Angel on my Shoulder

by Carl Leckey

  Not forgetting I desperately need him to give me a passage to France. Before disappearing below he gives me instructions. “Now you told me you is a competent driver so I reckons you knows about engines and mechanical things? Now this is how it is, you don’t know anything about sailing so if you can get the engine running we will catch the morning tide.

  If not we could be here for ages while I teach you about the sails and things. It’s up to you my boy, do your best I shall be down below if you want me. The engine is down under that there scuttle.”

  He points towards a half round construction with a pair of wooden doors then crashes down a ladder to the cabin below.

  What to do now? I stand on deck scratching my head; I don’t even know what a scuttle is. The man on the boat alongside has evidently been eaves dropping; He appears and jumps aboard the Brenda. “I’ll show you where the engine is lad, do you really know about them?” Before I answer he sticks his hand out to shake mine.

  “By the way my name is George; Jack is an Uncle of mine for my sins.” I shake his hand and give him my name. He smiles and opens the doors on what is the scuttle. “It’s a good engine Adam a Coventry Climax. It’s Jack, he ain’t got no mechanical knowledge too old to learn he reckons. His son looked after the engine they only had it fitted a few weeks before he left. Poor Davie he was my cousin only got himself killed in the Navy. Silly Bugger was on a protected employment and needn’t have gone. I think he got fed up with Jack and his booze in the end. Aye you could say Jacks booze drove him to his death, funny that eh? Davie was teetotal you see? Signed the pledge and joined the band of hope. He was always trying to get his Dad to sign the pledge after his Mum died.”

  I must say this man George has a strange sense of humour thinking the fate of the poor man is funny, maybe it’s just an expression he uses. I nervously ask. “Do you think Jack is fit to take this boat to France?” He laughs. “Don’t you worry about Jack? The bugger will be fast asleep now for a couple of hours when you next see him he’ll be as right as rain. Just make sure when you sail he is sober and doesn’t get his hand on any booze at sea. He reassures me with a grin. “You’ll be alright lad. Hey! He’s still here and he fished the channel right through the war despite the Boche. Right here she is.” He points down a hatch. “If you want anything just give me a shout, I bet you could drink a brew eh? I’ll bring you one over hey you ain’t going down there in that clobber are you?” He refers to my best clothes. “No I’ll put my old uniform on, where can I change?” I enquire. “Just nip in the wheel house and leave your gear there until Jack comes up.” He advises then jumps back aboard his own craft.

  I change into my now oil stained uniform and drop down the engine hatch. I have never had anything to do with this model of engine.

  All internal combustion engines work on the same principle. Although there are many things I don’t understand, by trial and error I figure them out, I remind myself of one of Toots lectures. Check fuel tanks are full done that, dip engine oil, topped up. Spare drums of oil stacked in racks. Cooling water comes from a pipe leading overboard, set valve to open position, done, locate crank handle give it a tentative turn, good compression.

  OK. Check gear lever is in neutral, done that, adjust throttle. Yes. Set advance and retard dodgy but set it anyway. Swing briskly. We have ignition. With a muffled bang and a cloud of smoke she cracks up jerkily before settling down to a steady roar after a few adjustments. It has taken me about two hours to check things out and get the engine going. I wipe my forehead with relief and climb back onto the deck face split by a triumphal grin to confront a bleary eyed captain. “Well done lad.

  I’ll just make sure the overboard discharge is working.” He looks over the side and nods. “You have to keep an eye on that the weed blocks the intake.” he explains.

  “Right! She’s got plenty of ropes out. I’ll just try the gears. We’ll have to get some stores aboard if we are getting underway in the morning.” He enters the wheelhouse. The Brenda moves ahead tugging on her moorings as he puts her into the forward gear.” That’ll do lad. You’ve done well. She sounds a treat; the bugger hasn’t run for nigh on six months. Eh take your gear down below; I’ll be nipping up the shops to get some stores.” “How long will it take us to get to Le Havre Captain?” I ask. “Aye Lad no time at all you just leave that to old Jack.” “Should I stop the engine then?” I enquire. “No give her a run until I get back that’ll do her good.” He climbs ashore and heads up the road in the direction of the shops leaving me wondering what to do next. I take my gear from the wheelhouse and climb down the ladder to the cabin. What a tip, dirty crockery and food remains everywhere. A metal drum utilised as a coal bunker is half full with empty rum bottles. A coal burning stove heats the cabin to a pleasant temperature there are two bunks on the boats sides in a kind of cupboard. The bunks are littered with clothes and bedding. What have I got into? I ask myself. I hear George calling me to come aboard his boat for a brew. When I drop down the ladder I am quite impressed with the cabin. I don’t know what I expected but I am surprised. “Like it?” George asks. “It’s my home as well as my living.” “What you live on board here?” “Of course most of the skipper owners do. It’s a bit smarter than the Brenda eh?” He laughs. “Jack doesn’t go in much for anything fancy. He wasn’t always like that you understand? It was only after he lost his son. Jack always liked his drink. Well I do myself when I can afford it, but he took to the bottle real hard after he lost the lad. I couldn’t live like Jack I like a bit of comfort myself.

