A Prayer for the Ship

by Douglas Reeman

  As he turned to go, his head spinning with calculations, she checked him, but as he looked questioningly at her, she stepped back, her expression one of suppressed excitement.

  “No, no, you go now,” she said quickly. “You’re a captain again. I’ll tell you later.”

  He gave her a puzzled smile, and ran for the wardroom colliding with Leach.

  “Royston says Proceed, sir,” he gasped.

  “Very good. Now you tell your friend Ann to get her coat and hat. I’m dropping the guests on Page’s boat until we get back. You go with them, and keep the party going until we get back.”

  Leach was aghast. “But all those women!”

  “It’s all right. Page’s Number One’ll be coming with you. If he can still walk!”

  He laughed wildly as he hurried for the bridge, at the excited squeaks from the girls, at the sight of a glassy-eyed seaman standing on the rain-lashed deck in his underpants, and, above all, at himself.

  The engines roared belligerently into life, and the boat trembled with anticipation.

  Carver stood at his side. “Which chart, sir?”

  “Don’t want one,” he shouted. “It’s only round the corner!”

  He peered over the screen at the dim, shining figures on the fo’c’sle. One of them waved.

  “Ready to slip, sir!” Raikes’s voice carried like a foghorn.

  “Here, Number One, take the wheel. Leave old Raikes to manage that lot down there.”

  The night was as black as pitch, and the rain was driven like icy darts into their faces, as it lashed the exposed decks.

  “Slip!” he yelled hoarsely, and as the wire rasped back through the fairleads, he felt the boat borne sideways by the wind, wallowing uncomfortably.

  “Ahead together, half speed,” ordered Royce carefully, and was rewarded by the engines’ change of tempo, as with a purposeful thrust they pushed the boat forward into the teeth of the weather.

  Squinting into the darkness, he could just make out the dim shape of the solitary M.T.B. against the wharf, and slowly he jockeyed towards her.

  He took a quick glance down to the waist, where he saw the huddled group of guests waiting to change boats. Page’s Number One waved what looked like a bottle in his direction. “Ready to go!” he called. Right, this had to be just so, and with great precision he brought the boat under the lee of the stonework, and alongside the other vessel, where the forewarned crew gathered eagerly to welcome their visitors.

  “All gone, sir!” And with a throaty growl they swung round and motored for the boom-gate. A green light winked brightly ahead, and Royce grabbed the Aldis to shutter a reply. Then, gripping the rail and rocking back on his heels, he let the weather hold him in its grasp.

  “Here we go, then. Full ahead both!”

  Once outside the shelter of the headland, the boat shuddered to the wind’s mounting punch, and solid sheets of spray swept up and over the masthead. It was like racing into a solid black void, with nothing to guide them but the swinging compass card, and a distant winking wreck-buoy.

  Raikes clambered on to the bridge, breathing heavily, his oilskin streaming. “All secure on deck, sir.”

  “Very good, take over the wheel.”

  Carver willingly relinquished the helm, and steadied himself against the chart table, wiping his face with a sodden handkerchief. “Strewth, what a night! Still, it’s better than going out for a game of ‘catch’ with Jerry,” he called.

  “Better go below, and make sure the wardroom’s all right. We don’t want everything smashed before we get back!”

  Carver waved, and ducking his head, scrambled down along the glistening deck.

  “You know the place, ’Swain?” asked Royce, peering at Raikes’s bulky shape.

  “Aye, sir, we’ll be up to it in about ten minutes, I should think.”

  “Right, we’ll get the new towing hawser out on deck. And a few fenders too. Just in case!”

  “Already done it, sir,” chuckled Raikes.

  It was at that moment Royce became aware of the girl standing at the rear of the bridge, clutching with both hands at the signal locker for support. He reached her in a bound, and helped her to the lee side, behind the glass screen.

  “Did you come up alone?” he yelled, his voice anxious.

  “No, it’s all right. A sweet little seaman wanted to help me, but I practically had to carry him!”

  He shook his head admiringly. She made a heartening sight, clad in an oversize duffle coat and oilskin. Protruding from beneath these billowing garments, he saw an ungainly pair of rubber boots. She stood now, laughing at him, her hair whipped back by the wind, her face running with spray, while she struggled to keep her feet.

  “Well,” he said at length, when he realized he was staring rather hard. “What do you think of her?” And he waved his arm, embracing the darkened boat.

