by Tim Jeal
Peter said, ‘I’ve often wondered what they ask on their selection boards?’
‘Nothing too esoteric.’
Peter laughed. ‘Stuff like, do you know about navigation?’
‘Exactly. I said yes, but they weren’t impressed. So I said I’d rowed for my college – which was a lie – but as soon as I’d said it, they took an immense shine to me. One of them held up a large optician’s card. “Can you see those colours?” “Would they be green, blue and red, sir?” “Good man. You’re definitely officer material.”’
‘A triumph for informal selection,’ choked Peter, with his mouth full of food.
‘Disgraceful,’ said Andrea lightly, still surprised by Peter’s obvious liking for Mike.
‘You’re right, Mrs Pauling, I’m still ashamed of myself. But joking apart,’ continued Mike, ‘these people choose trawlermen and tug skippers, as well as bogus oarsmen.’
While Rose was offering second helpings, which only Peter accepted, he asked Mike what he had taught at London University.
‘Classics,’ Mike announced, plainly enjoying Peter’s amazement. ‘My father worked for a Midlands metal-bashing company and never stopped enthusing about gaskets, so I opted for an ivory tower existence, naturally.’
Peter seemed puzzled. ‘I’m pretty sure my boy will do something in the same line as me when he grows up.’
‘But not what I do,’ said Andrea. ‘I’m a teacher, too.’
‘At a school for girls,’ said Leo, in a tone Andrea found hurtful.
‘You’ll grow to like them some day,’ Mike told him. And Andrea felt grateful for this gentle put down. She prayed that Peter would not treat Mike to one of his well-rehearsed dismissals of the humanities as unfit for serious study. Whenever she recalled occasions on which Peter had jovially commiserated with arts dons at Oxford, because “they had so little to be clever about in comparison with their scientific colleagues”, she could hardly believe he could have been so insulting to them and to her. Yet Peter would not have seen it that way. He thought people ought to face the truth, particularly when it was what they didn’t wish to hear.
Rose was clearing away their plates when Peter asked Mike how his teaching had been changed by the development of psychoanalysis.
‘Not a lot,’ he replied, evidently unaware that Peter was in earnest.
Peter seemed amazed. ‘Really? Though the people in Greek drama now seem ludicrously unconvincing?’
Mike seemed more amused than angry. ‘Would you enjoy a modern play that sounded like an analyst’s case notes?’
‘He doesn’t enjoy plays, period,’ said Andrea.
Peter looked heavenwards, as if seeking divine vindication. ‘That’s not fair, dearest. I often find them highly entertaining.’
‘Oh yes. Like you find ITMA entertaining.’
‘Really, Andrea.’ He smiled reassuringly at Mike. ‘Don’t listen to her. In point of fact I have considerable respect for several ancient Greeks.’
‘I’d be intrigued to know their names,’ remarked Mike, evidently suspecting that Peter was mocking him.
‘Thales of Miletus for a start. Don’t look so bored, Leo. One day in the sixth century BC, Thales asked a hell of a good question, “Of what is the Universe composed?” and answered, “Of water.”’
‘But that’s wrong, dad.’
‘Agreed. But it was still remarkably farsighted to deduce that some form of homogeneous matter underlay everything.’ He turned from Leo to Mike. ‘So why the hell did the Greeks base their principal art form on pessimism, rather than on scientific optimism?’
‘Tragedy isn’t all pessimistic,’ said Andrea trying to sound authoritative.
Peter forked in a final mouthful of kedgeree and spluttered, ‘You wouldn’t by any chance be referring to that Greek nonsense about purging one’s emotions?’
‘Nonsense is a bit strong,’ said Mike, as if encouraging an intelligent but wayward pupil. ‘Though I don’t buy catharsis either.’
Peter rubbed his hands. ‘Then you’ll agree with me that the Greeks only invented tragedy because they loved seeing blood everywhere.’
Mike inclined his head donnishly. ‘An interesting slant on Aristotle’s Poetics.’
‘Don’t josh him,’ warned Andrea. ‘He won’t see the joke and will only think he’s gotten the better of you.’
