I didn’t need the alarm the next morning, as Hepi and Bertha shattered the silence again, this time loaded with John Royce’s gear, including the portable furnace and enough oxygen and acetylene cylinders to make Bertha really grunt. John was already on-site and guided Hepi back to where he wanted him. Then he leaped up on the scaffold to swing the spout over the mould.
‘Couldn’t be better!’ he called.
‘We aim to please,’ Hepi replied, with his usual cheeky grin.
‘My boys should be here any minute,’ John continued. ‘I’ll get them straight on to cutting up the old keel. Because of the size of this baby, the pot won’t hold enough to do it in one pour, so we’ll have to set some burners up to keep the lead molten in the mould while we get the second pour ready.’
‘No sweat,’ replied Hepi, as if he did this type of job every day.
John’s men arrived and stood motionless as he lambasted them for their tardiness, but once that was out of the way they were hard at work with the gas-axes, slicing off manageable lumps of the old keel and placing them in the furnace.
It was a hot, smelly job as the torches produced rivulets of shiny silver liquid that ran onto the ground and quickly solidified. The outer layer of the old keel had absorbed salt and other aquatic matter, which filled the air with a pungent marine odour.
With heavy gauntlets to protect their hands, they filled the furnace pot, and John checked the temperature. On his signal, I climbed in the pit and lit the burners to heat the mould. The molten metal raced out of the spout and into the bottom of the waiting cavity, then they reloaded the pot. This time the lumps disappeared more quickly, and John opened the gatevalve, topping the mould to the brim.
Dad arrived as we were turning off the burners, and beamed when he saw the result.
‘You know when to make an appearance, don’t you!’ I called, as the sweat dripped from the end of my nose.
‘It’s all about timing,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘When you lot are packed up, you’d better come up to the house, and we’ll see if we can replace some of that lost fluid.’
Over the next few days, Sam and I did the finishing touches to ensure Erewhon was watertight above deck.
Paint arrived one afternoon with extensions for the cradle when the keel was in place, and the following morning Bill and Ted roared up the drive with their huge cranes.
Hepi backed the Nissan into the barn and hooked up, ready to tow the hull outside for the last time. Dad was assisting him while the cranes got into position. Hepi dropped the Nissan into gear, and Erewhon edged out into the morning sun.
‘It’s like giving birth,’ Mum whispered to Mic.
The hull gleamed in the warm sun, and Bill and Ted waited patiently as Hepi inched it through the doors and into their reach. As the lift strops were positioned, we placed extra padding between them and the hull.
‘Stacey Barrett from Norths tells me the varnish is bulletproof, but I’m still a little wary,’ I said to Bill, over the cackle of his engine. He nodded, but reassured us he’d never marked a hull yet.
On the nod, the crane engines roared and Erewhon rocketed skyward. When the hull stopped swinging, we positioned the keel on the cradle under the hull, and Bill and Ted slowly lowered her. As if by magic, the keel bolts disappeared into the keel stub.
I placed a ladder against the hull, and Sam and I climbed on board with nuts, washers and a large ratchet-spanner. Sam eyed the shiny threads protruding through the keelson. ‘Here, lad,’ he said, handing me a small tube of grease. ‘Put a smear of this on those threads before you do them up as tight as you can. We’ll check them after she’s been in the water for a week.’
That done, we reappeared on deck, sweat oozing from every pore. I climbed down the ladder and stepped back from the hull. This was the first time since we found her that we’d seen Erewhon in one piece, and Mic had the usual tears rolling down her cheeks. I couldn’t take my eyes off Erewhon’s gleaming hull and shiny silver keel. It seemed a shame that the underwater sections would be masked with anti-fouling paint. Sam put a stepladder from the barn alongside the hull, then climbed up and patted Jack’s mark. ‘Well done, old friend,’ he muttered.
‘Jack says the same to you, Sam,’ Mic called out.
Sam smiled.