  “Marvellous! She’s all you said, and more. I never realized how fast they were, before. But you will be careful, won’t you?”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll not take any risks with you aboard.”

  An extra-big wave slapped angrily at the boat’s lifting bows, and Julia slipped sideways across the canting deck, her clumsy boots skidding helplessly. Royce roughly encircled her waist with his arm, while he grabbed the rail with his other hand, pulling her safely against his body. Then he stood behind her, gripping the rail on either side of her, and acting as a cushion for any further sudden lurches.

  “Phew, thanks very much,” she laughed shakily. “You nearly lost your passenger, just then!”

  He smiled happily and pulled her close, peering over her head at the angry waters approaching them, while her damp hair rippled against his chin. Her nearness, the boat, and the wild exhilaration of the weather intoxicated him.

  He gripped her tighter, and pointed suddenly, as a lazy red flare arched over the black wastes, and fell slowly, spluttering into the sea. “There she is! Right on the button!”

  She twisted in his grasp, looking back at him. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Tow him. That’s about all we can do at the moment.”

  Carver and Page had joined the knot of seamen behind the bridge, and Royce could vaguely hear their shouted orders, as they struggled with the heavy hawser, which, like all its breed, had a mind of its own. He turned his attention back to the Rescue Launch, for as Raikes swung the M.T.B. round in a semi-circle, with the engines’ roar slowly diminishing, he could plainly see her bright yellow upperworks swaying sickeningly, as the helpless boat jerked to a canvas sea-anchor, her decks awash.

  The girl felt his body tense, and when he spoke to Raikes, his voice, too, was different, hard and cool. “Near as you can, Cox’n. Don’t crowd her. I’m going to speak to the skipper.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The hands turned the spokes, almost gently.

  Royce blew into the mouthpiece of the loud-hailer, and it whistled plaintively. “D’you hear, there? Are you still intact?”

  “I think so!” The answering voice was distorted by the wind. “Thank you for leaving your party just for little old me!”

  Royce could easily read the agony of worry behind that jocular greeting. He knew too well the shortcomings of such a boat, left engineless in such a sea.

  “I’m going round again, then I’m passing a line to you, for the towing warp. O.K.?”

  “Aye, but watch you don’t get it round your screws!”

  His next remarks were drowned by the roar of the M.T.B.’s engines, as Raikes swung her neatly away, to avoid being flung against the other boat’s side by a white-hooded wave which reared with sudden fury.

  Unconsciously, Royce had taken out his pipe, and clenched it grimly between his teeth, while he weighed up the situation. Julia moved away, and clung quietly in the corner, watching him, heedless of the spray which stung her cheek.

  “Port side to! Get ready with the lines!” bellowed Royce, hoping that Carver’s head was now properly clear. He found time t
o smile at the thought of Benjy, who, shorn of responsibility, now lay comfortably in the wardroom with Murray, singing discordantly.

  There she was again. He could see the white numbers on her flat stern, rolling through a ninety degree arc.

  “Stand by!”

  The boat moved in fast, like an experienced boxer, then, as they stood stem to stem, barely twenty feet apart, the engines stopped, and a burly seaman sprang to the rail, gauging the distance.

  “Let her go!” roared Royce, and the seaman’s arm soared, sending the line snaking into the darkness. There was a faint tinkle of glass.

  “Right through her blasted wheelhouse winder!” breathed Raikes admiringly. There had been a seven-pound wrench on the end of the line.

  “Heave away, lads! Roundly!”

  He was rewarded to see the airmen whipping in the slack of the line as fast as they could manage under such desperate conditions. It seemed an age before the eye of the hawser was reluctantly swinging across the gap, and all the time, Captain and Coxswain used every knack and every trick of engines and rudder, to stop the boats colliding.

  “All fast, sir!” Carver waved his dripping cap wildly.

  Slowly, painfully, they drew ahead, holding their breath as the hawser rose out of the sea, tightened, throwing off a shower of drips like a wet dog, and then settled down to take the strain. The Rescue Launch veered round, fell in behind them, and obediently allowed herself to be taken home.

  Royce didn’t take his eyes off her, however, until they crawled through the protective arms of the boom, and under the shelter of the wind-swept jetties of the base.

  They eased their charge alongside, and as the lines snaked ashore, the M.T.B. slipped the tow, and made for her own moorings.

