The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  “Hello. Can we come in and see these ship models you have been talking about?” Andrew asked.

  “If you like,” Graham replied. He went red with embarrassment and said defensively: “They aren’t much to look at really.”

  “That’s OK. Blake is interested in them and so am I,” Andrew replied. The two naval cadets were led to the Ship Room and shown the model sailing ships.

  Blake was enthralled. “I say! These are great!” he cried. He knelt down to examine them and asked a dozen questions on technical details of modelling. Graham was both gratified and embarrassed.

  Andrew asked: “Where are your modern ships you have been playing this Battleships game with?”

  “Upstairs. I’ll get them,” Graham answered. He went even redder because he was ashamed of the poor workmanship of most of them. For that reason he brought down the best destroyer first, then the battleship and aircraft carrier, then the LSMs and tanks. The boys seemed to be impressed and studied them with obvious interest.

  Andrew asked: “Where do you play this game, on a map or here?”

  “Out on the lawn or on the floor upstairs,” Graham answered. “That is one reason why we don’t put on too many details. They tend to get broken off out on the grass.”

  “You should play it in here,” Andrew suggested. “That way they wouldn’t get damaged as much.”

  Graham had not considered the idea. His initial reaction was negative: “I would have to pack away all my sailing ships,” he replied.

  Max looked around the Ship Room. “It is a good idea though,” he added. “You already have countries and islands marked here.”

  Graham had to concede he did have but was still negative about the idea.

  Blake then asked: “Do any of these models float?”

  Peter laughed. “Only upside down,” he answered.

  Graham shook his head. “No, they are not designed to. They are all waterline models and are made to push around the floor,” he answered.

  Blake nodded, but appeared unimpressed. He said, “You should see the model ships our Training Officer, Sub Lt Sheldon, makes. He builds powered models which float. They have electric motors and are radio controlled.”

  “What sort are they?” Graham asked. He was peeved and jealous.

  “One is a model of a patrol boat; and he has just completed a model of an FFG 7-class frigate,” Blake replied. He held his hands wide apart. “It is about this long.”

  “What does he make them of?” Max asked.

  “Plastic I think.”

  “You mean they are plastic kits?” Graham asked, his mouth beginning a sneer to show his contempt for anyone who did not scratch build.

  Blake shook his head. “No. He makes all the pieces himself. The hull is some sort of fibreglass casting I think,” he replied.

  Graham flushed but tried to pretend he was not impressed. “Was he the officer I met yesterday?”

  “No, that was Lt Ryan, the XO,” Andrew replied. “You will like Sub Lt Sheldon. He is great. He really plans things well. He is an expert at sailing too.”

  “What are you doing this afternoon?” Blake asked. “Sub Lt Sheldon is going to show us his new model. You could come and watch if you like.”

  “Where?” Peter asked.

  “Down at the Yacht Club,” Andrew answered. “That is where we are going now.”

  “What time?” Peter asked.

  “3 o’clock,” Andrew answered.

  Peter grinned. “That’s not very nautical,” he jibed. “Don’t you mean ‘six bells in the afternoon watch’?”

  Andrew made a face and obviously did a calculation before answering. “Yes it is. 1500 hours if you prefer.”

  Peter nodded and said, “I’ll come. Is anyone else coming with me?”

  “I will,” Graham replied. He was genuinely curious. Then he hesitated. “I’ll just let mum know,” he added.

  Quickly he hurried through to the kitchen. “Mum, we are going to the wharf,” he said. As a policy he did not ask permission.

  Mrs Kirk looked up from her baking and raised her eyebrows. “You aren’t going to get into trouble at some warship are you?”

  Graham shook his head. “No mum, just to look at radio controlled models. Bye!”

  Hats and bicycles were collected and the boys set off for the Esplanade. At the Yacht Club they found a dozen people working on various types of sailing boats. Three navy cadets in dark blue long trousers and long sleeved shirts were busy rigging a Corsair under the supervision of a bearded Petty Officer. Several others, including Carmen Collins, sat in the shade. Sub Lt Sheldon was there with his model. It was in the back of a station wagon and he lifted it out when asked by Andrew if the boys could look at it. The model was painted grey and black and was nearly 2 metres long.

