulated in his office. Not only was the language colourful, the volume was also tremendous, so much so that passengers in the shop several doors away thought a tragedy was about to take place and ran to their cabins to don lifebelts.
It was left to Harry, the fixer extraordinaire, to come forward with a proposal.
‘Captain, he said, ‘do you not have interesting relatives in Sicily?’
Sparda agreed that there were several cousins in Catania who were in the construction industry; they visited him from time to time, but he was inclined to keep his distance.
‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘You might want to mention to them - in passing, of course - that a certain Tobias Troy is about to besmirch the family name of Sparda along with his accomplice at Wikkiwatts.’
‘I don’t think I heard that,’ said the Admiral. ‘We can’t have any violence, you know, Harry. Definitely no violence.’
‘Of course not,’ agreed Harry, ‘but they might put the frighteners on Toby boy.’
Sparda’s eyes lit up. ‘Harry,’ he said, ‘you’re a genius and a gentleman.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Harry, tapping his nose.
The meeting broke up and it was a worried Admiral who returned to his cabin to ponder the terrible news. He himself was not at all happy about involving Sparda’s relatives. Apart from inciting criminal activity, Golden Oceans would be forever in their debt and he was sure that this debt would never be paid off.
He could speak to his contact at the D Notices Committee, but such a body was virtually useless against the likes of Wikiwatts. Besides, the allegations were total hogwash.
Life takes some strange turns at times. The unpredictable can fall from a clear blue sky without a moment’s notice and change circumstances in a trice. As the Admiral worried and the other Wise Men considered their options, Mr Assad Wikiwatts himself found that he was the subject of intense scrutiny. By coincidence, he had actually been in Italy, personally investigating a suspected fraud case, in which ordinary commonplace onions were said to have been liberally mixed with expensive imported Dutch tulip bulbs, together with a few daffodils. They were sold to the Vatican, at a very high price, to plant in the Pope’s private garden. The Pope did not mind an occasional onion, but when hundreds sprouted instead of a colourful array of choice blooms, the Holy Father was more than a little agitated. Mr Assad himself went to investigate this great scam but, unfortunately, encountered an irate Dutchman of almost seven feet tall who chased him around Rome. Poor Assad was obliged to seek refuge in the Vatican itself, or that is what is believed, for he disappeared totally from view. Away from the office, his news outlet collapsed and Troy’s story disappeared as quickly as it had emerged.
‘I sometimes think,’ said Harry when this incredible story had been related to him, ‘that our little ship might have some protection from On High.’
He was in the company of the chaplain, who nodded wisely.
‘It’s certainly possible, Mr Parkhurst,’ he replied. ‘God moves in mysterious ways.’
‘He certainly does,’ replied Harry.
And with that they both got up and went along to choir practice.
37
To the great delight of Mr van der Loon and his two companions, a very large group of passengers gathered at the gangway to bid the little party farewell as they disembarked in Sri Lanka. Nelson, the amazing parrot, delighted the ladies by calling from the dockside, ‘Goodbye, my lovelies!’ which ensured him a place in their hearts for ever!
‘You know, Alice,’ said Albert, as they considered whether to go ashore before lunch or wait until the afternoon, ‘the more we travel, the hotter it gets. It’s boiling here.’
Alice agreed that it was very hot indeed and not much better in the Balcony Suite as the air conditioning was not of the best. Mr and Mrs Potts stumped off the ship early, the old man walking with a stick that he had obtained in Cochin and of which he was very proud. Although it gave him a feeling of well-being, he remained morose in appearance and it was doubtful at this stage in his life if that would ever change.
Mr Fennington Barley, the retired dancing farmer, had rather fallen for one of the elderly widows on board who came from a farming family in Iowa. It was strictly against Golden Oceans policy for a dance host to show favouritism to any one individual - even if, as was often the case, ladies favoured him. To overcome this difficulty he had suggested that he might go ashore with a group of several of his dancing partners, and the lady in question, a Mrs Dora Guttenburg, would certainly sit next to him at every available opportunity. This caused some jostling for places at lunch which resulted in two rather well-built ladies occupying the same seat at a café, until the helpful waiter appeared with reinforcements.