Paint, who’d been helping Bill and Ted pack up, walked over to the truck and stripped off his shirt. He reached into the truck and turned back towards us, holding a taiaha, and I saw that his body was as tattooed as his face. He moved forward until he stood directly beneath Erewhon’s bow, and when the others noticed him they all fell silent. Suddenly, he began a powerful haka, the likes of which none of us had ever seen. He was a fearsome sight, and Erewhon seemed to tremble in his presence. As he finished, he rested the spear on the keel and backed away in silence. The air was still, and even the birds in the trees nearby fell silent.
Mic was rigid as Hepi took her by the hand and escorted her forward. He gestured towards the spear, and Mic knelt on the ground to pick it up. Immediately, the birds started to sing again, and a gentle breeze wafted around the barn. Paint walked back to the truck and put his shirt back on. Without a word, he disappeared down the drive.
Dumbfounded, we all stood there looking at each other.
Hepi explained: ‘Paint just removed all the bad spirits from Erewhon and handed her spiritual well-being to Mic.’ He turned to face the hull and broke into a karakia. Then he turned and beckoned us to stand alongside him. We placed our hands on the keel, in silence, as Hepi finished. Then, like Paint, he turned away in silence, walked over to Bertha, scrambled up into the cab, and was gone.
Dad looked at Sam. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked.
Sam shook his head. ‘I’m guessing you might know,’ he replied, looking at Mic.
Mic paused for a moment, nodding as if she was listening to a voice we couldn’t hear. Finally, she spoke. ‘Nana tells me there was a hullabaloo when Jack purchased the timber for the hull. Because of the difficulty of handling large logs in those days, most of them were cut into sections, but Jack wanted full-length planking. He searched far and wide to get suitable supplies.’
Sam nodded. ‘The timber we ended up using came from a log that had been felled for a waka. The iwi weren’t too happy when they found out that one of their lot had sold it to Jack. They were so incensed about the deal that the tohunga put a tapu on it. They told him that any boat built with that timber would come to a very bad end! I remember we used to laugh about it when we were building Erewhon, dismissing it as mumbo-jumbo. I’m not so sure now.’
Mic looked at Dad. ‘So what do you think, Jim?’
‘Let’s hope this means all the demons have gone.’
16
That night, we all gathered over dinner to discuss what sort of ceremony Erewhon should have at her re-launch. Dad was determined that the occasion wouldn’t pass uncelebrated. He wanted to launch her in the creek at the back of the farm, so we needed a spring tide. The next one was too soon, only a week away, and we still had to anti-foul the hull and do a few other finishing touches. The next spring tide was in a month: the 25th of November.
Mic gasped. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but that was the date of the original launch back in 1929!’
‘By jingoes, you’re right,’ Sam confirmed. ‘I remember it well—flat on my back in hospital with my leg in a sling.’
Dad picked up the calendar. ‘No argument then? Launch day is the 25th.’
Mum looked up. ‘Who’ll be coming, and how are we going to feed them?’
‘Everybody who’s had a hand in the rebuild, including Paint’s iwi. We’ve got a promise to keep,’ Dad replied, ‘so we’ll get in a catering team. They had the Navy band at the original launch, didn’t they?’ he asked, looking at Mic.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Nana says they were wonderful!’
‘I don’t know that we could do the same these days, but I wonder if Matt’s old band could be persuaded to perform?’
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‘Dunno, but they’re always looking for funds and an excuse to play,’ he replied.
‘Good. Now, Sam, can you contact all your friends and let us know how many are likely to come?’
Sam nodded.
‘What about TJ and his crew? Do you think I should e-mail them?’ Matt asked.
‘Too right. We need to show them what they’re up against!’ Dad chuckled.
‘How about Looney?’ Mum chipped in.
‘Definitely!’ Dad replied. ‘I’ll get Fatman to get hold of him. In fact, I’d like him to ferry the entourage down-harbour to where we can set the sails.’
Mum turned back to her notepad. ‘Now let me see,’ she said. ‘We’ve got food, booze, music, guests and a clown providing transport. What else are we missing?’
‘What sort of ceremony do we want?’ Dad asked. ‘Some sort of re-christening? What does everybody else think?’
‘A re-christening might be bad luck, and the last thing Erewhon needs is any more bad luck,’ Sam said.
‘I take your point,’ Dad replied. ‘So what do we do?’
