The Mudskipper Cup

by Christopher Cummings

  “It’s Andrew Collins and his sister. I can’t make out who the third one is - a girl anyway. Perhaps it’s Jennifer!” he muttered. Slowing down he called to Alex. “I’m going to talk to these kids. Go on without me.”

  Graham waited hopefully, but as the navy cadets drew closer he saw that the third person was not Jennifer. She was a black-haired girl he had never met.

  Andrew waved. “G’day Graham,” he called. Graham remounted his bike and joined them.

  “What happened to you?” Andrew went on. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “That mongrel Burford and his mates chucked me off the wharf,” Graham replied. He briefly recounted the incident.

  “They’re starting to make a regular habit of dunking you,” Andrew replied. “You need to replan your daily schedule.”

  Graham snorted. “I try to avoid them. Where’s Jennifer?” he asked. He noted Carmen’s look of quick interest and blushed.

  “Her dad picked her up. He’s home at the moment,” Andrew replied.

  “What does he do?” Graham asked.

  “He’s a Lieutenant Commander, Royal Navy; on an exchange posting,” Andrew replied.

  Graham was impressed. Worse still, he was awed. Jennifer seemed to recede immediately to the regions of the unattainable. In his heart he felt sure she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with a boy whose dad was just the master of a grimy little merchant ship.

  “What sort of a job has he got? I mean, what posting?” Graham asked. It hurt to persist but he wanted to know all he could.

  “At the moment he is acting as CO on the patrol boat Bowen. We’ve just spent the afternoon on board. It was bloody interesting,” Andrew said enthusiastically. He proceeded to describe all the things they had seen and done. It was sheer misery to Graham but he made suitable answers.

  They reached a corner where Graham had to turn off. “I’ll see you then,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Andrew called after him. “Hey Graham, when are you and Bronsky having your race?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Two o’clock, on the lake at Centenary Park,” Graham replied.

  “We might see you there,” Andrew called. He waved goodbye. Graham waved and turned off along his own street.

  That night Graham worked on the model ship till quite late. By the time he went to bed it was almost restored and he was feeling happier. For a while he sat quietly admiring it and daydreaming. Then he went to bed and lay brooding, depressed at how life was treating him, and anxious about the coming race.

  CHAPTER 6

  SQUARE RIGGER RACE

  To his mother’s surprise, Graham made no comment or complaint about going to church on Sunday. When she noticed that, not only was he ready early, but that he had taken special pains over his appearance, she began to suspect that it was not love of God, nor any desire for religious knowledge which was motivating him. Later, when seated in church, she noted his covert glances at the blonde girl two rows in front, her suspicions were confirmed. She sighed, and began to worry.

  Graham was oblivious to this. He was enraptured just by looking at Jennifer. He was also intensely curious about her mother and father. The woman was definitely Jennifer’s mother; same colouring, same cast to the facial structure, same nose. Then he remembered a piece of advice his dad had been dishing out to Alex a few months before.

  “Now remember son, before you get serious about a girl take a look at her mother and ask yourself: ‘do I want to be married to that in twenty-years’ time?’ It’s genetics. Little ones become big ones. They might look slim and shapely at sixteen but all too often they end up looking like Bessie the Elephant. That’s fine if you are really in love but...”

  Graham smiled. It clashed with his mother’s advice that looks didn’t matter. She said, “It’s the personality that counts. You want a girl who is honest and loyal, and one with a sense of humour.”

  The thought made him frown. For a moment he pursed his lips at the sour memory of how Deslie had treated him. He also felt an uncomfortable twinge of conscience because sitting beside Kylie was a girl who was honest and loyal - Margaret.

  But he brightened. ‘Yes I could live with her,’ he thought after another careful scrutiny of Jennifer’s mother. He nodded his head and went into a daydream of rescuing Jennifer from a band of desperate pirates.

  After church he got a good look at Jennifer’s father and he found him a bit daunting. The man looked like a Commander even in civilian clothes. Lt Cdr Jervis was tall and handsome, blond and blue eyed. He looked tanned and fit. It made Graham feel a bit defensive and jealous when he considered his own care-worn dad with his solid build and bluff manner.

