The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  To change the topic he described the British frigate and how the wharf was partitioned off for security reasons. On hearing that his mother frowned. “Were those demonstrators there?”

  “Some of them,” Graham answered, silently cursing the verbal minefield he had walked into.

  “Was there any trouble with them?”

  “No mum. I just watched the ship come in and then came home,” he answered.

  To his relief he was allowed to go. To get his jangled feelings under control he took himself to the Ship Room and sat brooding. In his mind he kept hearing Joany’s words and he could only shake his head and feel very immature. He’ll be gone tomorrow! he told himself. The notion that girls might deliberately meet up with strangers like that just to experiment quite shocked him and left him wondering about just how life might be.

  That night he brooded and indulged in a fit of the dejections rather than fantasizing about females. But he knew he was still interested in them and that he passionately desired to have a real girlfriend.

  There was then the anxiety about being shamed at school the next day. He went there dreading being teased but to his relief none of his friends made any comment. He did see Joany once in the distance and she gave a friendly smile but he did not go over to talk to her, eyeing the other girls near her with some trepidation.

  In class he sat and worried about himself and life. Joany said I am good looking and that I should have no trouble getting a girl friend, he thought. But there was Thelma and she had rejected him. And so had Ailsa. Into his mind swam an image of Margaret and that annoyed him. She is too young! Another image of Jocelyn in 8D came to taunt him. She had made big eyes and friendly overtures as few weeks earlier but he thought she was a silly, gawky creature. And Cindy is in Year 10 as well, he thought moodily.

  The only positive was that the bullies seemed to have lost interest in him. When he accidentally encountered Edmonson and his mates at the Tuck Shop Edmonson just curled his lip and then ignored him.

  Then, thankfully, it was Friday afternoon and the school week was over. This was Graham’s favourite time of the week. His mother always brought home a collection of comics and chocolates and in the evening there was Scouts. Graham had been a cub scout for three years and a scout for two and he really enjoyed being part of the group. He particularly enjoyed the hikes and camping trips that the scout master organized.

  And his friends were there. Graham was in the Crocodile Patrol with another friend, Roger. Peter was in the Platypus Patrol and Stephen and Max were Kookaburras.

  As soon as he met Roger Graham said, “You should have been with us on Tuesday Roger. We spent a couple of hours on that destroyer that is in harbour.”

  Roger nodded: “I know. Peter has been telling me about it. He said you had a fight and got into trouble,” he replied. Roger was a chubby kid with brown hair and brown eyes, replied. He was almost the same age as the other two but, because of a January birthday, was a whole year level lower at school. As a primary school kid he was only tolerated because the three had all been in the same Scout Troop for years.

  “There was another warship in port on Thursday,” Graham added. “We went to see that as well.”

  Roger looked a bit hurt. “You could have got me,” he chided. Then he asked if anything happened.

  For a moment Graham endured burning images of Joany kissing the British sailor but then he shook his head. “No, not really. There were a few demonstrators but the police kept everyone well away from the ship.

  After that the conversation faltered and Graham found it a relief when Peter arrived. The Scout meeting then began. As usual there were games and learning activities but for the first time Graham found some of it a bit boring and he wondered if he was outgrowing scouts. This was partly because his thoughts kept wandering to girls.

  How can I get a girlfriend? he fretted. His focus shifted back to Thelma. She didn’t actually say no. She said not now, he rationalized. So how can I get her to notice me and go out with me?

  Chapter 7

  BATTLE OF THE RIVER PLATE

  Saturday morning meant chores. There were bird cages to clean out, dogs to wash, the guinea pig hutch to be moved to a clean area of lawn, gardens to be weeded, rooms to be swept and tidied. All of this kept Graham, Kylie and big brother Alex busy for much of the morning. Only when they were done to her satisfaction did their mother relent and allow them to have morning tea. During all of this time Graham brooded about Thelma and about how he had probably ruined his chances. This led him into more daydreams during which he rescued Thelma from the clutches of pirates who had taken over the cruise liner she was on in the South China Sea.