‘How about a re-dedication?’ said Millie, who had been quietly sipping her brandy. ‘Like a re-dedication when somebody changes church. Something like that.’
‘You mean some sort of holy-roller would come and spout off?’ Dad asked.
‘Not exactly, Jim,’ Millie replied. ‘I think Harry Castleton might know the right words, don’t you, Sam? He’s a retired naval chaplain, and I’m sure he’d be only too happy to help.’
‘Sounds like the man for the job. Can I leave it to you to broach the subject with him, Millie?’ Dad asked.
‘It might cost you a rum or two and a brandy to get him along!’
‘Well, what does he drink—rum or brandy?’
‘He drinks rum, but I drink brandy, and this glass is empty,’ Millie replied holding her glass up to Dad.
The next five weeks were hectic. Stacey Barrett and his team returned to apply the anti-fouling paint. Hepi phoned to say that the mast was ready, and Terry Espie, the mast maker, wanted to know where to deliver it.
The following morning, Dad mentioned to Sam that he was thinking of stepping the mast before the yacht was launched. Sam chuckled. ‘That would be a great idea if you didn’t have to take it out again to get under the Greenhithe Bridge!’ he said, blowing a cloud of smoke from his pipe. ‘Why don’t we get it delivered to the Navy dockyard and step it there? I’ve still got a few connections, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to help.’
Millie phoned her old friend, the Reverend Harry, and he jumped at the chance. He’d heard about the re-emergence of Erewhon at the Returned Services Association, and mentioned a ceremony used during the war when ships and launches were commandeered for naval use. ‘I’m sure I could adapt that for this purpose,’ he assured her.
As the weeks trickled by, the checklist shrank, and each day saw the arrival of something new. Hepi spent most of his time as the fetch-and-carry boy in Bertha, and it was an exciting moment when he turned up loaded with sails. Although made with the latest materials, the mainsail weighed half a ton, and the jib was nearly the same. The excitement mounted as each day passed and people involved with the launch came to check on their part in the proceedings.
Hepi and Paint arrived one morning with Bertha loaded with scaffolding to build a stage for the school band. Paint had arranged for the iwi to be at the launch. ‘They’re all coming,’ he informed Dad, ‘and they want to know if they can have some input into the ceremony.’
Dad pulled out his notebook. ‘What have they got in mind, and where would it fit in?’
‘You’ve gone soft, Bollocks—you’re asking our opinion,’ Hepi said, with his usual grin.
‘Soft is right, but I don’t want to provoke any more demons!’
‘We’d like to do a haka and a karakia at the start of proceedings, and then the girls would like to do a waiata and poi dance as Erewhon enters the water,’ Paint replied.
‘Don’t have a problem with that.’
On the Wednesday night before launch day, Dad came in through the French doors. Sam and I had already started on our first beers. ‘Well, lad,’ Sam said to Dad, ‘she’s ready.’ He tossed his worn leather notebook on the table.
Dad picked it up and flicked through a few of the tatty pages. Each entry had been neatly crossed out as the task had been completed. Dad reached out and shook Sam’s hand heartily. ‘Well done! We’d never have got it done without you. And Erewhon would never have looked half as good!’
Sam allowed himself a smile, and thanked Dad for the opportunity to do the job without interference. Then he looked at me. ‘Thank you, lad, for all your help, and good luck in the future. Just remember one thing. Whenever you pick up a tool, never do a job you wouldn’t be proud to show Jack.’
I reached out and shook the leathery hand. ‘I need to talk to you about completing my hours to get my Trade Certificate,’ I said, as I sat down.
Sam nodded.
Dad looked hard at Sam. ‘I’ve got another job for you, if you’re interested,’ he said.
Sam nodded. ‘We’ll talk about all this in a day or two,’ he said. ‘Right now, I’m going home.’ He stood up and stepped out through the French doors without another word.
Back at the house, Dad and I talked over our plans for the next three days. The next day we’d move Erewhon to the ramp and make her ready for the launch. We’d need to start early on Saturday to be on time for the nine o’clock tide, so everything would have to be ready and in position by Friday night.