Mike smiled at her. ‘All right, to be more serious, I like tragedy because it tells me that human beings can sometimes be greater than their fate.’
Peter sucked in his cheeks. ‘Greatness, nobility … bah … just whistling in the wind. If Freud’s right about our fundamental drives being instinctive, a man can’t be blamed for doing wrong, or praised for doing right. So where does that put the Tragic Hero, Commander?’
‘In the theatre. Where else?’ For the first time, Mike looked a little rattled. ‘In ancient Chinese drama, a man with a white face was good, and one with a red face was bad. If they could swallow that, I can accept a bit of hamartia and hubris.’
Rose placed two bowls in front of Andrea. ‘Stewed apple and blancmange, madam.’
Andrea thanked her effusively. ‘Any orders?’ She looked round the table expectantly.
‘One day we’ll have a real discussion,’ Peter promised Mike, evidently rather pleased with their conversation.
‘Not when I’m around,’ whispered Justin, earning himself a fierce stare from Mike, followed by a discreet wink.
Looking at the smiling naval officer across the table, Andrea had no idea whether he had been offended by Peter. Could his remarkable good nature have been genuine? And if so, why? Because he truly liked Peter – as many people did – or because an affair with a wife was always easier when the husband liked the lover?
Before Mike Harrington left, Justin made him promise to take him and Leo out again before the weekend. Andrea found it touching that the boy was confident Mike would agree.
It had started to rain while they had been eating but this did not stop Andrea walking with Harrington to his car.
‘I thought you were awfully restrained with Peter.’
‘I didn’t try to be.’ He smiled wanly. ‘When my own life became dramatic, I stopped caring so much about Greek plays.’
‘You’re making fun of me.’
‘Only a little.’
‘I can’t figure out whether that’s worse than a lot.’
They walked in silence through the gate and into the lane. The rain was coming down harder, making dark marks on her turquoise blouse. He said gently, ‘I’ll be away for a few days from this evening. I couldn’t tell Justin. So please think of something to say if he asks why I didn’t ring.’
‘It’s good of you to think of his feelings.’
‘I don’t see much of my own son.’ He raised his hands and let them fall. ‘I’ll tell you about him some day, but not now.’
‘Are you still afraid?’ she forced herself to ask as they reached the automobile. She could hear the rain pattering down on the roof. The vehicle was old and blue, with RN painted on what he called the bonnet and she the hood.
‘You mean afraid of you?’
‘You said it, not me.’
‘I did.’ He opened the driver’s door but did not get in. ‘Can I be honest with you? For months now, I haven’t been leading any kind of life – just staggering from one day to another. But it can’t go on.’ He got into the car and left the door open. ‘I can’t let it. Do you understand?’
‘Not really.’
‘Get in out of the rain.’ He pushed open the passenger’s door for her. She heard Leo calling her from the house.
‘Another time,’ she murmured, but Mike looked so disappointed that she changed her mind and slid in beside him.
He said rapidly, without looking at her, ‘I was talking to Tony the other day about what might make life better for men like us. Not wealth, he said. We wouldn’t be needing money if our luck ran out. Not success, because one needs time to enjoy it.’ His eyes fi
xed upon hers, and, though he was smiling, she sensed that he was nervous. ‘What makes all the difference, according to Tony, is having someone who says he’s the bee’s knees. Death’s no problem now, he tells me.’
‘Do you still love your wife?’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘After our bust-up, I didn’t look around for anyone else either. I thought I wouldn’t be able to cope with my job if I had a second disaster on the romantic front. Now I feel much more robust.’
Andrea reached out to him and placed a hand on his. The moment had come – he had shown his wounded heart to her; explained. ‘When will you be back?’ she asked, in a strangely stilted and high-pitched voice.
‘Sunday morning. Why do you ask?’
‘I’d like to see you, of course.’ She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.
‘I’ll need to sleep for a couple of hours when we get in. So I’ll ring you late afternoon.’ Suddenly he laughed edgily. ‘What a hole you’re in. You had to say what you did.’
‘Really, I didn’t.’
