She looked down at Peter again. His eyes were shut and his mouth slightly open: he was sound asleep. She relaxed and leant back against the rope. Thank goodness for that. It would be nice if she could sleep too …
The boat leapt again and Julie felt her stomach twist. She shivered and thought: Why didn’t I get those clothes? She felt Peter’s cheek and hands: he was cold too. What a fool she’d been! But it wasn’t too late; she would go and fetch the extra clothes now.
It meant a trip to the wheelhouse to ask one of the crew. She looked down the deck: it suddenly seemed rather a long way, and the deck was treacherous with running water. It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t feel so tired …
The other passengers were lying across the top of the hold or draped over the rail being sick. One woman raised her head and vomited on the deck. The sight of it made Julie retch and she knew she couldn’t make it down the deck, at least not quite yet. If only she could get her head down …
She lifted Peter’s head and shifted her body until she was more or less lying on her side, then moved him until he was lying in the curve of her body. It was wonderful to lie down; she felt much better. And the cold didn’t seem to matter so much like this. She closed her eyes and thought: I’ll definitely get the clothes in a minute.
A cry woke her and she looked up to see some of the passengers brushing spray off their clothes. The motion was worse than before and now and again the bow came down with a terrible shudder, as if the boat had hit something. The wind was reaching into the bow section now, whistling round, icy and chill against Julie’s skin. She shivered again and wondered how much longer she dared leave it before she got the clothes. The longer she left it, the worse it would be. And yet she knew she would be sick if she got up, and she daren’t leave Peter …
She thought: I’m just making excuses.
She made herself sit up. She tucked Peter into the coil of rope and, getting to her feet, started gingerly down the deck. The wind blew her hair into her eyes and then something cold and solid hit the back of her head. She gasped with the shock. Cold water seeped down her neck.
She got halfway to the wheelhouse and leant over the rail. A vague memory came to her, something someone had said about feeling seasick: first you want to die but then you’re afraid you’re not going to. Who’d said that? She couldn’t remember. Whoever it was, he was right.
But afterwards, when her stomach was empty, she was surprised to find she felt much better, and she started down the deck with new determination. The crew member she had spoken to before was standing outside the wheelhouse. As she reached him he held out a helping hand and she grasped it gratefully.
She gasped, ‘Thank you so much. It’s a bit rough for me, I’m afraid.’ She looked up at him, a smile on her face. He began to smile back, then his face froze and he stared past her at a point over her head, his mouth open.
Suddenly he was shouting, so loudly that Julie stared at him in amazement. Suddenly everyone was yelling and pointing and Julie turned to see what they were looking at.
It was a plane.
It was coming straight for them, low over the sea.
The yelling stopped and there was silence. Everyone was watching the plane. It came closer and closer, its grey outline getting darker, more solid. Julie felt her heart beating against her chest. It couldn’t be, surely …
The plane tipped its wings and went off at an angle, then tipped the other way: it was circling round them. A voice yelled, ‘It’s German! It’s a German!’
There was a crash; it was the wheelhouse door opening. A large, red-faced man came roaring out, shaking his fist at the plane. ‘Bloody swine! Bloody swine!’ Julie guessed it was the skipper.
‘What should we do? What should we do?’ someone said.
The skipper shouted, ‘Nothing, that’s what. Absolutely nothing!’
The plane straightened up and flew in the direction of Morlaix, waggling its wings. Then it turned back towards them. But it didn’t circle again. Instead it came straight for the boat, passing so low over the masts that Julie thought it would hit them.
A passenger cried, ‘Turn back! He’s trying to tell us to turn back. Quick, otherwise he’ll shoot us all!’
People started arguing and shouting. One man – a fairly well-dressed man in his fifties – got to his feet, lurched up to the skipper and ordered him to turn around. The skipper told him to do something unpleasant to himself and, when he’d finished, to mind his own business. The passenger started to yell at him, his voice shrieking above the sound of the wind and the waves. A couple of women screamed as the plane made another pass close over the masts.
