by John Molloy
“I will write up our report, Henry and have it in Colombo when you arrive. You will not be going ashore there so one of the many boat girls that will visit your ship will be our means of communication. She will be no different from the other girls; she will be carrying her basket of goodies for sale but will have a red cloth hanging from her basket. Approach her with the code word ‘Buddha’. “She will then give you an envelope.”
The matron arrived with a bottle of Johnny Walker and a tray of clinking glasses with a bowl of ice.
“Before I pour, are there any other items of business we need to discuss?”
Henry thought for a bit and couldn’t think of anything. Maybe the cigarette was dulling his thinking. He felt it didn’t matter much anyway.
“No, I think we’ve covered everything.”
“Good, thank you.”
Fokir took the tray from the matron and poured two generous measures.
“Help yourself to the ice.”
They swirled the golden liquid round with the ice and drank one another’s health. Henry put the joint in an ashtray and lit up a Lucky Strike. He offered one to Fokir but he refused.
“I only smoke occasionally and I prefer the local weed!”
“It’s a bit strong for me; I prefer the tobacco kind. When this is all over I want to give you my address in England and if ever you are there you must come and visit.”
“I would like very much to meet you in dear old England. I will definitely come there again.”
“So Fokir, I want your address so I can write you when I get back home to normal duty.”
Fokir took out a small note pad and wrote his address then he tore it up and put it back in his pocket. “I should not have given you that cigarette, you know how dangerous it would be if your room mate found an address like this. You are in enough danger as it is.”
Fokir was much annoyed with himself for not thinking straight.
“Never mix business with pleasure Henry, it could be catastrophic.”
He stood up and finished his drink His great big smile was infectious as they shook his hand.
“I want to wish you every success my dear Henry.”
“Fokir, you are a great man, you’ve been so kind and helpful and I’ll be forever in your debt - goodbye.”
Fokir and the matron then left.
Henry sat sipping his whiskey and smiling to himself as he looked at the weed in the ashtray. “Bloody, pot,” he said under his breath, looking around the empty room. He finished his drink and stood to leave - there would be no goodbye for Nilima.
He reached the door leading out to the side alleyway and decided to go this way and not through the bar. The door opened just as he reached for the door handle and standing before him a little breathless from running, the most beautiful sight he thought he had ever seen. He gasped, “Nilima.”
She threw her arms around his back and rested her face on his chest. He could feel her panting like a frightened bird.
“Henry, wait, Henry”.
They walked back to the room and Nilima slid the bolt on the door and sat on Henry’s knee.
“You write me letter when you go away. I write to you Henry, I learn to write at college. Not too good English, but I learn more.”
“Of course I will write to you my precious and will look forward to your letters. To leave you is making me very sad, our worlds so far apart.”
Henry wrote out his address on a small sheet of paper she took out of her little bag, she handed him her address printed in careful in rounded capital letters.
“You have wonderful writing Nilima.”
“You like, I write to you some letters you, easy to read.”
“Yes it will be very easy to read it’s a work of art.”
She opened Henry’s shirt and moved her tiny hands over his chest.
“Like you wonderful love me. I read your letter and maybe cry.”
Their love making was prolonged and gentle. They spent a long while lying together with the smoothness of her body like silk, so exactingly molded and erotic. No were words spoken.
Henry sat up and Nilima pulled him back to her again, “not time Henry.”
He kissed her tenderly and pushed her silky hair back from her face.
“I must go.”
He dressed and what rupees he had, he put into her little bag. Nilima walked with him to the alleyway door and kissed him goodbye. He stood for a little while looking down the narrow alley. There were a couple of mangy dogs sniffing around in desperation more than hope of finding food. The sight of the shacks where human beings existed was an indictment to all developed countries of their neglect to their fellow man.
The effects of the weed he’d smoked hadn’t completely worn off, so he decided against getting a rickshaw as the walk back to the ship would clear his head.
He needed his full faculties when he reached the dark area of the dock and he pulled his knife out and opened the blade. He was cautious and walked in the clear space where the bales had been loaded into the ship. His view, although in semi darkness, was unimpeded. He stopped several times listening and the only sound he though he heard was some of the dock girls doing business with noisy customers behind the jute not far from him. He was happy to reach his cabin. He couldn’t believe how late it was; it was one in the morning. Gary Conrad was snoring, fast asleep, and didn’t hear him come in and fall exhausted onto his bunk.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oswyn Welland wasn’t on board for breakfast and one of the pantry staff said he heard he might not join the ship but maybe travel onto Colombo separately. This pantry rumor, like most, was proven untrue when he arrived on board an hour before sailing at fourteen hundred hours.
Sailing from Bombay - like leaving most ports - gave the crew a sense of purpose; there was work to be done and most were happy to be back at sea.