  After morning tea Graham retreated to the Ship Room. Here he sat and daydreamed some more while working slowly to rig one of the many model sailing ships he had been too lazy to do properly. After a while he began a game, moving ship models into position to fight a pretend battle.

  “Hi Graham. How’s tricks?”

  Graham looked up from where he was kneeling on the concrete. It was Max. Graham liked Max. He was almost his opposite in many ways. Max was olive skinned in contrast to Graham’s freckles on a ruddy complexion. Max had dark hair while Graham’s was fair. Brown eyes and blue eyes; an extrovert nature compared to a shy Graham, and a bubbling sense of mischief which often surfaced as practical jokes.

  Max sat down beside Graham and glanced at the model ship he was pushing across the floor. He had seen them many times before so paid little attention to them. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

  Graham indicated the line of six British warships closing in on a similar line of Spanish ones. “The British are attacking a Spanish treasure ‘Flotta’,” he explained. The British ships all had hulls painted Nelson-style: black hulls with broad white bands along them over the gun ports, which showed as a chequer pattern of black squares. The Spanish ships on the other hand were a blaze of bright colours with red and gold predominating.

  Graham, being a romantic, had not allowed reality to stifle him. His Spanish ships were all 16th Century designs: galleons, caravels and oared galleys, plus a huge carrack. They had the red Crusader crosses on their sails and were festooned with flags and banners. Graham was well aware that the design of warships in the 18th Century had not varied much from one European country to another, but had felt this to be boring. So he had made his navies conform to different patterns for variety.

  Thus the Spanish were the most colourful and least homogenous of the fleets. There was the golden galleon—La Santisima Trinidad with her sails of mauve and pink silk; and the smaller galleon: Santa Anna with blue trimmings to match the gold. The fleet had begun with a small model of one of Columbus’s ships, the caravel Nina. The Pinta had followed, then the Santa Maria. There were two oared galleys rowed by slaves and armed with two huge cannons in their bows, inspired by the story in Midshipman Hornblower. Two schooners, which were Guarda Costas (needed so Captain Jenkins could have his ear cut off every time war seemed like a good idea), completed the Spanish fleet.

  Graham also knew that sailors did not wear uniform in the 18th Century but found it too confusing to sort out who was who when the crews of two ships became involved in hand-to-hand fighting, so he insisted on national uniforms. Thus the British sailors all wore blue shirts and white trousers; the French wore all blue, the Americans all white, and pirates whatever they liked. The Spanish sailors all wore yellow shirts and red trousers and their officer had body armour made from aluminium foil, which looked most impressive.

  Max watched the game for a while but soon became restless. “That was fun yesterday when we visited the frigate,” he said.

  “Yes it was. I wish we could go again today,” Graham replied.

  Max agreed, but both knew it was pointless. The ship was now at the naval base and was not open to the public. Max asked, “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “Nothing much, why?”

  “I’ve got a video you might like. Dad got it this mor
ning. It’s called The Battle of the River Plate.”

  “What’s it about?” Graham asked.

  “It is about a naval battle during the Second World War—British against the Germans. Dad says it is a true story. Do you want to watch it?”

  Graham nodded. “Yeah, all right. When?” he asked.

  “After lunch?”

  So after lunch Graham walked the three blocks along the street to Max’s house. He liked going there. Max’s mum was very nice and always put on good afternoon teas. And Max’s dad was an interesting character. He worked as an accountant but Graham knew that many years ago he had been a commando and fought in Timor and Afghanistan, and that ensured Graham’s respect. However the main reason for liking Max’s house was Max’s big sister Cindy. Graham secretly hoped to see her, remembering a scene the previous week when she had been out in the back yard in a skimpy bikini while she washed the car. I might be lucky enough to see her like that today, he thought.