Julie thought: They’ve all gone mad. It’s a nightmare.
She watched the plane turn and head towards the boat again. The noise, when it came, was staccato but very faint, as if it didn’t come from the plane at all. At first Julie didn’t understand what the noise meant and she was puzzled to see everyone throwing themselves on to the deck. For a second she stood there against the rail, frozen with surprise. Then at last she realised: bullets. She dropped like a stone and crawled against the raised side of the hold.
She thought: Peter! and looked up along the deck to the bow. There was someone in her way and she craned her head up further.
He was sitting up, looking bemused. He was swinging his feet over the rope coil and putting them on the deck.
He was going to stand up.
Julie screamed, ‘Peter! Get down! Get down!’
He was looking around, searching for her.
Then he stood up.
The plane swooped over in a roar of noise.
Julie got up and started to run.
She started well, keeping her balance as she ran up the deck. The boat rolled and she swerved sideways. There was a sharp blow to her ankle, and then pain. She got a grip on the rail and ran on. The bow sank into a wave with a thunderous roar and a sheet of spray came swooping across the boat. She saw it coming and wondered for an instant whether to duck. But then it had slapped into her and she gasped at the coldness of the water: it had gone straight through her clothes.
Another two strides and she reached Peter. She rolled into the coil of rope, pulling him down with her and sobbed with relief.
Peter pushed away from her and said crossly, ‘Mummy, you’re all wet! You’re all wet!’
‘Yes, darling.’ She caught her breath then looked back along the deck, trying to gauge what was happening. She had a feeling they were turning: the wind was blowing differently, and the boat was not bumping so ferociously into the waves. Turning …
She listened for the plane, but there was nothing. She stood up quickly and looked around. Yes, they were definitely turning: the land was almost ahead of the boat now. They were going back towards Morlaix.
Julie knew she should be disappointed, but all she could feel was an overwhelming sense of relief; somehow nothing ashore could possibly be worse than staying out here on this awful boat, feeling like death and being fired at … All she wanted was to be warm, dry and safe again.
The sound of the plane’s engine came softly over the water, a faint buzz gathering into a deep drone as it approached once more. Julie crouched down beside Peter. This time the plane did not fire, but swooped straight over the boat. Everyone froze where they lay, listening and watching, but it flew straight on, heading into the distance until, no more than a small black speck near the horizon, it was lost in the low grey cloud.
‘And good riddance!’ It was the skipper. He was smiling broadly and talking excitedly. As he spoke, a few people cheered and someone cried again, ‘Vive la France Libre.’ Some of the passengers still looked unhappy and a few were arguing. But then, Julie thought, there were bound to be some people who didn’t like turning back. It was inevitable. Well, at least they weren’t about to die out here, shot like rabbits or drowned. That was something to be grateful for.
The skipper strode into the wheelhouse and Julie sank back on to the rope coil. Her t
eeth were chattering so loudly she had to clench her jaws to stop the noise. She remembered the clothes again. She really should make the effort to get them, but her mind was frozen and numb. It was rather nice, the numbness, like a dream. Nothing seemed very important any more, nothing except sleeping and lying here …
The bow hit a wave and water splattered and sloshed over the deck. People complained again. Then there was another wave and, as the bow fell fast, down into the void, Julie felt herself and Peter almost lifted off the deck.
Suddenly Julie was awake. Why were they hitting waves again? What had happened? She staggered to her feet and looked for the land. It was behind them. They had turned again. They were heading back towards England.
No, Julie thought, it’s the wrong thing to do. Wrong.
Suddenly she was angry and frightened. She swayed down the deck again and opened the wheelhouse door. The skipper was at the wheel, a cigarette clamped between his teeth.
Julie asked, ‘Why? Why have we turned back?’
