The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue

by Heneghan, Lou

  He pointed to the furthest mole and waved them on. Ralf could just make out the shadow of other small boats in the darkness. They were here then, he thought, relieved. He nodded, clunked The Sara Luz into gear and they putted towards them.

  The Fisher King was packed with soldiers but Old Bill was still waving men aboard. Ron stood at the wheel, Tom holding a line at the prow, whilst Michael kept a look out from a bench in the stern. When they were about twenty feet away he seemed to notice them for the first time.

  ‘What the –?’ Michael rattled off a long rant, peppered with a variety of fishermen’s expletives that made Ralf wince. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing? Oh – and, great – you’ve brought half the kids in the village!’

  ‘I ought to send you straight back home!’ Old Bill roared, but he shook his head as he spoke.

  ‘They’d be safer to stay,’ shouted Tom. ‘Even in this shambles!’

  Old Bill nodded. ‘Well, since they’re here, they can make theirselves useful,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll hop on over to The Sara Luz.’

  ‘I’ll go, Dad,’ called Ron, already moving. ‘Pull up alongside, Ralf!’ he called.

  Old Bill started to protest but Michael hobbled over and nudged Tom away from the wheel with his walking stick.

  ‘Go with him, Tom,’ Michael ordered. ‘I can manage the wheel here. I think it’d be better if there were two of you aboard with the five o’ them.’ Old Bill nodded reluctantly and the two youngest Arbuckles made the jump onto The Sara Luz.

  Ralf and Leo exchanged a look. That had been easier than expected! They now had two of the Natus safely aboard The Sara Luz and Walter Sedley was within sight on The Griffin. All they had to do now was locate Gloria, Keen and Munton.

  Ralf scanned the harbour once more as they untied from The Fisher King but saw no sign of the Kingston-Hawkes’ craft.

  ‘Have you seen The Sea-Hawke?’ he asked Ron.

  ‘She’s round the other side of the mole, taking wounded from a medical post,’ Ron said, shaking his head as he checked over The Sara Luz. ‘Niall’d have a fit if he knew.’

  ‘We have to get over there,’ Ralf urged. ‘Gadd Munton’s aboard. Kemp's alive but Gadd’s the one who set the Bakery fire and he’s on the run. We need to make sure Gloria’s okay.’

  ‘What?’ Ron looked thunderstruck. ‘That dirty, rotten…Him and his no good brother…When I catch up with him after this…’

  ‘I know, Ron, but Gloria! She may be in danger now.’

  ‘Well, she’s here isn’t she?’ said Ron. ‘That’s danger enough!’

  ‘She’ll be alright, Ralf,’ Tom interjected. ‘She’s got Captain Keen and young Julian with her. They’re more than a match for that snivelling weasel Gadd.’

  ‘Please!’ Ralf begged.

  But Ron shook his head. ‘There’s nothing we can do. We need to get on. Now, get those lines! There’s men over there as wants to go home.’

  Ron took the wheel and turned The Sara Luz about, whilst Tom directed the Turnarounders to clear the deck and cabin to create as much space as possible. When they got to the mole, they tied up and Tom began counting the waiting soldiers aboard.

  Ralf and the others couldn’t help but stare. The men were grim, grey and streaked with dirt, sometimes blood. Some were wounded, arms in makeshift slings or hobbling on sticks with the aid of their fellows. Some had bandages around their eyes, seeping watery pink. All of them looked gaunt and tired. All were immeasurably pleased to see them and if they were surprised that five children crewed their rescue vessel they did not show it. Those on the mole queued patiently, shuffling forwards to take their turn. As they did so, Ralf squinted to make out their colours, which in the dim light looked like the blurred rainbow you see in a drizzle of petrol on dark water.

  Once on board, the men stood shoulder to shoulder whilst Tom, dazzling in the peacock splendour of his own bright colour, finished counting. ‘Fifty-four...fifty-five... fifty-six! That’s all!’ he yelled to the waiting men. ‘She’s too low in the water as it is!’

  A murmur ran through the crowd on the mole as the men there realised they would not be going this trip.

  ‘We’ll be back for you shortly!’ Ron shouted, bracingly. ‘Won’t take long!’ Then he reversed from the wall and The Sara Luz departed for the steamer. Tendrils of fog began to form and they puffed through them on route to The Mona's Isle.