The deck watches were of extreme importance to Henry and he went to the recreation room first night out and sat around playing cards intent on finding out which of the able seamen had watch duty and what watches they were on. There were three seamen appointed to each watch, the twelve to four, the four to eight, and the eight to twelve - two able seamen and one ordinary seaman to each watch. Henry was hoping that Tukola and his roommate would be appointed the same watch; if so, it would give him a great chance to search their cabin. It was coming up to twenty hundred hours and the new watch was coming on. One of the watch keepers going off duty from the four to eight would make tea for the incoming men. Henry was disappointed to see Tukola’s roommate coming into the pantry for tea before going on the eight to twelve, while Tukola was still playing cards in the recreation room. He knew there would be no chance to search his cabin this trip.
Shortly after this, Tukola stood up to leave saying he was going to get his head down as he was first wheel on the twelve to four watch. Henry went on deck and sat up on number four hatch, lit up a Lucky Strike and inhaled the smooth smoke while gazing out over the calm dark ocean. He saw the lights of passing ships and somehow it brought Vera to mind; it seemed so long ago and in a different world. Nilima the beautiful girl seemed to be somewhere beckoning to him the wonder and sadness of meeting such a person. Yes that was the expression ‘ships that pass in the night’. There was a faint flashing light on the port side that was land; the coast of India stretching away for a thousand miles to the island of Ceylon and its capital city, Colombo, their next port of call. The ship’s movement was the only stirring of air, the stars were hiding behind a low cloud and the humidity was oppressive.
Henry heard voices coming from the alleyway leading to the foredeck then the deck hands began to appear. The chief officer was rigged out in a white boiler suit - he was brandishing a flashlight.
“Jump down from there,” he said to Henry, “you can help with these storm battens.”
“Aye-aye sir,” he said. The light was dim on the deck but Henry could see they were hauling out long flat lengths of metal bars from between the ma
st house and the hatch and stretching them across the hatches. Henry stood alongside one of the ordinary seamen and asked him how he could help.
“Get up on the hatch there mate and pull this batten across to meet the one from the other side.”
Henry did as he was told. They were clipping the bars under the hatch combing and laying it across the hatch covers which were tarpaulin over the timber hatch boards. The one they called chippy, (the carpenter) had two adjustable wrenches and after fitting a bolt into two lugs on the middle of the storm batten, he proceeded to tighten the nut on the bolt holding the storm batten tight in place. Henry saw what was expected of him and placed the storm battens, keeping them opposite the ones coming from the other side of the hatch, and after about an hour, all the hatches were battened and ready for the storm the chief officer told them they had just received a warning for. Henry heard him tell the boatswain to close all storm doors along the decks and check all derrick guy ropes make sure they were secure and to check the anchor storm covers and securing chains. The chief officer continued to issue forth instructions to the boatswain: “Close the dead lights on all ports along both alleyways and no one was to go out on deck. All watch keepers going to and from the bridge were to use the inside stairs. Pass this on to the engine men and none are to go on deck to dump clinkers until I give the all clear. Rig life lines on both forward and after decks just in case of an emergency.”
“Aye-aye, sir, said the boatswain, “I’ll see to that right away and when do we expect to be into this weather?”
“The latest position of this cyclone was about five hundred miles south of us and it’s moving in a north-westerly direction at a speed of forty knots with wind speeds of up to a hundred and ten miles an hour. With a bit of luck it might track out into the Indian Ocean, but we have to be prepared for a battering if it doesn’t.” He turned and went back up to the bridge to report to the captain.
The captain was in the chart room leaning over the chart and with a pair of dividers he was measuring the distance we would travel in six hours and the distance the storm would travel in the same time. He turned to the chief officer, “I was just calculating how long before we get the first of this storm, it seems about eight hours. Everything secure on deck?”
“Yes sir, all battened down and secure.”
“I think we might be a bit close to the coast for comfort.” He put the dividers on the coast line and the ship’s course line and measured at the side of the chart. “Ten miles, not a lot, the wind will blow us off the land coming from an easterly direction but as the storm passes over it, will change to westerly, so we’d be better to give ourselves more room.”
“Yes, sir, I suggest we alter course thirty degrees to starboard.”
The captain laid the dividers back on the chart and looked at the barometer. “Falling, better keep an eye on it. Yes thirty degrees should do, you lay off the new course and I’ll give the change to the quartermaster.” The captain went into the wheelhouse and gave the order to alter course thirty degrees to starboard. “Let me know when you are on your new course.”
The repeat order came from the darkness “Thirty degrees to starboard, sir.”
The ship’s head swung across the dark ocean where the horizon and sky was just as one. Only the fiery streaks of lightning split the dark clouds to the sea. There was no thunder, only the flashing of lightning like the blitz on European cities during the war. The helmsman spoke his course. “Steering two one zero sir.”
“Steady at that.”
The chief officer handed over the watch to the third mate and left the bridge. The captain stayed looking out at the calm black sea. There was a noticeable lift in the ship’s motion now. He turned to the third mate. “There’s a swell rising, we might get some heavy rain that’s usually the trend with these tropical storms.”
The third mate walked out onto the wing of the bridge with the binoculars; he was looking at a ship crossing the Rangoon’s bows. He gave an order to the helmsman: “starboard thirty degrees.” The altered course to starboard brought her beam on to the big glassy swell. She rolled like a drunken sailor and started shipping sea onto her port decks.
