He was ushered straight through to Sir Walter’s office by his secretary and found the chairman leaning on his desk, peering down at the port schedules, timetables and ocean charts that covered every inch of its surface.
‘Have a seat, dear boy,’ said Sir Walter, before fixing his monocle in his right eye and looking sternly at Harry. ‘I’ve had a little time to think about our conversation this morning,’ he continued, sounding very serious, ‘and before we go any further, I need to be convinced that you’re making the right decision.’
‘I’m absolutely certain,’ said Harry without hesitation.
‘That may be, but I’m equally certain that Jack would have advised you to return to Oxford and wait until you were called up.’
‘He may well have done so, sir, but he wouldn’t have taken his own advice.’
‘How well you knew him,’ said Sir Walter. ‘Indeed, that’s exactly what I expected you to say. Let me tell you what I’ve come up with so far,’ he continued, returning his attention to the papers that covered his desk. ‘The good news is that the Royal Navy battleship HMS Resolution is due to dock at Bristol in about a month’s time, when it will refuel before awaiting further orders.’
‘A month?’ said Harry, making no attempt to hide his frustration.
‘Patience, boy,’ said Sir Walter. ‘The reason I chose the Resolution is because the captain is an old friend, and I’m confident I can get you on board as a deckhand, as long as the other part of my plan works out.’
‘But would the captain of the Resolution consider taking on someone with no seafaring experience?’
‘Probably not, but if everything else falls into place, by the time you board the Resolution you will be an old sea dog.’
Recalling one of Old Jack’s favourite homilies, I find I don’t learn a lot while I’m talking, Harry decided to stop interrupting and start listening.
‘Now,’ Sir Walter continued, ‘I’ve identified three ships that are due to leave Bristol in the next twenty-four hours and are expected to return within three to four weeks, which will give you more than enough time to sign up as a deckhand on the Resolution.’
Harry wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.
‘Let’s begin with my first choice. The Devonian is bound for Cuba, with a manifest of cotton dresses, potatoes and Raleigh Lenton bicycles, and is due to return to Bristol in four weeks’ time with a cargo of tobacco, sugar and bananas.
‘The second ship on my shortlist is the SS Kansas Star, a passenger vessel that will be sailing to New York on the first tide tomorrow. It has been requisitioned by the United States government to transport American nationals back home before Britain finds itself at war with Germany.
‘The third is an empty oil tanker, the SS Princess Beatrice, which is on its way back to Amsterdam to refuel and will return to Bristol with a full load before the end of the month. All three skippers are painfully aware that they need to be safely back in port as quickly as possible, because if war is declared, the two merchant vessels will be considered fair game by the Germans, while only the Kansas Star will be safe from the German U-boats skulking around the Atlantic just waiting for the order to sink anything flying a red or blue ensign.’
‘What crew are these ships in need of?’ asked Harry. ‘I’m not exactly over-qualified.’
Sir Walter searched around his desk again, before extracting another sheet of paper. ‘The Princess Beatrice is short of a deckhand, the Kansas Star is looking for someone to work in the kitchens, which usually means as a washer-upper or a waiter, while the Devonian needs a fourth officer.’
‘So that one can be removed from the shortlist.’
‘Funnily enough,’ said Sir Walter, ‘that’s the position I consider you best qualified for. The Devonian has a crew of thirty-seven, and rarely goes to sea with a trainee officer, so no one would expect you to be anything other than a novice.’
‘But why would the captain consider me?’
‘Because I told him you were my grandson.’
51
HARRY WALKED ALONG the dock towards the Devonian. The small suitcase he was carrying made him feel like a schoolboy on his first day of term. What would the headmaster be like? Would he sleep in a bed next to a Giles or a Deakins? Would he come across an Old Jack? Would there be a Fisher on board?
Although Sir Walter had offered to accompany him and introduce him to the captain, Harry had felt that would not be the best way to endear himself to his new shipmates.
He stopped for a moment and looked closely at the ancient vessel on which he would be spending the next month. Sir Walter had told him that the Devonian had been built in 1913, when the oceans were still dominated by sail and a motorized cargo vessel would have been thought the latest thing. But now, twenty-six years later, it wouldn’t be too long before she was decommissioned and taken to that area of the docks where old ships are broken up and their parts sold for scrap.
Sir Walter had also hinted that as Captain Havens only had one more year to serve before he retired, the owners might decide to scrap him at the same time as his ship.
The Devonian‘s Articles of Agreement showed a crew of thirty-seven, but as on so many cargo ships, that number wasn’t quite accurate: a cook and a washer-up picked up in Hong Kong didn’t appear on the payroll, nor did the occasional deckhand or two who was fleeing the law and had no desire to return to his homeland.
Harry made his way slowly up the gangway. Once he’d stepped on deck, he didn’t move until he’d received permission to board. After all his years of hanging around the docks, he was well aware of ship’s protocol. He looked up at the bridge and assumed the man he saw giving orders must be Captain Havens. Sir Walter had told him the senior officer on a cargo vessel was in fact a master mariner but should always be addressed on board as captain. Captain Havens was a shade under six foot, and looked nearer fifty than sixty. He was stockily built, with a weathered, tanned face and a dark neatly trimmed beard that, as he was going bald, made him look like George V.
When he spotted Harry waiting at the top of the gangway, the captain gave a crisp order to the officer standing next to him on the bridge, before making his way down on to the deck.