  It was coming up to eleven o’clock. They’d made two journeys and were just about to head back for their third load, when–

  ‘Ahoy there!’ a ridiculously chirpy voice chimed out of the darkness.

  The Sea-Hawke hove into view and the Turnarounders gaped.

  King, wearing a peaked Captain’s cap, tipped at a jaunty angle, seemed to have forgotten all animosity towards them in the excitement of the moment. He spread his arms wide to take in the wounded men he had on board, the broken bodies and the weary faces, and flashed them a bright smile. ‘Isn’t this FUN!’ he cried to no one in particular.

  Ralf’s blood boiled. King really was a complete and utter berk.

  The two boats nudged each other and bumped into the thick hull of The Mona's Isle. There was a clack of gunfire from inland. Something droned in the distance but Ralf hardly heard it, his attention was so focused on The Sea-Hawke. Men at the rail had parted to reveal a windswept Gloria whose russet and gold colours could have put that evening’s sunset to shame.

  ‘Ralf!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had a feeling you’d come!’

  ‘Gloria!’ he cried, joyfully. ‘Thank goodness you’re safe!’

  King made retching noises at the comment but Ralf didn’t care he was so pleased to see her. Gloria made a swipe at her brother and gestured with her thumb toward Captain Keen who was just emerging from The Sea-Hawke’s cabin. ‘I’m fine! Of course I am. He was trying to leave on his own, though!’ she said. Keen grinned sheepishly. ‘Couldn’t let him, obviously. Damn fool thing to do! So we four came along as crew.’

  Leo frowned. ‘Four?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Munton hopped aboard to help and George?’ Gloria enquired, turning. ‘Where’ve you got to? George?’

  Tank Tatchell pushed his way through the men to stand at Gloria’s side. Unlike King, he seemed as unfriendly as usual. It was probably something to do with the length of time his miniscule brain took to process information, Ralf thought. Tank glowered at Leo then spotted Seth and shot him a hate filled look.

  ‘Enemy at twelve o’clock, Captain!’ he shouted.

  ‘Don’t be daft, George!’ said Gloria dismissively. ‘We’re all in this together. Now get over there and hold the ladder.’

  For a second Tank looked like he wasn’t going to budge and he rocked from foot to foot menacingly.

  ‘Tank!’ King snapped, his good humour beginning to evaporate. ‘Just get on with it!’

  Grudgingly, Tank did as he was told.

  ‘Hold fast that line, Captain Keen, and get Munton on deck’ King ordered. ‘We’re drifting.’

  ‘Right you are, Captain!’ Keen did a mock salute and gave Gloria a swift wink. He hauled on the line and The Sea-Hawke edged closer to the steamer. ‘Just remember, King, you are the Captain – but I am in charge. Mr Munton get up here now!’

  Ron moved to the prow of The Sara Luz and beckoned to Keen. The Captain struggled with his balance for a second then leaned over the rail towards Ron who began speaking in a low, urgent voice.

  ‘What are you going to do about Munton?’ Ralf asked Tom from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Ron’s telling Keen to keep an eye out right now,’ said Tom, curtly. ‘There’ll be time enough for anything else later.’ He saw Ralf’s expression and his voice softened. ‘Look, Ralf. I know he’s a bad ‘un but he’s a good seaman and right now King needs him. None of those others are sailors.’

  ‘But, Tom!’ Valen spluttered.

  ‘No, Val,’ said Tom firmly. ‘If Ron takes him now, he’ll be useless for the rest of the night. If we leave ‘im be, he’ll h
elp. There’s nothing to be gained from starting a fight now when there’s lives at stake. From what you’ve said the game’s up with him anyway. Kemp’s alive, and Hart’ll soon be safe if he isn’t already.’

  ‘What if he does a runner, though?’ Alfie asked.

  ‘Where to?’ Tom asked. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the Nazi’s can have ‘im!’

  Ron finished his conversation with Keen and returned to the wheel. The Captain seemed thoughtful then, hand clutching his service revolver. He frowned, glanced at Munton, then marched to the rail and positioned himself next to Gloria. He gave Ralf a long, complicated look and then nodded. Ralf looked at Leo but there was nothing he could say that would change the Arbuckles’ minds.

  ‘Alright,’ said Ron. He squinted up the rope ladder to see their last man reach the safety of The Mona's Isle. ‘Time for the next lot. We’ll keep an eye out for you, Keen! Give us a shout if you need any help, Gloria.’