  But, to Graham’s secret disappointment, Cindy wasn’t home. The two boys sat in the lounge and watched the film on TV. Mr Pullford stopped with them for a few moments and commented: “This is a true story. You see that ship there, the cruiser Achilles? She is the actual ship that fought in the battle. After the Second World War the British made this movie about the battle; and they used the Achilles to play herself. There is another real ship in it later, the heavy cruiser HMS Cumberland. And the other two British cruisers are real World War 2 ships.”

  “What about the German ship?” Graham asked.

  Max jeered. “It was sunk!” he said.

  Max’s father answered: “In the film an American heavy cruiser plays the part of the German pocket battleship Admiral Graf Spee.”

  They settled to watch the movie. Graham knew the outline of the story. He was a keen reader of naval history and his grandfather had been an officer on British ships during that war. A photo on the side table at home of Grandad in his naval uniform was a constant reminder, as was the photo of his father during the more recent operations to free Makassang.

  The film was about the cruise of the German pocket battleship (Panzerkruezer) Graf Spee in 1939 in the South Atlantic and how she was finally caught and driven into Montevideo in Uruguay by three much smaller British warships: the 6” light cruisers Ajax and Achilles and the 8” heavy cruiser Exeter. Graham sat transfixed. He became wholly absorbed in the story, although at times the English period-slang and acting jarred on him a bit.

  Max was less impressed. “Bit corny the way these guys talk,” he commented as Commodore Harwood held a conference with his cruiser captains. Graham barely heard him. He just wished he was there as one of them. Just seeing the officers in their tropical white uniforms planning the action filled him with a deep yearning to be like them. When the action began he was totally absorbed in it. The images of the great ships wheeling over the blue sea, their guns belching fire and smoke gripped him and set his imagination racing.

  When the movie was over he sat for a while in silent contemplation. Not so Max. He broke into animated talk. “Weren’t those cruisers great to watch?”

  “Yes,” Graham agreed. “Especially the Colony-class with the three triple 6” turrets.” They were, he decided, the very essence of good looking warships—real warships, with lots of guns. They had a balance to their design that he appreciated but could not put into words.

  “You should make modern ship models, like those,” Max said. “We could play with them then.”

  The idea sparked deep in Graham’s brain. “Yes we could. In fact we could play now. There are a few modern ship models at home we could use. There is a plastic destroyer somewhere.”

  Max stood up. “Let’s! Come on!” Max cried.

  Graham wasn’t so keen. He was still hoping for a glimpse of Cindy. Memories of her in that very skimpy bikini fired his youthful fantasies and he vaguely understood that the physical and emotional urges that he was experiencing were not entirely under his control. But she wasn’t at home so all he could do was pretend he was enthusiastic and go with Max.

  The two boys set off and were back at Graham’s within 10 minutes. Graham ran upstairs and went to a toy box and began to rummage. Max chattered away excitedly about the movie. After a minute Graham extracted what he sought; a toy warship. It was a plastic destroyer about 30cm long and 4cm wide. The hull was a hollow shell which had once contained wheels, a sparking mechanism and a flywheel. It had originally been designed to be pushed along the floor. The details such as torpedo tubes and lifeboats were moulded as part of the hull but the three gun turrets turned (although ‘B’ Gun had lost its barrel). He held it up.

  “How about this?”

  Max sniffed and looked at it critically. “OK I suppose. But we need two ships to have a battle.”

  Graham was a bit hurt at Max’s criticism but he wracked his brains: A second ship? Ah! Yes! He pointed down. “I’ve got an old ironclad downstairs. You could use that.”

  Max looked doubtful but followed Graham down to where the fleets of sailing ships still sailed in the ship room. In a corner, festooned with cobwebs and with a broken mast, was the model ironclad. This was also about 30cm long and at least 6 wide and nearly as high. It was painted a greasy dark grey and looked like a wreck.

  Graham picked it up and blew at the dust and cobwebs. “It is a French ironclad from the days when ships still had sails as well as steam engines,” he explained.