The captain stood at the windows with his legs braced to steady himself against the severe roll. He waited until the crossing ship had passed to the port side and soon the Rangoon was back on course again. He called to the third mate who was on the wing of the bridge: “If the visibility gets any worse, turn on the radar and don’t be afraid to call me if you need me.” As he turned to leave the wheelhouse, the rain started; it came bucketing down, splashing off the deck on the bridge wing and the windows. The captain turned back, “turn on your radar third.”
“Aye-aye sir.”
Henry felt strangely happy after coming off deck having helped the deck hands batten down the hatches. He was standing in his cabin, towel wrapped round his middle after showering; he felt the change in the ship’s motion as she began to roll. He closed the port and dropped the dead light tightening it home. He looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe how the sun could have lightened his hair to such a pale blonde. He was tanned all over and his face had a lean look; he felt fitter than ever in his life and his blue eyes looked sharp and serious. Perspiration trickled down his body. How could anyone sleep in their cabin in this sweltering heat and humidity? he thought. He opened the door full but the heat from the alleyway was every bit the same. He directed the air vent across his bunk; it was blowing the hot air straight from deck and had no cooling effect. He lay down naked and tried to read. He knew he couldn’t go on deck as the captain had forbidden all hands to go outside - all the storm doors were closed anyway. It was twenty three hundred hours when he switched out the light and tried to sleep. He heard Gary Conrad come in and ask, “are you asleep Henry, bloody hot in this alleyway?”
Henry feigned sleep he didn’t feel like having a con-flab with Conrad at that moment. He spent a restless night drenched in perspiration, feeling the motion of the ship becoming more violent as she pitched mercilessly to the huge head on sea. He was relieved to get up at seven hundred hours and start work in the officer’s saloon. He had to sprinkle water on all the linen table cloths and put up the small side boards round the tables. He screwed the chairs to the deck and when he had all this done, he began to lay the cutlery and condiments. The young radio operator was first in; his red mop bathed in perspiration. Henry watched him as he looked around as if expecting someone to jump up from under a table. You are one disturbed fellow, Henry thought to himself.
”What will it be, orange juice or grapefruit?”
“Grapefruit please.”
As a steward, Henry shouldn’t have engaged him in conversation, but as there was no one else around he thought, why not.
“Bad weather forecast I believe?”
“Yes, the six hundred forecast gave winds reaching a hundred and twenty miles an hour.”
“Wow, in for a bit of a battering. So how did you enjoy our last port?”
“I enjoyed the sights and the shops. Sad to see so many poor children it doesn’t seem right that that should be.”
“No, I suppose not but it’s a cruel world.”
The ship drove into a heavy sea and Henry held onto a table. It seemed she would never come up out of it. Then slowly she began to rise up on the next sea.
“Holy cow,” he exclaimed, “that must have been a mountain.”
He went to get the breakfast and he saw that the second steward was white with fear, standing in the pantry. He looked Henry in the eyes and spoke with trepidation.
”Thought she wouldn’t rise herself out of that one, it’s like being in a submarine, can’t even see daylight from our cabins.”
“I know, and the heat is unbearable, hard to get a bit of shut eye in these conditions. Give me a double helping for that young radio lad.”
“Bloody hell,” the second steward exclaimed, “he’s some fucking gannet and he looks like he never got a bite to eat.”
&n
bsp; The captain and chief officer were in the saloon when he went back in. The captain spoke to Henry.
“Just the fried breakfast please steward. She’s hove to for now so you can tell the chief steward she’ll be easy for the next few hours. Hope to be out of the worst of it by evening and we can breathe a bit of fresh air again.”
He left and told the chief steward who had come into the pantry.
“I’ll pass it on to the cooks. It’s like a mini hell in that galley at the moment.”
Henry got to serve the afternoon smoko onto the bridge and was glad to get a look out at the daylight when he got to the wheelhouse. My good Jesus, look at those seas, he thought. The ship was hove too and not making any headway through the water, just holding her course riding out the monstrous seas. The second mate shouted at him. ”Hold on.” She rode over a great ‘white back’ shipping water across her complete foredeck then she plunged into the trough and buried herself half way up the fore part to the wheelhouse. Henry could only gaze speechless - she’ll never come out of this, he thought. There was nothing forward to see only the mast sticking up out of a raging sea. It seemed an age before she began to rise slowly, throwing the hundreds of tons of water off her decks as she came up onto the next big foaming monster. The hatches were visible for a brief minute before she was awash again. The second mate was watching for any damage to the canvas covers on the hatches and to see if the storm battens were holding; so far they were intact. The timber hatches were the most vulnerable part of a ship in very stormy conditions, and if they gave way she would flood her holds and most likely take a list and founder. The second mate, a man of about fifty and an experienced old salt was looking out the windows up at the sky. There were slight breaks in the heavy dark low cloud. He muttered under his breath, “the wind is going round to the west; it should start to ease soon.” Not soon enough for me, Henry thought.
He looked at Henry.
“Are you waiting for something steward?”
“No, sir just looking.”
“Here, you can take this empty cup with you.”