Mum came into the room. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to the floor beside where Sam had been sitting. ‘There’s Sam’s pipe and baccy. It’s not like him to forget.’
I picked them up and headed out the door. ‘I’ll just drop them down to him.’
‘Who is it?’ Millie called, when I tapped on the door. She opened the door and appeared surprised to see me.
‘Sam left these up at the house,’ I said, as I handed her the pipe and tin.
She looked startled. ‘Sam’s not here—I thought he was up with you.’
‘No, he left us about half an hour ago. He said he was coming down here.’
Millie’s hand flew up to her mouth.
‘He’s probably stopped off at Erewhon,’ I said, leaving her standing at the door.
‘Sam!’ I bellowed, as I neared the hull, but there was no reply. ‘Sam!’ I called again as I went up the ladder and onto the deck. ‘Sam!’ I yelled for the third time, but there was still silence. I peered down the companionway and into the darkened saloon. ‘Sam!’ I called, as I scrambled around looking for the switch for the auxiliary lights.
I heard footsteps coming down the path. ‘Sam, is that you?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s me,’ Dad replied, ‘What’s all the commotion?’
‘Sam’s missing,’ I said, as I found the light switch and flicked it on. I returned to the hatch and peered into the saloon. My worst fears were realised as my eyes adjusted to the light. ‘Dad!’ I bellowed. ‘Get an ambulance. He’s in here and he’s not moving!’
I quickly rolled the old man onto his back and checked for a pulse. Nothing. I threw my head down on his chest and listened. ‘Get an ambulance!’ I screamed again, as Matt and Dad peered into the cabin. I began CPR as Matt threw his cellphone open and dialled the number. Dad dived into the cabin to assist me. We worked furiously on the old man, but there was no response. I pumped and pumped as Dad breathed into his mouth. I pleaded with him to start breathing again, but there wasn’t a sound. Matt appeared in the cabin door to assure us the ambulance was on its way.
‘Get Mum to look after Millie!’ I yelled, sweat now dripping from my face. Dad took over and tried to coax life back into Sam’s still body. I was desperately fighting my emotions as the ambulance pulled up alongside Erewhon and the two officers climbed quickly up the ladder. Despite their best efforts, Sam didn’t breathe again, and after a half-hour of CPR and defibrillat
ion, they said he was gone.
I climbed slowly down the ladder. Mic was waiting, and she gave me a wordless hug. Nobody was saying anything: we were all in shock. I wanted to cry out loud, but I remained mute. Why? I asked myself. Why couldn’t Sam at least have seen Erewhon back in the water? It seemed so unfair. I felt cheated. Sam hadn’t stayed around so I could finish my apprenticeship. Then I felt really guilty for being so selfish. He’d taught me so much in the time we’d worked together, so why did I feel cheated?
As Dad talked to the ambulance officers, I suddenly remembered Millie. I found her sitting at the table in the cottage with Mum pouring her a cup of tea. She looked up as I came though the door. ‘Thank you, Ben,’ she said, ‘for all your effort in trying to save him. Would you like a cup of tea?’
I looked at this remarkable woman. How could she be so calm?
Mum produced another cup, and Millie insisted on pouring. I didn’t argue, and took my cup without a word. Millie stood up and walked over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer. She produced a large envelope and handed it to me. ‘Sam was going to give this to you after the launch, but I think now is probably a more appropriate time.’
Inside it were a Certificate of Completion of Apprenticeship and a letter.
I stared at the citation and Sam’s signature in the lower corner.
I opened the letter.
Dear Ben,
It is with great pleasure and pride that I give you your Apprenticeship Completion Certificate. Although our time together has been short, your skill leaves me in no doubt that you are qualified to take the title of Craftsman Boatbuilder.
Good luck, lad.
Sam
P.S. Remember the golden rule: Jack is always watching!
I looked at Millie as I tucked the letter back in the envelope. She smiled. ‘He knew he was going to die, didn’t he?’ I asked.
‘Sam’s been on borrowed time for years, Ben. He’s been in pain from sand in the stomach, a legacy of years in the desert during the war, after Crete.’
A Yacht Called Erewhon Page 18