  Then, to his annoyance, he got no real chance to talk to Jennifer. He did say hello but Kylie and Margaret were both there; Margaret looking worried and jealous and Kylie darting hostile glances at him and pursing her lips in disapproval. In the end he gave it up and went to talk to Roger.

  That afternoon Graham was quite surprised by the number of people who gathered at the pond, apparently to watch the race. ‘Surely they are here for some other reason?’ he hoped. He didn’t really want an audience. ‘It will be all the more humiliating if I lose!’ On the edge of his consciousness was a strong doubt about the quality of his model, or rather, a belief that Peter was smarter than he was and therefore would have produced a better design. Graham had suffered so many setbacks and failures recently that he was losing confidence in himself.

  He looked at all the people and gulped. The first person he saw was Jennifer; and next to her was her father. Graham went into a mild panic. It would be bad enough having Jennifer witness his defeat but to have a real naval officer watching his childish attempts at sailing would be doubly trying. Jennifer and her father stood with a group of navy cadets (although none was in uniform). Graham counted them. Seven including Jennifer: Andrew Collins and his sister Carmen, that Blake kid, Luke Karaku, the black-haired girl he had seen the previous day, and a boy he had never seen. They were looking at Peter’s model ship.

  A glance at this was enough to demoralise Graham even further. It looked a beauty. It was bigger than his and appeared to be carrying much more sail, although Graham knew it wasn’t because they had agreed on a formulae of sail area to ship’s weight.

  Peter’s model was a clipper and looked like it was fast. It was long and sleek, with masts at least a metre high. The hull was painted black above a green waterline. The deckhouses and fittings were white. Helping Peter in the water were his little brother Paul and Margaret. ‘She would be here!’ Graham thought sourly, then he brightened. If she was with Peter maybe she was transferring her affections?

  Graham’s mother had driven him to the park with his model cradled carefully on the back seat beside him. She now went over to talk to Peter’s mother. Kylie and Roger dumped their bikes on the lawn and ran over to help him. Very gingerly they removed the model ship from the car. They carried the model to the water’s edge amidst the greetings and cheers of the onlookers. It then had to be held while it was inspected. Graham found he was sweating with nervousness, especially when Jennifer’s father came and cast a critical eye over it.

  Lt Cdr Jervis studied it, then nodded. “Very well done. Very well done indeed! Definitely superior craftsmanship compared to the other one,” he said. This made Graham feel much better and when Jennifer smiled he felt as though the sun had come out again.

  She introduced him, although they couldn’t shake hands because Graham held the model.

  “I’ve heard about you,” Lt Cdr Jervis said. “I know your old man. I’ve met him several times. We often see his ships along the coast.”

  That was a surprise to Graham, although he realised later it shouldn’t have been. The local maritime community wasn’t that big. Also, the fact that there was no hint of condescension in the naval officer’s voice made him feel a bit less self-conscious.

  After a photo had been taken by Margaret, Graham waded into the pond
and carefully lowered the model in. Only as he did it did he realise that he had not tested it since he had re-rigged it. For an awful moment he feared to let it go lest it roll over and make him look an utter fool. He took a deep breath and tried to look relaxed and confident. Anxiously he released the top of the mainmast and watched.

  Perfect. The model rode as close to upright as the eye could judge. The fore and aft trim was just right - slightly down by the stern so that when the sails began to press her head down she would ride correctly. There was a ripple of clapping from the audience.

  Graham looked around and grinned with pleasure. Peter came wading over, leaving his little brother holding his model.

  “She’s a beauty alright,” he complimented.

  For a minute or two he bent down and admired Graham’s handiwork. Graham meanwhile took a better look at Peter’s clipper. It was almost devoid of details and had a bare, utilitarian look about it which disconcerted Graham further, as did the evident robustness of its construction.