The skipper glanced at her. ‘Because, dear lady, we are going to England. And no stupid Boches are going to make me change my mind! That’s why.’
‘But what if they come back? They’ll shoot us.’
‘Don’t worry your head about that.’
‘But I do – we must. People could get hurt.’
The skipper drew hard on his cigarette and looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Look, we go on. And that’s final. Now go back on deck.’
‘But what does everyone else want? Aren’t they worried too?’
‘Look, lady, we go on, all right? You wanted to go to England, didn’t you? Well, it’s a bit late to change your mind. I can see the problem – you’re wet, you’re sick, and it all seems a bad idea now. Well, you ladies are never happy at sea, but I’m afraid you’re just going to have to put up with it. We go on!’ He shook his head knowingly. ‘That plane won’t come back again, I know it!’
For a moment Julie didn’t trust herself to speak. His attitude was exasperating. How did he know the plane wouldn’t come back? It seemed highly likely to Julie that it would come back and soon.
She made an effort to pull herself together and said, ‘But suppose the plane does come back … What then?’
The skipper turned and shouted down into the small cabin below, ‘Someone! Show this lady back on to the deck!’
Julie found herself shaking with anger and tiredness. She tried to calm herself. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going. But please, my son and I, we’re wet and cold … do you have anything warm …?’ She trailed off.
‘Here.’ He passed her a jacket from a peg on the side of the wheelhouse. He looked at her pityingly and added, ‘If it gets much worse we’ll see if we can find your child a place in the cabin.’
Julie’s anger melted away and she nodded with gratitude. ‘Thank you.’
She wiped a hand over her face, put the jacket on and started the long awkward journey back to the bow. Halfway along the deck she waited a moment while spray flew across the boat, then, when the coast was clear, she set out on the last few yards. But before she reached the protection of the bow she felt the thud of the boat meeting a wave and a curtain of spray rose into the air in front of her. The water looked insubstantial but when it hit her it was like something solid, as if a powerful man had slapped her in the face. The force took her breath away and for a moment she almost lost her footing.
She gripped the rail more firmly and hurried into the shelter of the bow. The jacket had kept some of the water off her clothes but now an ice-cold river of seawater was streaming down her back. She said, ‘Oh God!’ and gritted her teeth as she lay down beside Peter and pulled him inside the jacket.
Despite the jacket she found herself shivering violently. Peter was still cold too; his skin was cool against her cheek. She found herself praying: Dear Lord, please let this end soon, please let it be over, please get us there quickly. But she knew it was hopeless; the journey had only just begun. They must be only ten or fifteen miles from the coast, and the English Channel was at least eighty – or was it a hundred miles wide? She couldn’t remember. However far, it would take hours, all night and most of the next day at least. She couldn’t even imagine that amount of time.
The plane came back half an hour later.
This time it did not bother to circle. It started firing straight away. The noise was much louder this time; the staccato rat-at-at of the bullets seemed to fill the boat. There were loud pings, too, and the sound of tearing wood. As the plane roared overhead someone screamed, a piercing and dreadful scream. It was a man; he was clutching his stomach, a look of horror on his face. Julie found herself staring: she had never heard a man screaming before.
Peter was sobbing, ‘Mummy, Mummy! What’s happening?’
Julie hugged him tight, then something caught the corner of her eye. It was the plane. She could see it banking behind the boat, then levelling up. It was coming in for another run. It was heading straight for her. Straight for Peter.
She looked around desperately. There was nowhere to hide, nothing … Just the winch.
It might just be big enough.
She pulled Peter to his feet and yanked him across the deck. He tripped and the deadweight of his body pulled at her shoulder. He was crying now. She gripped him under the arms and swung him in behind the winch. She crouched in front of him and put her arms round him. She tried to make herself as narrow as possible. The winch base was about two feet wide: she had the feeling her shoulders must be sticking out …
As she put her head down the din started. This time it was deafening: the clanging of metal, the whistle and thud of the bullets. There was another scream and several shouts.