‘Not even out of pity for a departing matelot?’ She could hear the pained anxiety in his voice.
She let out her breath. ‘Pity doesn’t figure at all.’ The next moment he leaned across and kissed her on her half-open lips. Too flustered to resist or join in, she let it happen. He drew back and gazed at her.
‘You look lovely with the rain in your hair.’
‘It looks nice in yours, too.’
‘Let’s hope it rains some more.’
‘Keep safe,’ she whispered as she got out. Her legs shook as she stood up. But she did not dare stay a moment longer, although she could hardly drag herself away. Instead she hurried home along the dripping lane, knowing she would suffer until he returned, and that when he came back she would not see him enough. Tears leaked from her eyes and merged invisibly with the falling rain.
CHAPTER 8
A freighter had run aground in the night and Peter suggested driving up onto the headland beyond Bolidden Quarry so that Leo and Justin could watch tugs from Falmouth trying to save her. But when Andrea drove them onto the cliffs above the stranded vessel, attempts to float her off had been abandoned until the next high tide. However, they did see the Porthbeer lifeboat take off most of the crewmen, leaving behind only a skeleton crew.
Soon after breakfast, Andrea had been amazed to see her husband come in from the lane with a small posy of violets he had picked for her. Each flower could only have been gathered with pain. Taking the violets from him, her confused feelings about Mike had overwhelmed her. Tears had sprung into her eyes as she had stammered incoherent thanks.
As they sat in the car eating sandwiches, Peter was dismayed to hear the whine of aircraft out at sea. Moments later, the thump of exploding bombs reached them. On the horizon, a slanting column of black smoke began to bend in the wind until it was lying parallel with the water. Three black gnats appeared above the skyline. The whine of engines increased in volume to a drone.
‘German bombers,’ gasped Justin, shielding his eyes.
‘Better get moving,’ said Peter, guessing these planes had just attacked a convoy and would now be eager to discard their remaining bombs. A solitary car would not be worth hitting, but the nearby quarry’s trolley-ways would be.
While Peter limped after everyone, Andrea led the way to a rocky depression surrounded by clumps of golden gorse. But once there, they remained standing, eyes still riveted to the three crooked little planes – more like wasps now than gnats.
‘They’re Junkers 88s,’ announced Justin, and at that moment Andrea could clearly see the black crosses on their wings. The noise of their engines had risen to a roar that became a shriek as the leading plane swooped down, turning his belly briefly towards the cliffs.
‘That’s torn it,’ muttered Peter. ‘He’s attacking the freighter.’
Like eggs squeezed from the abdomen of a blowfly, a few black dots detached themselves from the plane’s underside and hurtled seawards. Two fountains of water sprung up close to the ship. A third bomb buried itself in a field two hundred yards from where they were sheltering. As clods of earth rained down, the four of them flung themselves on their faces. Peter prayed that a fourth bomb was not on its way. He was still waiting in agony as the next bomber went into its screeching dive.
‘Aargh!’ groaned Leo. ‘They got me.’
‘Don’t joke,’ reproved Andrea.
She had rested her forehead on the ground for a moment and something was sticking to her skin. She raised a hand and brushed off some moist rabbit droppings. Her smile was brief. What a fool she’d been not to figure out that a helpless ship would attract enemy aircraft.
The next bombs landed in the sea. The third Junkers started its descent, and, though no one saw the bomb strike the ship, they certainly heard it detonate. Only when the sound of the bombers’ engines had become very faint did Andrea let the boys stand up. By then, the freighter was on fire from stem to stern.
‘There’s a man in the bows,’ screeched Leo, just before the pin-sized crewman leapt into the sea. Peter thought he saw another tiny figure on a ladder by the bridge but the smoke was very thick and the next moment there was an explosion and the whole bridge was engulfed in flames. Had anyone else seen this second crewman die?
If either boy had, Peter didn’t expect Andrea to forgive him in a hurry. Even before this morning she had seemed alarmingly tense. The night before she hadn’t wanted to make love, but had submitted to him. So to thank her for putting his pleasure before her own wishes, he had picked some violets. Her strange response had not reassured him.