  The clipper’s spars were made from heavier, thicker dowel. Where Graham had used cotton for lashings or rigging Peter had used string. The clipper seemed to be restless, trying to tug impatiently at its mooring line.

  “Who will be the starting judge?” Peter asked.

  Graham looked around. “What about Andrew Collins, or his sister Carmen? Or better still that man there is a Lieutenant Commander RN. He might act as judge for us.”

  Peter agreed. “Suits me. Let’s ask him.”

  Peter was introduced and the proposal put. Lt Cdr Jervis smiled. “I’d be delighted old chap. What rules are you going to play by, you know - number of heats and all that?”

  The boys looked at each other. Graham felt foolish. They hadn’t thought of that. For a moment he was flustered and had no answer.

  Peter made the first suggestion. “Why not the best of seven like they do in the America’s Cup races?”

  “America’s Cup!” Lt Cdr Jervis cried in mock horror. “Why not the Admiral’s Cup or the Fastnet Race? But good idea all the same. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Bronsky Sir?” Peter replied.

  “Hmmm. That’s not Chinese or I’ve never been to Hong Kong!”

  “No Sir. My father was a Russian,” Peter replied.

  “I see. Are you one of those spies they plant? You know, the ‘moles’ or ‘sleepers’ that they activate when the great day comes?” Lt Cdr Jervis teased good-naturedly.

  The boys laughed and were embarrassed to be the centre of attention. Lt Cdr Jervis then went on. “Hmm. Now let me see. Seven races eh! Hmm. Alright. This is just an idea if your models are up to it. Race One, running with the wind the length of the pond. I will put one of these naval cadets at each end as markers you see. Now. Races Two and Three will be across the pool with the wind broad on the beam. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “OK. Races Four and Five will be against the wind, so you will have to tack. Can your models do that or are the sails tied in position?”

  “No Sir, they aren’t tied. We can adjust them, or even furl them,” Graham replied. Peter nodded.

  “Good. The second last can just be straight downwind run. And last of all a real test of all points of sailing - a race from one end to the other against the wind, and back to the start. How does that sound?”

  Graham smiled. “Good Sir. I’m happy with that,” he replied.

  “Me too,” Peter agreed.

  “Then move yourselves to the starting position,” Lt Cdr Jervis said, pointing to the end of the pond.

  Graham picked his model up and carried it. Peter towed his by the string. Graham noted the direction of the wind and was a bit concerned by its strength. It was more than the gentle breeze he would have preferred and was gusting from time to time.

  “Can we have a trial run for practice before each race?” Peter asked, betraying the first signs of being anxious.

  Lt Cdr Jervis shook his head. “No. Not a good idea. You should have done that beforehand I think,” he said.

  “Can we touch the model during the race, to reset the steering or rigging?” Graham asked.

  This led to some discussion. It was agreed that a contestant could make adjustments provided they did not interfere with the opponent’s ship, that the model was held stationary while the adjustment was made; and that the model was not given a push on re-starting.

  “We will also consider accuracy,” Lt Cdr Jervis said as he tested the wind direction. “The model must end up within one pace either side of the marker, or it is not finished its run.”

  He then sent Carmen to the far end and called instructions until he was satisfied she was directly downwind. Next he positioned Jennifer and the black-haired girl on the left of the pond and Andrew and Blake on the right hand side.

  “Alright, models to the starting line.”

  The boys waded in. Lt Cdr Jervis walked to one side to watch. “Back a bit Graham,” he called.

  “But Sir, Peter’s bowsprit is longer than mine,” Graham protested.

  “I don’t care if Peter has got a bigger one than you,” Lt Cdr Jervis replied. “We will take it from the bow, from the line of the cutwater.”

  Graham went red when the double meaning struck him. He glanced nervously at Jennifer and to his dismay he saw she was giggling and whispering to the other girl. ‘Surely she didn’t get what that meant?’ he thought in dismay. ‘She’s too nice to know rude things like that!’

  Peter was now protesting. “But Sir, my ship draws more water. She may run aground and never reach the far end.”