It proved to be a very hot and sticky day, especially for four ladies of ample girth squeezed into the back of a taxi. Mr Barley never actually got to sit next to Mrs Guttenburg and this irritated him as he had gone to considerable expense in paying for the whole group to travel throughout Colombo and to dine also. Normally when in port he would rush back to the ship to enjoy a free lunch and then rush ashore again. On this visit he considered that would appear mean and so he was landed with bills for refreshments for five and also lunch for five. An expensive day, especially when he did not achieve proximity to the widow.
Harry Parkhurst had been totally occupied in making arrangements for Sir Archie and Lady Veronika to visit the Tamil Tigers. Although he had made it up with Enzo, he was still considerably annoyed that the foolish fellow had given away five hundred pounds and made a promise, on behalf of the ship, which was very difficult to fulfil. Admittedly Lady Veronika, because of her previous association with the Tigers, had made life easier for him. She had put him in contact with a private airline who would fly the three of them to some obscure destination. He quailed when he received the quote, as the sum required would leave very little for a grand dinner in the evening. Oh well. He would cross that bridge when he came to it, he thought.
‘I say, my dear, these Tiger chappies.’ Sir Archie was applying some Blanco to his pith helmet in preparation for another long hot journey. ‘They are straight up, are they? We can’t afford to be delayed long with them, you know.’
‘Dorogoy,’ she replied with more than a hint of irritation in her voice, ‘I know Tigers. OK?’
Sir Archie knew better than to dispute with his Siberian wife or even to question her. Although she was exceptionally quiet in public, she smouldered within, and smoke and flame were released at a time when he was the only unfortunate recipient. He had been singed too often for his liking, so he remained silent and applied himself to the task in hand.
As soon as the ship had obtained Port Clearance and Enzo had come on the primitive address system to announce this, Harry met with his charges. Sir Archie was resplendent in his helmet and buttoned to the neck khaki drill uniform. He looked for all the world like a character drawn from the pages of Kipling. Lady Veronika wore a long dress that seemed hardly appropriate for hot weather, but Harry assumed that as she had lived in a cold climate, what she was wearing might be considered very light indeed. On her head she wore a 1920’s style hat of the type favoured by the late Duchess of Windsor. She carried with her a very heavy case, within which were several bottles of Siberian vodka and a very expensive sable fur coat.
‘I think Tiger Chief like coat for wife,’ she said, as she showed Harry what she intended to take on the flight.
Harry did not remind her that fur coats were not frequently worn in Sri Lanka. He felt he had enough to cope with, without getting into further discussion.
As they were about to leave, Enzo appeared, all smiles. He was apprehensive about seeing the couple off as Harry was taking them when it ought to have been him doing it. Given the sensitive nature of the visit, there was no way in which Harry would have entrusted Sir Archie and his odd wife to Enzo. The latter’s record as tour leader was far fr
om 100 per cent, and Harry could not afford this particular trip to go wrong. Effusive as always, Enzo expressed delight at the destination chosen by the couple, even though he had no idea where it was they were going. It was part of his job to pretend to know everything - and he did that part of his job superbly.
Just as Enzo was about to return to his office, who should appear but the doctor, who was also planning a day ashore.
‘By jingo,’ he said, as he viewed Sir Archie and his wife. ‘If you’re filming the discovery of the source of the Nile you’re in the wrong part of the world, old boy.’
Harry looked at him sternly, but not sternly enough to silence him.
‘Watch out for the crocs, Enzo. They recognise a good dinner at fifty paces.’
Enzo explained that he was simply seeing off the travellers and not going ashore himself.
‘Pity,’ chuckled the medic. ‘The most effective way for you to lose weight would be to have an encounter with a croc!’
Sir Archie laughed and Lady Veronika remained mute as usual. With a cheery ‘Pip Pip’ the doctor trotted down the gangway. Enzo wished the intrepid couple a very happy day and returned to his inner sanctum.
With the heavy case safely in the boot of an ancient motor vehicle, the trio set forth for the airport. The driver, suitably dressed in peaked cap and gold braided livery, drove at a stately pace to what appeared to be a grass landing-strip some miles away from the ship. Harry, to his alarm, saw two small biplanes parked side by side. Each was open-topped and looked exactly like the planes he had seen in pictures of the Wright Brothers or Amy Johnson. He prayed that one of the antiques was not the aircraft he would fly in, and he was right. One wasn’t, but the other was! Sir Archie and his wife were assigned aircraft Number One and he was assigned aircraft Number Two. They entered a hut, no bigger than a garden shed, where two leather-clad individuals were drinking tea.