  “Many thanks, Navy!” The “Fisherman” waved after them thankfully.

  “It was a pleasure!”

  Royce breathed out deeply, and stretched. “Not too bad, eh, Cox’n?”

  “Not bad, sir.”

  Carver and Page appeared on the bridge, grinning like schoolboys.

  “What an original party you give,” Page chuckled. “Nothing like a bit of excitement. I wonder what old Kirby would have said about it?”

  “Funny you should say that. I was just thinking, a few months ago we couldn’t have done anything like it. Any of us. You’ve got to hand it to old Kirby, he’s taught us a lot, and I think he’s learned a bit from us.”

  He watched narrowly, as the seamen picked up the buoy-ring, and hooked on. “Stop engines.”

  The tide gripped the boat, and swung her firmly into line with the other moored craft.

  “You’re probably right,” confessed Page. “But I still say he’s an awkward cuss.”

  “Well, let’s go and finish the party,” said Royce sadly. “I think I see our other guests coming over in a motor-boat. Number One, make to Royston: Mission Completed. ” In his heart he knew he was only trying to spin out the time, to put off the moment of her departure. “Come below, Julia. You must be frozen.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “Not a bit of it. I’ll bet the others will be terribly jealous.”

  Below, in the snug atmosphere of the wardroom, Royce suddenly wanted to be rid of his friends, of everyone else but Julia, but he grinned ruefully, and submitted to the mounting noise of enjoyment.

  Julia’s face was fresh and alive from her boisterous sea trip, and she hung back from the door, a finger on her lips. “I’m not coming in like this,” she whispered. “I’m going to put a new face on, and get rid of your sea-going robes.” She faltered, and turned back to him, her face suddenly serious, and Royce stepped into the passage, his face inquiring.

  “I think you were superb,” she said, her eyes warm. “I shall always remember you like that. It helps me to understand, to realize what you are going through, when you are out there—”

  “I was just trying to make an impression on you.” He grinned awkwardly. “After all, I did promise you a trip, when I came up to Rosyth.”

  She wrinkled her nose prettily. “Don’t try to fool me. Now you go and fix me a nice drink, because I expect I shall suddenly start to feel a bit weak, in a minute.”

  He stared after her. I feel a bit weak now, he thought.

  They sat for the rest of the time, side by side, hardly speaking, yet each fully conscious of the other, and only dimly aware of the din and clamour.

  Murray was trying grimly to stand on his head in one corner, and drink a pint of beer at the same time, until Benjy took the opportunity to empty a soda syphon down his leg, to the hilarious delight of the two Wren officers.

  Leach and the small girl, now looking completely dazed, were dancing slowly and dreamily in the middle of the ward-room, although the gramophone had long since ceased to play. Of Carver and the Waaf there was no sign.

  Page lurched happily over to them, and sat heavily on the table. He grinned vacantly at Julia. “Some party, eh?” He helped himself to another drink, and nodded drowsily. Then, with a jerk, he looked at her again. “By the way, are you coming to see the boy here get his gong next week?”

  “Gong?” she queried, looking strangely at Royce. “Tell me about it.”

  Heedless of Royce’s frown, he chattered on. “Well, he’s going to get his medal officially from the top brass, that’s what,” he confided.

  She looked at Royce seriously. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, I forgot to mention it,” he mumbled uncomfortably.

  She let her eyes fall to the small ribbon on his chest. “I’d very much like to be there,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think I can manage it so soon after my leave.”

  “Between you and me, it terrifies me,” he confessed. “And I’d put it out of my mind for a bit, thanks to you.”

  “Write to me about it, won’t you?”

  “About everything, Julia. It’s been so wonderful, having you here.”

  They sat looking at each other, and only came back to reality when a red-faced Petty Officer thrust his head into the doorway.

  “Anyone for the shore, please?” he boomed. “I’m collecting all guests, and this is the last boat.”

  “Give him a drink, quick!” hissed Royce, banging Page to life with his elbow. He stood up heavily, the joy draining out of him. “I’ll help you get your things.”

  He watched her putting on her borrowed duffle coat, and tying the silk scarf over her head, heedless of the other girls, who were laughing and chattering gleefully. Carver had appeared, a trifle sheepishly, with the tall Waaf, and he noted that his collar was smeared with lipstick. They let the others go ahead, both dreading the moment of parting.