  Max made a face. “So where are the sails?”

  “I only ever rigged the lower masts and she got knocked over by the dogs one day,” Graham answered. He plucked at the broken rigging and dusted more rubbish off. The model looked sad to say the least.

  “What’s its name?” Max asked, clearly unimpressed.

  Graham felt foolish. “I can’t remember.”

  Max shook his head. “It wouldn’t have a chance against a modern destroyer. One torpedo and it would be blown out of the water. Are those all the guns it has got?” he said, pointing to a row of cannons poking out of gun ports along the side.

  “Yes. But we could pretend she has really thick armour and that she has been re-armed with modern guns,” he suggested.

  “I suppose so,” Max replied doubtfully.

  “Look, I’ll take her if you like and you have the destroyer,” Graham offered. Now that the idea had been planted in his mind he badly wanted to try a modern naval battle. Max brightened up but looked suspicious: “How many guns has that Ironclad got?”

  Graham counted them. There were ten on each side. “Twenty. We could say they are 4”, the same as the destroyer.”

  “How thick is the armour?”

  “That would have been 12”.”

  Max looked sceptical. “So I could never knock her out. It would take a battleship’s gun to do that,” he replied, adding, “Anyway it would have been centimetres. The French went metric back during the French Revolution and that was long before ironclad steamships were invented.”

  Graham was surprised Max was so knowledgeable but compromised. “You could hit her guns and her bridge; and torpedoes could damage the rudder and propellers.”

  “Ok. How do we decide when something is hit?” Max asked.

  Graham knew from bitter experience, both with his big brother Alex, and from games against Max and Peter, that this was the crucial issue. For battles with HO scale soldiers they used dice.

  “Same as we do for land battles,” he suggested. We throw dice.”

  “OK. What are the odds?”

  They haggled about this for 10 minutes and then went upstairs. By then Graham had more or less cleaned the ironclad and felt more content with his choice.

  Max picked up the destroyer and examined it critically. “What’s its name?” he asked.

  Again Graham felt foolish and shrugged. “I don’t think it ever had one,” he said. “Call it whatever you like. You be the Germans.”

  Max immediately reacted. “No fear! You be the Germans. I’m the British.”
<
br />   “I am!”

  “No you aren’t. Didn’t you say that was a French ironclad?”

  Graham reluctantly conceded it was.

  Max seized on this: “So you are the French and I am the British,” he insisted.

  “But they were allies in World War 2,” Graham objected.

  “Not all the time,” Max pointed out. “My grandad fought the French in Syria. Some of them were on our side and some helped the Germans, after the blitzkrieg over-ran France.”

  Graham bit his lip. In the back of his memory floated something he had read about the British having to sink French ships in 1940 to stop the Germans getting them. He gave up the argument and wished he had paid more attention to what he read.

  “OK. Let’s get on with it. I will be a coast defence ship and you can raid the harbour,” he suggested to Max.

  Max liked this idea and took the destroyer out onto the front veranda. Graham placed the ironclad on the carpet and struggled to think of a suitable name.

  The battle began. Max’s destroyer steamed in at high speed and both sides ‘opened fire’ with lots of sound effects and shouting. The dice was thrown again and again until everything which could shoot had.

  Max cheered loudly. “My front 4” gun has hit your second cannon,” he cried.

  “And three of my guns have hit you. That is a five. Your captain is dead. Your ship is out of control for one move,” Graham answered.

  They moved again. Max fired multi-barrel anti aircraft guns at close range and fired four torpedoes. One hit. Graham claimed to have knocked out two of Max’s guns but it was hard to decide, even with the dice. They both got heated and excited.

  The noise attracted Kylie and Margaret who had been in Kylie’s room. The girls came and looked to see what the boys were doing. Graham gave Margaret a half-smile, half-scowl. At his age he did not like being found pushing a toy around the floor—and to be losing.