  As Sub Lt Sheldon laid the model carefully on the concrete he met Graham’s eyes. “Hello. What’s your name?”

  “Graham Kirk sir,” Graham answered. Embarrassed at being singled out he blushed bright red.

  Andrew added: “Graham is going to join up sir. He got the application forms last Saturday.”

  “Oh good.” Sub Lt Sheldon smiled and indicated Peter and Max. “What about your friends; are they interested?”

  “No thanks sir,” Peter replied. “I prefer to keep my feet dry.”

  “We came to see your model sail sir,” Andrew said. “Are we too late?”

  “Well, I have just given her a test run but I suppose I can give her another go,” Sub Lt Sheldon replied. He went back to his car and collected some equipment. While he did Graham and the others bent to examine the model. Graham was impressed—and jealous. It was good. The hull and superstructure had a very professional finish to them. The lower hull in particular looked shiny and sleek. As always, when confronted by superior workmanship, Graham felt a wave of insecurity and inferiority which made him wonder if he was good at anything. I don’t know why I bother, he thought. I could never make a model as good as this.

  Sub Lt Sheldon knelt to insert batteries and to adjust the steering mechanism under the quarter deck. “It is the HMAS Adelaide,” he explained. “She was an FFG 7-class guided missile frigate. Do you boys know much about ships?”

  “A bit sir,” Graham answered shyly. He did not want to boast and then be caught out by this officer.

  Andrew laughed. “Graham is being very modest sir. His dad owns ships and he and his friends here have lots of models.”

  “Oh yes? What ships?”

  Graham blushed again. “A coaster named the Malita sir, and an old Tank Landing Ship named the Wewak.”

  “Oh yes. I’ve seen them often,” Sub Lt Sheldon replied. “What sort of models do you make?”

  That made Graham blush again. He described his models in a deprecating way. In spite of that Sub Lt Sheldon said, “They sound very interesting. I’d like to see them if I may?”

  “Yes sir,” Graham replied. He squirmed inside and broke into a sweat, sure that the officer would sneer and laugh when he saw them.

  Sub Lt Sheldon lifted his model and carefully placed it in the water. It bobbed up and down on the small waves which swept into the oblong hythe of the Yacht Club. This was a rectangular area about 50 metres long and 25 metres wide, with timber quays on either side of it and a shelving, sandy beach at the shore end. The seaward side opened out onto Trinity Inlet.

  They waited till a sail boat had been launched and had made its way out of the enclosure before Sub Lt Sheldon picked up a radio control unit and clicked it on. He looked anxiously out at the Inlet and made a face. “Bit rough out there. We will keep her inside I think.”

  He clicked a switch and the gun turret on the model rotated and the gun barrel went up and down. Another switch set the radar scanner rotating. Still another made the missile launcher rotate and elevate. Graham was enthralled. It is a marvellous model, he thought enviously. At the press of a button the model started to move forward, pitching in the waves. The tiny propeller was visible whirring around
underneath as she drew away.

  Sub Lt Sheldon made the model sail across the enclosure on a curving course. When she was near the other side he brought her to a standstill by reversing the thrust of the propeller. Then he made the model turn on the spot before bringing her surging back across at full speed. The model threw up a fine clear bow wave as she came and Graham was even more envious.

  They waited while a yacht came in and was beached. Then the model was sent for a circular run, with much stopping and starting. At times waves larger than the average set it rolling wildly but the model obviously had excellent stability as it stayed right side up and kept on going.

  “Can we have a go sir?” Blake asked.

  “Yes, if you are careful. Keep her inside the enclosure,” Sub Lt Sheldon replied. He handed the radio control unit to Blake and pointed to the various buttons. Graham watched with twitching fingers. He badly wanted to have a go too but was scared to ask.

  Blake sent the frigate racing across the enclosure then stopped her just in time so that she just bumped the other side. She was reversed, turned and set on a curving course with radar, gun and missiles all rotating.