  Seriously I know I have asked you before, if you want a job there is one here. I was very impressed the way you got that old engine going.” His praise makes me a bit embarrassed. “I learnt about engines in the army thanks to a fella I served with. No I don’t think fishing is for me somehow. I have other plans.” “Well I can’t get crew for love or money. I will be having a word with Jack when he comes back. We may as well double up now you have that engine going and use one boat. I don’t have an engine in this one.

  I depend on sail and without a good crew I can’t work her. At least we will do some fishing and do some earning. Things have been a bit tight lately for us lads.” I finish my tea and wish him well. Somehow I hope he sails with us tomorrow.

  The shortage of crew men is another result of the war I have not given a thought to before. Back on board the Brenda while waiting for the skipper to return I set to and clean up the cabin. I have just taken all the rubbish on deck ready for dumping when he returns loaded with two shopping bags.

  “Stop the engine lad.” He orders me Thank goodness he appears sober now. He drops down the cabin and I hear him remark. “What the bloody hell!” As I climb down into the engine compartment. I stop the engine and return to the deck when he pops his head up. “Bloody marvellous are you sure you don’t want a permanent job?” My efforts at cleaning the cabin appear to have an effect on Jack. He disappears then reappears minutes later with a bucket of hot water and sets to having a wash and shave while I carry on tidying up the loose ropes and tackle that lays scattered about the deck He is drying himself when he spots the heap of rubbish containing the empty bottles. “That’s the last booze you will see aboard the Brenda Adam my boy and that’s a promise. From now on the old fella is as sober as a judge.” George is listening. “Jack.” he shouts “Want a crewman for you trip tomorrow?” “I got one already George.” The skipper replies. George replies. “Ah! But are you fishing?” Jack rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I reckoned on selling her in France, but I don’t know now that the engine is running fine.” “Don’t be daft Jack, what would you do without a boat anyway?” George senses him weakening and pushes harder. “Where would you live you silly sod? Can you see yourself living ashore? Bloody hell Jack you have lived on boats all your life. You were even born on the Brenda. Your old man would turn in his grave if you sold her. Come on Jack let’s drop the lad off in France and get some fishing done.” Jack smiles “Aye your right, it’s back to the old game a
gain. Right George you are on me lad. Mind we share expenses? That’ll be two thirds of the catch for me and a third for you.” George jumps aboard Brenda they spit on their hands and shake to seal the agreement. George and Jack concentrate on the fishing gear.

  I continue general cleaning and polishing. Just as it is going dark and the boat looks as clean as a new pin the skipper suggests we retire to the pub for a meal. George says quietly to me. “This is his test, if Jack can go into a pub eat a meal without booze I’ll eat my hat.” To our surprise he does, we have a nice steak dinner a good chat and return to the boat about nine o’clock. George refuses to eat his hat but promises to cook us a great breakfast before we set off at six in the morning. Absolutely knackered I turn in on the spare bunk falling asleep instantly.

  It seems only minutes before Jack is shaking me awake. “Come on lad time to shake a leg its five o’clock. I’ll go and give George a shout to cook up that breakfast he promised.