  Gloria grinned. ‘Will do!’

  Nervously, Ralf checked his watch and his eyes met Valen’s as she looked up from checking her own. It was eleven fifteen.

  Tom turned the boat and they chugged back across the harbour. The fog was thicker now, hanging a foot above the surface of the water. Ron had put Ralf on lookout duty in the prow but it was hard to navigate because it felt like he was looking through a thin white veil. He frowned. With everything that was going on in his head, he barely registered that the droning sound he’d heard earlier was getting louder. Was it the noise or his concern about Gadd that was causing the electric prickle on his neck? He couldn’t be sure it was either but he knew that something wasn’t right. A couple of seconds later he realised what.

  Gunfire exploded into the dark and shattered the calm. Aeroplanes wailed high above.

  The men on the mole hit the ground like a cornfield before a hurricane but it was impossible to see things clearly in the treacly fog. All Ralf knew was that where once men had stood, they stood no longer. Bombs fell on the docks and exploded with red-green flames. The water thrashed with shrapnel and all around, the thickening air thronged with cries and shouts, some angry, some afraid and others filled with despair.

  The Sara Luz thudded into the mole with more force than it should and Leo ran to the side to check for hull damage. At the front of the men on the mole a Coldstream Guards Major, by the name of Swift, sprang to his feet.

  ‘Next fifty-six. Look lively!’

  Around him, men rushed to obey.

  There was a scuffling further down the mole and the men parted before a sprinting white eyed private, as if he was Moses himself. The private reached Swift who was bleeding freely from a wound at his left temple and passed him a filthy, sweat stained note. The major read the note and hastily refolded it.

  ‘You may tell Captain McGee that if I see either him or any of his Company within a quarter of a mile of Dunkirk before 08:00 hours, I’ll shoot him myself!’

  The private’s eyes flickered to the men around him then he saluted crisply and ran back the way he came.

  Aboard The Sara Luz they coiled ropes and prepared to leave for The Mona's Isle as planes continued to drone overhead. Ralf tried to keep his eyes on both Ron and Tom as the next group of men were herded aboard.

  Ralf glanced at his watch: Eleven twenty-two.

  ‘The next seventy-two please!’ Major Swift shouted his eyes fixed on The Sea-Hawke approaching behind them. ‘Get ready!’

  Ralf glanced up to see King at the wheel frowning in concentration. He gave Ralf a quick look, then returned to the difficult task of trying to dock in the churning water. The Sea-Hawke hit the mole with a loud crump.

  ‘Steady the Buffs!’ Captain Keen exclaimed cheerfully.

  Ralf and Valen exchanged tense smiles. Keen really was amazing. Nothing seemed to shake his good humour. It was the last thing that went through Ralf’s mind before everything fell apart.

  An enormous something exploded into the sea next to them. They were slammed by an arc of water that dashed on to the boat, pitching it to a 45˚ angle. Tom was smashed against the cabin where he crumpled, out cold.

  Eleven twenty-five exactly.

  More bombs fell. Screams of terror shuddered through the air along with gouts of water and scything shrapnel. Ralf’s face was blasted by a scorching wind and another arc of water deluged The Sara Luz.

  ‘The Sea-Hawke’s been hit!’ Alfie screamed.

  Ralf could just make out the Kingston-Hawke’s pleasure cruiser, listing dangerously to the port side, amidst the smoke and fog. Keen, Munton, King and Tank were prone on the deck. Gloria, face smudged with dirt, lips set in a thin line, her colour blazing in the night, fought the wheel which seemed to have developed a life of its own.

  Ralf judged the distance between the two vessels. It was a long way.

  ‘DO IT!’ Valen shouted, immediately aware of what he was considering.

  ‘GO, WOLF!’ Leo urged. ‘She can’t hold it on her own!’

  Ralf nodded, backed up a pace and, ignoring the perplexed expressions of the men around him, Shifted.

  He hit the deck of The Sea-Hawke with such force that he had to roll to stop himself smashing into the rail. Gloria blinked in confusion but gladly surrendered the wheel to his more experienced hands. She ran to her brother who lay stunned by the cabin door.

  ‘Leave him, Gloria!’ Ralf shouted, straining against the wheel, which threatened to tear itself from his grip. ‘He’s just stunned. We’re taking on water! I need you to get to the pumps! GLORIA!’