Now there were more aircraft in the sky. Two silver planes were closing with the bombers ten miles out to sea. The German planes seemed slow and cumbersome as these new arrivals attacked in turn, diving from above with machine guns rattling, leaving vapour trails in the sky. Nobody spoke as one of the Junkers disintegrated, its fuselage tearing apart like tissue paper. One wing flew off sideways, quite slowly, while the engine plummeted seawards like a huge bomb.
‘Poor devils,’ murmured Peter.
‘Another’s on fire,’ cried Leo, as smoke billowed from the entrails of this second victim of the British fighters. The plane lost height before managing to climb again. It was still airborne as it disappeared over the horizon, pursued by both Hurricanes. Two minutes later the fighters were back again but something was wrong with one of them. It was coming down in a slow glide, its propeller scarcely turning. A cloud of burning fluid trailed behind. Bale out, Peter willed the pilot, bale out. But the cockpit remained closed as the plane tilted into a steep dive. When the Hurricane hit the water, Justin ran off blindly across the heather. At the spot where the plane had sunk, a patch of oil stained the water. Too stunned to move at first, Andrea sprang to life and raced in pursuit.
‘That was the last thing that poor boy should have seen,’ groaned Peter, knowing the kind of trouble he would be in when Andrea returned.
‘What about me?’ sniffed Leo.
‘Did your father die in a plane?’ demanded Peter.
‘I’m sorry, dad,’ said Leo, feeling a great sob swell in his throat.
Peter hugged his son tightly as he began to shake. ‘Bloody bad luck we were here when it happened.’
Justin had run on past a ‘Danger’ sign into the abandoned part of the quarry. Breathing hard, Andrea paused where the ground began to fall away. Ahead of her was a gigantic circular hole, large enough to accommodate the Albert Hall. A series of sloping terraces ran round the quarry’s sides and on one of these she spotted Justin. He was sitting on the very edge, legs thrust out into space. She approached slowly, in order not to shock him, and sat down several paces away. Far below them, the sea was visible through a wide gap that had been blasted over the years into the side of the headland.
‘You okay now?’ she asked softly.
‘It wasn’t the plane,’ he blurted out after a silence.
‘No?’
‘Ma
ybe a bit. It was mainly the ship.’
She moved closer and slid an arm round him. ‘Tell me, sweetheart.’
‘I thought of Mike.’
A lump formed in Andrea’s throat. ‘Because he didn’t call about taking you sailing?’ Justin nodded, fighting back tears. Andrea’s eyes were also filling. ‘I should have told you. I’m really sorry. He did call. He had to go on a training exercise.’
‘He was really nice to me when we went out that time.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘I did everything right for him. That’s really odd for me.’ Justin managed a twisted smile.
‘You’ll see him again real soon.’
‘If they kill him like my dad, I’ll …’ He raised his hands to his face and stayed hunched and very still.
‘He’ll be just fine, honey. His work isn’t dangerous.’ The boy did not answer but sat swinging his feet back and forth over the drop. ‘Let’s walk down,’ she suggested.
The bottom of the quarry was overgrown with brambles that had almost engulfed a rusting winch and the twin boilers of a large ship. Andrea guessed that these had been salvaged from a wreck; but, after what Justin had just witnessed, she did not say so. Justin, however, seemed to enjoy poking around these maritime relics and was clearly frustrated not to be able to hack his way through the undergrowth to explore an entire steel deckhouse complete with portholes.
Sitting in the car, Leo and Peter had the satisfaction of seeing the lifeboat nose in right under the cliff. The man who had plunged into the sea had evidently managed to swim to the rocks, because when the lifeboat returned to view a man was in the cockpit, swathed in blankets. The hull of the freighter was still burning and listing.
‘I’d hate to be a sailor,’ murmured Leo, gazing at the doomed vessel. He suddenly seemed chastened. ‘I wish Commander Harrington liked me as much as he likes Justin.’
‘He’s probably nice to Justin because of his father.’
Just then the burning freighter seized their attention by sinking with a boiling hiss. Strange burping noises could be heard as huge bubbles broke the surface.