  “Doesn’t she look good! She’s a beaut model sir,” Blake said.

  Andrew stepped forward. “My go now,” he said.

  “In a minute,” Blake said, holding the control unit clear of Andrew’s reach.

  Sub Lt Sheldon said, “Give Andrew a go, then these other boys if they like.”

  “Yes sir,” Blake replied, but he kept holding the control unit. He sent the model racing around in a tight curve which made her lean over, then straightened her out.

  Andrew held out his hand. “Give me a go before you flatten the battery Blake,” he said.

  Blake side-stepped quickly and laughed, then held the control unit away from Andrew. Max made a grab for it and Blake swung it back. “No you don’t you… Oops! Ooh bugger!”

  The control unit slipped from his fingers and fell into the water. For a moment it floated, then sank, leaving a stream of bubbles behind it. Graham sprang forward and knelt down but he was too late. It eluded his grasping fingers. The water wasn’t deep and they could see the unit sitting on the bottom. Graham did not hesitate. He was only wearing old shorts and a shirt. He jumped in and dived the 2 metres to the bottom. In a moment the control unit was in his hand and he surfaced. He held it up and Andrew took it and passed it to Sub Lt Sheldon. Peter leaned down and gave Graham a hand up.

  As he climbed dripping onto the quay Graham looked around for the model. It was heading out through the entrance of the yacht basin at full speed!

  Sub Lt Sheldon tried to get the control unit to work but it was instantly obvious that the water had shorted the electronics. The boys all ran out to the end of the quay to watch. The model frigate kept on going out into the Inlet. The waves were only a light chop of about 10cms or 20cms in height but to the model they were like huge storm waves. It drove hard into them and began to pitch and roll. Waves began to break over its focsle and Graham expected it to simply sink, or to roll over.

  Graham watched intently as the model butted through the waves. By then it was at least 100 metres out in the inlet and still going strong. He saw it was turning slowly, helped by the waves which were battering it from the starboard bow.

  Blake waved his arms in frustration. “If only we had a boat!”

  “Or if one would come along,” Peter added. They looked up and down the Inlet. Usually it was busy with small craft of all description but just at that moment nothing was moving on the water anywhere near them.

  “It is turning,” Max cried. “It is heading back towards the wharf.”

  They watched intently. Yes, no doubt about it. The model was following a curving course which would bring it back in to the shore somewhere upstream.

  “She must have a touch of starboard rudder,” Sub Lt Sheldon said.

  “Come on!” Andrew called. “We will catch her when she comes inshore again.” He set off at a run followed by the other boys. Graham ran close behind Andrew. Their route took them out through the entrance to the Yacht Club and across to the Green Island Ferry Terminal. They raced out onto the wharf there. A glance showed the model still heading inshore and apparently aiming for the Cruise Terminal at the old main city wharves. They ran through into the gardens next to the ferry terminal.

  As he ran past the place where Cindy and the French matelot had misbehaved behind a garden bed Graham had a series of searing flashbacks and he shook his head at the pain of them. Max was close behind him and Graham wondered if he knew. The thought spurred him on to run faster. They raced into the tourist complex on the old wharves and through the arcades until they were on the main wharf.

  Andrew stopped on the edge of the wharf and looked over. There was no sign of the model but a middle-aged couple who were obviously tourists were staring down.

  Andrew approached them. “Excuse me. Did you see a model ship?”

  The man, clad in a Hawaiian shirt and chequered shorts, answered with an American accent: “We surely did son. It steamed right in under where we are standing.”

  “Oh no! What will we do now?” Andrew cried.

  Graham leaned over to look. “Climb under the wharf and have a look,” he answered. From having been on wharves most of his life he was very familiar with them and knew they had ladders for people like maintenance workers to climb down. He ran along the wharf to the nearest one and looked down. The ladder was old, rusty, brown steel. It led down the side of a barnacle encrusted piling to vanish in the swirling, dark green water 10 metres down.

  Without hesitation Graham turned and gripped the ladder. He began climbing down it.

  Peter ran to the top of the ladder. “You be careful,” he called.