  The desperation in his voice must have got through, because Gloria jumped up again. ‘Where?’ she asked, simply.

  ‘Through the cabin. As far for’ard as you can go. Under one of the bunks! Open the lockers and you’ll see a handle!’

  She disappeared below. Ralf locked his arm round the wheel and, bracing himself, turned his attention to the others on deck. They were coming to. King sat like a rag doll, shaking his head groggily. Captain Keen lay on one side, awkwardly balanced on his good arm. The deck tilted further and the lump that was Tank’s body started to slide past Munton who, coming to, reached out a shaky hand to grab it. What was taking Gloria so long?

  ‘Great Scott!’ Gloria’s voice from below wavered with shock. ‘Ralf! Help me!’ she yelled. ‘Dear God! Help!’

  Help? Do what? What the hell was going on down there?

  Ralf didn’t know what he thought. All he knew was that he was impossibly grateful when King crawled forward to take the wheel. ‘I can hold it!’ his former friend croaked, manfully. King raised an eyebrow and gave Ralf a withering ‘girls!’ kind of look. ‘She probably needs help with the handle!’

  Ralf left him and charged down the steps below deck. From the lamp swinging from the ceiling Ralf could see that the galley was wrecked. Pans floated in a foot of lapping water and every expensive cup, glass and plate had been broken in the blast that had holed the vessel. Ralf splashed through it all, pushing floating debris from his path in his battle to get to the inner door to the cabins.

  Years later, he would be unable to say what he’d been expecting to find when he got there. All he knew was that he’d most definitely not been expecting what he did find. Gloria had found the locker. She’d opened it successfully but she hadn’t turned on the pumps. Presumably, she’d been too distracted by what was lying in front of her – the bound, gagged and half drowned body of Charles Hart!

  She’d got him part way out of the locker and was sawing at the rope around the actor’s wrists with a kitchen knife when Ralf splashed through the door to gape at her.

  ‘Don’t just stand there!’ she cried. ‘Help me!’

  Ralf surged forward. His mind boiled with questions but his fingers worked at the ropes even as he realised he could not answer them. Between them, he and Gloria freed Hart and got him to his feet where he swayed, weakly. Ralf reached into the locker to throw the pump handle but in his heart he knew it was too late. The Sea-Hawke had already taken on too much water.

 
‘We have to get out!’ he urged.

  Gloria nodded. She grabbed one of the actor’s arms and draped it over her shoulders, supporting him as he tried to wade to the door. Ralf rushed to the man’s opposite side but then there was splashing from the galley and Keen stood in the doorway. For one blissful moment Ralf was actually relieved. Then he saw the gun in his hand.

  ‘Step back, if you please!’ Keen ordered, all trace of his usual good humour gone from his face.

  Ralf groaned. ‘You!’

  The corner of Keen’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Quite,’ he said.

  Gloria was aghast. ‘For God’s sake, man! Put that thing away and help us!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you know how important this man is?’

  ‘Yes,’ Keen’s smile widened. His eyes flashed gold in the darkness of the cabin. ‘Do you?’ He turned to Ralf and gestured with his revolver. ‘Now if you would both be so kind as to step away. Mr Hart and I have to be going...’ Something in that look must have told Gloria how close to insanity Keen really was because, for once, she did as she was told and eased herself out from under Hart’s arm.

  Ralf hardly noticed. He was too flabbergasted. Keen? He couldn’t be the villain in all this, he just couldn’t!

  ‘But you were helping!’ he cried. ‘The night the boat lines were cut. It was you who called the coast guard! The fire at Kemps! You spent all night fighting it!’ Ralf shook his head. It didn’t make sense. ‘You even gave us chocolate!’ Absurdly, this seemed like the worst betrayal of all.

  ‘And you were properly taken in, weren’t you?’ Keen gloated. ‘Misdirection, Wolf! It worked every time! The wailing at the Sedleys’, the blood in the Village Hall! I had you all looking one way, when each time the real action was happening somewhere else!’

  ‘The Muntons were working for you!’ Ralf cried. ‘You created the diversions so the Muntons could move Hart undisturbed!’

  ‘And all those ghastly pranks up at the house?’ Gloria asked. ‘The dead fish? Locking up poor Rufus like that? Reducing Mother to a nervous wreck! For what purpose? What could you possibly hope to gain from it?’