The seconds stretched out endlessly. She heard each bullet as it hissed and thudded around her. She waited for the one that would tear into her body.
It never came.
In a roar of engines the plane was overhead and gone again. And they were both alive. Julie whispered into Peter’s hair, ‘Oh my darling, my little darling. It’s all right, it’s all right.’
She looked at him, at his big round frightened eyes, and said, ‘Now, stay here. Right here, do you understand? I’ll be back in a moment.’
Peter screamed, ‘No! Mummy, don’t go! Don’t go!’
But Julie was already on her feet. ‘Stay there!’
She ran down the deck and straight into the wheelhouse. When she opened the door she was almost sick. Two men were lying on the floor: one had a terrible red oozing mass of brains and bloody flesh instead of a face. The other was the skipper. His eyes were staring straight at her, sightless and also quite dead.
She gulped and forced her eyes up to the man at the wheel. He was staring at her, his mouth gaping and his eyes dazed.
Julie said firmly, ‘Turn round! Turn towards the land!’
He stared back, his mouth moving noiselessly.
Julie drew breath and said again, ‘Turn now or we’ll all be dead!’
The buzz of the plane was getting louder again. Julie reached over and started to turn the wheel. The man’s eyes suddenly focused and his hands fumbled at the wheel too.
The boat began to turn, but slowly, so slowly. The noise of the engines was getting much louder again.
Julie sobbed, ‘Oh please, please.’
At last the boat was turning more quickly.
The plane roared over. There were no bullets this time.
They were going to be all right.
Julie waited to see that the helmsman was keeping the boat on course, then closed the wheelhouse door and walked quickly back to Peter.
They were going home.
Perhaps, Julie thought, we were never meant to go away at all.
The boat couldn’t get up the river; it was low tide. Instead they picked up a mooring off a small fishing village at the top of the estuary, where it narrows into the Morlaix River. The dead were covered with canvas and left on board, the living were ferried ashore in a small row
ing boat.
As they waited their turn for the boat Julie stood at the rail with Peter in her arms, looking at the quiet, golden land and thinking it was like a dream. There in the shelter of the river the air was warm and languid; a perfect summer day. The afternoon sun burned hot on her back, warming her slowly, deliciously. Like a dream. It was hard to imagine that the appalling boat trip belonged to the same day.
At last it was Julie and Peter’s turn to go ashore. They squeezed in the back of the dinghy next to a young man. Julie recognised him: he was the one who had cried ‘Vive la France Libre!’ when they set out. Now there was no laughter in his face; he was silent, staring blankly into the distance ahead.
They landed at a stone slipway. When Julie stepped ashore and felt the solid stone beneath her feet she sighed with relief. The young man passed Peter across and Julie hugged him tightly to her. ‘It’s all over, darling. It’s all over.’
The young man carried their baggage as far as the main road, then left. Julie sat Peter down on a grassy bank and stretched out beside him. For a moment she closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. The relief of being on dry land was almost as great as the comfort of knowing they were safe. She reached for Peter’s hand and said, ‘I love you, darling.’
Peter rubbed his eyes. ‘Mummy, I’m hungry and I want to go home.’
‘Of course, sweetheart. We’ll start with some food!’
Julie unpacked the food basket and they ate. She was surprised to find she was ravenous. The two of them consumed a whole section of sausage, a large slice of hard cheese, four chunks of bread, and two apples. It was wonderful to eat in peace and quiet, the land steady beneath one’s feet, the wind no more than a slight breeze rustling in the trees.
While they ate Julie began to think. This village was the wrong side of the river for Tregasnou. To get home they would have to go all the way inland to Morlaix and then double back on the other side of the river. It was a long way. The alternative was to find someone to ferry them across the river. But the river was still very wide at this point. And the country on the other side was pretty remote; she wasn’t sure if they’d be able to find any transport once they got there.
Night Sky Page 19