  The lazy bugger will think I’ve forgot.” He laughs. “You didn’t think I heard what he said about him eating his hat and the booze did you?” I decide he’s a shrewd old sod is Jack. I get the engine running without any trouble. By the time I have a swill and return to the cabin George arrives aboard with huge bacon and egg sandwiches. A large mug of tea a belly full of food and we are all set to go. George drags his own boat astern of the Brenda with my assistance and moors her up. He then throws our ropes off the bollards I pull them onto the deck and he jumps aboard. Together we push Brenda off the wall. Jack sets her ahead and we begin our trip down the River Stour heading for Pegwell Bay and the English Channel. Within minutes of hitting the open sea Brenda begins to roll and pitch and my breakfast my lovely enjoyable breakfast returns to disappear over the side. God I am so sick I haven’t felt this ill since I had the dreaded flu. Surely I am going to die. The two evil ship mates think it is hilarious and threaten me with all kinds of horrible cures for seasickness. I can’t stand anymore and retire below with a bucket for company defeated by the sea. When my stomach is completely empty plus part of my insides I collapse into an exhausted sleep.

  The lack of motion and the shutting down of the engine brings me to life. Amongst the screaming of the gulls I am able to distinguish voices, Voices conversing in French. I weakly climb the ladder peer over the side to recognise the port of Le Havre. We have made it over to France and I have slept throughout most of the voyage. Jack is on the quay doing some kind of deal with French fishermen. George is at the stern end working on some of the fishing gear. I swill my face to liven myself up. Change into my best clothes, pack my bag, say good bye to George and jump ashore.

  I have to interrupt Jack to express my thanks and wish him good luck with his return to fishing. I’m surprised to hear him chatting in fluent French. “Before you go lad, what kind of documents have you got on you?” He asks. “I’ve just my army discharge book.” I reply warily. “Then you will have to be careful. Things have tightened up over here in the last month or so. That’s what I have been talking to these lads about.

  We are not allowed out of the docks ourselves either.

  It seems we haven’t got the right papers. In fact George and I haven’t got any. I have never needed them before when I have come over here. There is a smashing little cafe just outside the docks serves, bloody good English food. I always used to go there for a feed.” I know exactly where the café is he is referring to.

  “Shit! What am I going to do now?” That’s another thing I’d not considered before leaving England. I am devastated.

  “You have two choices the way I see it Adam.

  You can either come back to England with us after we have done our fishing and sort out things officially. Or take a chance and try and get out of the gate with these lads. They have agreed to get you out of the docks they reckon it will be no problem if the right fellow is on the gate. But if you get caught you will be in deep shit. The Gendarmes are now in charge of dock security.” “Well Jack I can tell you this for a fact. I’m not going out to sea on that boat again. I bloody near snuffed it on the way over. I’ll take a chance with the fishermen.” I say with a shudder. He smiles at my horror of the sea and outlines the plan. “Righto! Then here’s what you do, when the next boat comes in an ice truck will come to meet it. They are back and to from the market and the ice house all the time. We wait for the shift to change over on the gate. One of the French lads rides in with the driver and you ride out. This is how we get you off the docks. Not in those clothes though, and certainly not carrying that bag. They are a dead giveaway. Get back aboard the Brenda and I’ll fix you up with some clobber.

  France my return.

  The clothes Jack supplies for me give us a good laugh but form an excellent disguise. Jack insists I take some French Francs he has left over from his last visit. “If I can’t go out the gate I won’t be able to spend them so you may as well take em. It will keep me out of the boozer anyway.” He pulls a face. “Look you two. You have done me proud. I have written the address where you will be able to contact me if you come back here if you can ever get out of the gate? Do me a favour though? Don’t give it to anyone else will you.” I hand Jack a piece of paper. “On the run from a damsel in distress eh Adam?” He laughs as I begin to explain Jack holds his hand up to restrain me. “Alright lad you can bank on me to keep this secret. No fair maiden will prize the secret from my lips”

  I give up trying to convince him it is nothing of the sort. Ah! Let him think what he likes. It is dusk when I board the ice truck with a good cover story. Jack has given me a canvas sailor’s kit bag to replace the Portmanteau, well here goes! I say to myself apprehensively. No turning back now, it is shit or bust as the truck approaches the gates.

  Oh God! Of all the Gendarmes there could have been it is him. I recognise him immediately standing under a gas lamp smoking one of his foul cigarettes. It’s the same miserable officer that manned the gate with the British MP when I spotted Sandy boarding the ship for the UK. My stomach is gurgling with tension and my mouth is dry as the driver stops the truck in the gateway. The driver is completely innocent with no knowledge he is smuggling an illegal into his country. Jacks mate has asked him to give a lift to the infirmary to a sailor with an injured foot.