  “What time do you leave tomorrow?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “Eleven o’clock. I shall get back to Rosyth in time for the forenoon watch the day after.”

  The keen night air seemed hostile. He put his hands on her waist, and pulled her to him. “I do so wish you’d reconsider, Julia. Please believe me when I tell you that there’ll never be anyone else. Ever. I know I’ve only known you such a short time, and I know too that you could get any man, just by raising your little finger. But I want you, so very much.”

  For a moment she stood still in his arms, then, with a sudden force, she put her arms round his neck, pulling herself closer, her eyes bright. “That was what I was saving to tell you,” she murmured. “I know now what I want.” He felt her body tremble, and her hands gripped his neck fiercely. “I do love you, Clive, I love you so much.”

  A starshell seemed to burst before his eyes, blinding him, and there was a great roaring in his ears, and the next instant they were clinging to each other, and she was kissing him hard. As she broke away from him, he tasted the salt from her cheek, the spray or tears, he couldn’t say.

  “No, don’t hold me again, Clive, I must go,” she cried. “But if you want me, I’ll come to you again, somehow.”

  Blindly, they ran out on to the deck. A fat harbour launch, crammed with noisy passe
ngers, was bumping alongside, while her coxswain leaned impatiently over the rail.

  She was half-laughing and half-crying, and Royce was in a dream. She stepped down on to the crowded boat, and immediately the ropes were cast off, and a widening gulf of water grew between them. He shouted wildly, following the boat the full length of the M.T.B., to the delight of the passengers.

  “I’ll try to get to the station tomorrow!”

  But he couldn’t be sure if she had heard him, although she waved until the boat was swallowed up in the blackness. He was sure of only one thing. He was the happiest, luckiest man alive.

  10 |

  WHEN A COUNTRY DECIDES TO GO TO WAR , it is not just the people who, willingly or unwillingly, take on a new and uncertain guise, and as in the case of England, draw together in some sort of uniform and hopeful tolerance of enforced discipline, its very way of life alters. From Buckingham Palace to the humblest home with its blackout curtains and pathetic backyard air-raid shelter, from the schoolhouse which has become a casualty station, to the church hall which has changed overnight to a Home Guard headquarters. Or the Southend paddle steamer now sweeping mines, alongside the millionaire’s yacht marshalling a convoy in Weymouth Bay. All these, and more, become part of the pattern.

  What had once been the rambling clearing house for fish, brought in by the trawler and drifter fleets of the east coast, had suddenly suffered such a transformation. It was a high-roofed building, over a hundred yards in length, with a smooth concrete floor, and two of its walls open to the elements and the wharf fronts. The comfortable peacetime untidiness had been changed to one of ordered neatness, with whitewashed bricks, loading bays for lorries, carefully marked with coloured signs and helpful arrows. At the far end, where the girls of the port used to tear with gory relish at the vast piles of herrings, a mountain of ammunition boxes awaited disposal, while in a dark corner on trestles, a headless torpedo, liberally smeared in golden grease, was nearing the end of its long journey.

  Normally, the “Shed,” as it was known by the naval population, was a turbulent centre of activity, a constant whirlpool of men and material which swept from office to shipyard, and from ship to sea. Today was different. It was one of those special days, which every so often the Navy earmarks, and puts aside for a suitably special occasion. One moment the Navy’s private world is full of bustle and noise, with sweating men in shabby clothes working desperately, always with time against them, and then, quite suddenly, all that is changed. Here, at this moment, all those same men are drawn up in neat lines, smartly dressed in their best uniforms, the blue ranks forming three sides of a square. A silvery sun is forcing its way through the unsettled banks of cloud, to settle briefly on the set faces, and to reflect but momentarily on the gold badges, and the gleaming bayonets of a Marine guard. They have come together just for this short while, knowing full well that in a few hours they will be back at their work again, cursing the Service, and the war. There are all sorts of sailors present, ranging from the base personnel, to the hardened veterans of the destroyers and mine-sweepers, whose shore-time can be counted in hours. The bulk of the men, however, are the crews of the Light Coastal Forces, lined up with their officers, and quietly waiting to witness the nation’s appreciation of their valour. For although but a few medals are to be presented, every man here knows, be he Captain or signalman, gunner or cook, stoker or Lieutenant, that he can share in their winning, and feel a just pride in the deed which has gained the small piece of gleaming metal.