  Lt Cdr Jervis pulled at his chin. “Hmmm. We need one of those bally light beams that triggers a camera. Alright, we will set up two marker posts in the water and position a judge either side.”

  Kids scattered to find suitable sticks. Alex returned with two, each about a metre long. He waded in to position them in knee deep water.

  Lt Cdr Jervis then called, “Now, all satisfied? All ready? The first race in the inaugural Muddy Pond Annual Square-Rigger Classic is about to begin. This is ‘running before the wind’. Captains make ready!”

  Graham bent down to anxiously check that all the tacks were fastened, yards square and tiller lashed amidships. ‘It won’t be her best point of sailing,’ he thought, noting that the two jibs were fluttering and not drawing at all. After a moment’s thought he undid the spanker from its boom, bunched it neatly up against its gaff and the mizzen mast and wrapped a thin piece of fuse wire around it to keep it furled.

  Peter noted this but made no changes to his model. Graham lined his ship up on Carmen and licked his lips. He felt very nervous. He glanced at the watching group on his right. Kylie grinned and he noted an anxious frown on Margaret’s face.

  “OK,” Lt Cdr Jervis called. “Get ready! Get set! Go!”

  Graham took his hands away and straightened up. The breeze at once gripped the models and pushed them forward. There was a moment’s intense satisfaction that his creation actually worked, before anxiety returned. Graham noted at once that Peter’s ship was faster. Both pushed out a distinct ripple of a bow wave.

  With some satisfaction Graham noted that his model was running straight. Then he noted that the gap between the models, originally about two metres, was now closing. Peter’s model was turning. It was his spanker. It was hard over to starboard and was pushing her stern around.

  By then the models were in the middle of the pond. Both boys ran along the bank to the far end. As they passed the models Graham saw that Peter’s clipper was already more than a ship’s length ahead. The gap between them continued to narrow and Peter called out, “Go straight you stupid thing!”

  Graham stood next to Carmen and looked back. All he could see was a mass of sails. Both ships were in the one line, the clipper cutting across the bows of the frigate.

  ‘My ship will get its bowsprit tangled in his mizzen rigging,’ he thought. It was hard to tell from that angle. People had begun to call out
and he saw Margaret jumping up and down calling, “Come on! Come on Artemis!”

  The frigate reappeared, still heading almost straight towards him. She shaved by the stern of the clipper by a whisker. Graham clenched his fists. “Come on little ship!” he murmured. ‘Peter’s ship is off course. I’m going to win!’ he thought - but he didn’t say it aloud. ‘No good tempting fate.’

  Indeed the clipper was now curving to port and it was obvious it would miss the marker pegs by several metres. Peter groaned in exasperation and began wading out to catch it. Graham also edged into the muddy shallows as the frigate slid smoothly between the posts.

  “Oh hooray!” Margaret cried. Graham caught the model and looked up. Jennifer was smiling. Sister Kylie, he noted, was long-faced and wading in to help Peter.

  Feeling elated Graham picked up the dripping model and carried it ashore.

  “Over to Jennifer,” Lt Cdr Jervis directed.

  Graham walked around past Peter who was in animated discussion with Kylie. He said nothing but as he approached Jennifer he caught her eye and she smiled.

  “That was good. It sailed ever so straight,” she said.

  ‘What a beautiful voice,’ Graham thought. ‘I know just what Cupid’s arrows feel like! I’m in love. I know it!’ he thought. He mumbled a reply. All of a sudden he seemed to be tongue-tied and could not think of a sensible thing to say.

  Lt Cdr Jervis joined them as both models were placed in the water. He directed the marker sticks to be re-positioned, then said, “Right, in this race the wind will be to starboard. The ships are to sail off the wind, sailing free. That is, not quite beam on, slightly downwind.”

  Graham looked across the pond. It was not circular - more like an artist’s palette. It would be a long reach, nearly as long as the previous run. ‘I have to worry about too much pressure aft making her gripe and turn up into the wind,’ he considered. He bit his lip and crouched to adjust the sails, ignoring the soaking of the seat of his shorts as a consequence.