  A younger Gendarme approaches the driver’s side and checks his papers giving me a cursory glance “Qui est cet home la?” “C’est mon frere il est.” He makes a circular motion with his hand by his head indicating I am stupid.” Thankfully the Gendarme smiles. “Bien Tu peux.” He waves us on. The driver has put the truck into gear when the miserable Gendarme puts his hands up with the instruction. “Arretes toi Marcel ou et le poisson tu m’as promis?” The driver apologises and hands him a parcel of fish. “Pardon le voici Rene.” We are through the gate and I relax as we drive along the dock road. When the café is in sight I indicate to the driver I would like to be dropped here to obtain some food. He understands pulls the truck to a halt and I dismount. Keeping up the pretence I wave my thanks and limp towards the café.

  The two men that run the place recognise me when I enter. Here is an opportunity to try out my very poor French. I ask the older one if Alec has been in lately. Avez vous vu mon amie Alec?” He looks blank and replies in rapid French. This is hopeless. I am to live in France run a business and don’t even speak the language. I make a vow there and then I must learn to speak French as soon as possible. I am obliged to use the phrase I have used so often. “Je ne vous comprends pas.” His brother emerges from the kitchen and speaks in broken english. “Alec yesterday. Comprende vous? Alec Hier” I get the message, Alec was in here yesterday. This is great, he should be in here tomorrow for breakfast he rarely misses a day. I shall contact him then. The next problem is easier. I mime eating and drinking, within minutes a huge fry up and a cup of coffee is placed before me. This is the first food I am able to face since we left England. A few of Jacks coins settles the bill and I am on my way to Oscar’s house via the market to get supplies. It seems strange
to be in the big house on my own. I must admit being slightly nervous when I enter in the dark. A heap of mail greets me inside the door. I strike a match and collect the envelopes and make my way as quickly as possible along the hall to the lounge. I hope those Priests have done their job of exorcism well. If I hear those noises from upstairs I’m off, to where I don’t know?

  But what is certain, I am not staying here alone. I can’t believe it after the dangers I have faced in the war I am afraid of a few sounds.

  They most probably originate from an innocent source anyway. I assure myself. As quickly as possible I light every gas mantel put a match to the fire and slump into an arm chair. Although the house was cold when I entered it soon warms as the fire gets going. I have a choice of many rooms to sleep but opt to stay in the one downstairs. I am sure Oscar insisted I use this one to protect Denise from my nocturnal advances. After a while I stand up stretch realise how comfortable it is in the warm lounge and settle back in the arm chair to spend the night in front of the fire.

  I wake up in the early hours feeling cold the fire has burnt down. I am about to put on some more coal when I hear a noise coming from the front door. Picking up a poker I carefully open the door to the hall. Beyond the lounge the hall is in complete darkness. I strain my ears for the slightest sound. I detect nothing, but utter silence.

  Is there someone already in the hall observing me framed in the light ready to pounce? Shit this is scary. Should I shut the door and slam a bolt across and wait for day light? I even consider making a run for it out of the back door. You chicken livered coward. I rebuke myself. Building up my courage I drag the door completely open, with a roar and the poker held ready to strike the intruder I race down the hall. There is nothing, there is no one but I definitely heard a noise. With fumbling fingers I strike a match to light the hall mantel while trying to keep an eye on the complete hallway. Ha! There is the reason for the noise. I laugh with relief. The mail evidently arrives early in France. Another bundle of letters lies on the floor below the letter box. What would Denise think of her brave Tommy if she had witnessed my behaviour in the last few minutes? Morning arrives and the sun’s rays pour through the windows. Thank goodness! I never really settled down after the little episode in the early hours. I sort through the stack of mail Oscar. Oscar. Oscar. But the Majority are addressed to me. I recognise Denise’s tiny neat handwriting and lift the envelope to my nose. There it is gorgeous. I sense the beautiful scent that made my life bearable through the shit and horror of the war. I open all her letters and lay them out on the table in date order. There is one for every day we have been apart. A twinge of conscious pricks me when I recall my passionate affair with Peggy. In my mind I try to justify my betrayal by telling myself. After all, we had parted for good when we had that awful row. I didn’t believe that for a moment. Reading her first letter Denise dismissed it as a minor lovers tiff. She understood now why I wouldn’t let her remain in the coach house alone while Oscar I we were away. Throughout the letters Denise wrote in passionate terms as she waited impatiently for us to be reunited. There is another letter addressed to me it is from Oscar. An emergency has arisen and he has had no choice but to return to his home town in Germany. He doesn’t outline the problem except it was essential he went immediately.