  “Don’t fall in,” Andrew added. “There are sharks in there.”

  Max laughed and said, “No there aren’t! The crocs have eaten them all!”

  They all laughed and leaned over to watch as Graham continued his descent. He knew what to expect but still found it frightening and forbidding. Underneath the wharf were rows of thick concrete pilings. From the high tide level down the pilings were covered with slime and marine growths. The outgoing tide was gurgling around the pilings; clearly showing the speed of the current. Graham knew that the water depth alongside was about 15 metres, even at low tide. He also knew that large aquatic creatures were reputed to lurk under the wharves, notably sharks and giant gropers. Bobbing at the end of rope painters tied to the ladder were two flat pontoons and a dinghy.

  From near the bottom of the ladder Graham looked down into the murky green water. Several tiny fish flitted across a band of sunlight. The thought of what might be in that water made him shiver and hesitate. Only a month earlier a kid had been sitting on a pontoon just down near the Yacht Club fishing. He had dangled his foot in the water and a giant groper had risen to snap off three of his toes. Graham bit his lip and nerved himself to go lower and to move across onto one of the pontoons. He needed to do this to get out of the sunlight. It was very dark under the wharf and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. The shore under the wharf was a mass of slimy black mud which extended up to a concrete retaining wall. The whole place was gloomy and unpleasant. And it stank.

  Under the wharf were thick concrete beams running out from the shore. These were on top of the pilings. As well there were pipes of various sizes—for water, fuel and so on. Graham reached up and gripped on of the beams for support and moved further under the wharf, his eyes peering into the shadows. A careful scrutiny revealed what he sought. The model was aground on the mud right at the back of the wharf.

  “I can see it,” he shouted to Andrew who had followed him down the ladder. “It is back there. I think I can reach it.”

  Andrew stuck his head in under the wharf and looked. “We need a boat.”

  “I’ll use this dinghy here,” Graham said.

  “Has it got any oars?” Andrew asked.

  Graham looked. He c
ould see none. He shook his head and answered: “No. It will be all right. I will push myself along. Go back up and tell them what I am doing.”

  “Don’t be silly Graham. We will run back to the Yacht Club and get one. Petty Officer Evans is there with a corsair. You just keep and eye on the model.”

  Andrew climbed back up the ladder. Graham stayed where he was and studied the arrangement of pilings and bracing under the wharf. How will they get a sailing boat under here? They will have to lower the mast and pole it along. he thought. It looked difficult. Again he studied the arrangement and decided he could get all the way to the model. I will use the dinghy. It isn’t that far, he decided.

  Graham stepped down into the small dinghy and untied the painter. The dinghy, an aluminium one which had once been painted yellow, was half full of water. Graham ignored this and reached up for the overhead beam. To reach it he found he had to stand almost on tip-toe. He set off, pushing the boat along under the beam and almost at once regretted his decision as the current from the outgoing tide was stronger than he had anticipated and he had trouble keeping his footing. When he reached the next piling he reached across to grasp it, and quickly drew his hand back. The piling was wet and slimy and covered with barnacles. A barnacle had sliced deep into his hand. Blood welled out, to trickle down his arm and drip on his feet and body.

  As he pushed across to the next piling his eyes searched the black water for any sign of some marine monster which might suddenly lunge at him. The boat felt very unsteady and he slipped twice; getting more scratches from barnacles in his haste. Slow down silly, he told himself. Or you will slip in.

  He tried to tell himself he wasn’t scared but his heart hammered fast and he knew he was. He now regretted having started and knew that common sense said go back but stubbornness made him go on. Carefully he crossed another span. By now he was right in under the wharf and it was quite dark and gloomy.

  “One more span to go,” he muttered. With an effort he calmed himself. It looked a long way back to the ladder and sunlight. After taking a deep breath he set off on the crossing. He pushed hard and the dingy slid across the 5 metres of water to the next piling. Here Graham had another dilemma. The model had run its nose onto the black mud of the shore about 3 metres upstream from the piling. He could not reach the wharf overhead and there was nothing for him to grip.