‘I’m Captain Havens,’ he said briskly. ‘You must be Harry Clifton.’ He shook Harry warmly by the hand. ‘Welcome aboard the Devonian. You come highly recommended.’
‘I should point out, sir,’ began Harry, ‘that this is my first—’
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Havens, lowering his voice, ‘but I’d keep it to yourself if you don’t want your time on board to be a living hell. And whatever you do, don’t mention you were at Oxford, because most of this lot,’ he said, indicating the seamen working on the deck, ‘will think it’s just the name of another ship. Follow me. I’ll show you the fourth officer’s quarters.’
Harry followed in the captain’s wake, aware that a dozen suspicious eyes were watching his every move.
‘There are two other officers on my ship,’ said the captain once Harry had caught up with him. ‘Jim Patterson, the senior engineer, spends most of his life down below in the boiler room, so you’ll only see him at mealtimes, and sometimes not even then. He’s served with me for the past fourteen years, and frankly I doubt if this old lady would still make it halfway across the Channel, let alone the Atlantic, if he wasn’t down there to coax her along. My third officer, Tom Bradshaw, is on the bridge. He’s only been with me for three years, so he’s not yet earned his ticket. He keeps himself to himself, but whoever trained him knew what they were doing, because he’s a damn fine officer.’
Havens began to disappear down a narrow stairwell that led to the deck below. ‘That’s my cabin,’ he said as he continued down the corridor, ‘and that’s Mr Patterson’s.’ He came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a broom cupboard. ‘This is your cabin.’ He pushed the door open but it only moved a few inches before it banged against a narrow wooden bed. ‘I won’t come in as there isn’t room for both of us.
You’ll find some clothes on the bed. Once you’ve changed, join me on the bridge. We’ll be setting sail within the hour. Leaving the harbour will probably be the most interesting part of the voyage until we dock in Cuba.’
Harry squeezed through the half-open door and had to close it behind him to allow enough room to change his clothes. He checked the gear that had been left, neatly folded, on his bunk: two thick blue sweaters, two white shirts, two pairs of blue trousers, three pairs of blue woollen socks and a pair of canvas shoes with thick rubber soles. It really was like being back at school. Every item had one thing in common: they all looked as if they’d been worn by several other people before Harry. He quickly changed into his seaman’s gear, then unpacked his suitcase.
As there was only one drawer, Harry placed the little suitcase, full of his civilian clothes, under the bed - the only thing in the cabin that fitted perfectly. He opened the door, squeezed back into the corridor and went in search of the stairwell. Once he’d located it, he emerged back on deck. Several more pairs of suspicious eyes followed his progress.
‘Mr Clifton,’ said the captain as Harry stepped on to the bridge for the first time, ‘this is Tom Bradshaw, the third officer, who will be taking the ship out of the harbour as soon as we’ve been given clearance by the port authority. By the way, Mr Bradshaw,’ said Havens, ‘one of our tasks on this voyage will be to teach this young pup everything we know, so that when we return to Bristol in a month’s time the crew of HMS Resolution will mistake him for an old sea dog.’
If Mr Bradshaw commented, his words were drowned by two long blasts on a siren, a sound Harry had heard many times over the years, indicating that the two tug boats were in place and waiting to escort the Devonian out of the harbour. The captain pressed some tobacco into his well-worn briar pipe, while Mr Bradshaw acknowledged the signal with two blasts of the ship’s horn, to confirm that the Devonian was ready to depart.
‘Prepare to cast off, Mr Bradshaw,’ said Captain Havens, striking a match.
Mr Bradshaw removed the cover from a brass voicepipe Harry hadn’t noticed until that moment. ‘All engines slow ahead, Mr Patterson. The tug boats are in place and ready to escort us out of harbour,’ he added, revealing a slight American accent.
‘All engines slow ahead, Mr Bradshaw,’ came back a voice from the boiler room.
Harry looked down over the side of the bridge and watched as the crew carried out their allotted tasks. Four men, two at the bow and two at the stern, were unwinding thick ropes from the capstans on the dock. Another two were hauling up the gangway. ‘Keep your eye on the pilot,’ said the captain between puffs on his pipe. ‘It’s his responsibility to guide us out of the harbour and safely into the Channel. Once he’s done that, Mr Bradshaw will take over. If you turn out to be any good, Mr Clifton, you may be allowed to take his place in about a year’s time, but not until I’ve retired and Mr Bradshaw has taken over command.’ As Bradshaw didn’t give even the flicker of a smile, Harry remained silent and continued to watch everything going on around him. ‘No one is allowed to take my girl out at night,’ continued Captain Havens, ‘unless I’m sure he won’t take any liberties with her.’ Again, Bradshaw didn’t smile, but then he may have heard the comment before.
Harry found himself fascinated by how smoothly the whole operation was carried out. The Devonian eased away from the quayside and, with the help of the two tug boats, nosed her way slowly out of the docks, along the River Avon and under the suspension bridge.
‘Do you know who built that bridge, Mr Clifton?’ the captain asked, taking his pipe out of his mouth.
‘Isambard Kingdom Brunel, sir,’ said Harry.
‘And why did he never live to see it opened?’
‘Because the local council ran out of money, and he died before the bridge was completed.’
The captain scowled. ‘Next you’ll be telling me it’s named after you,’ he said, putting his pipe back in his mouth. He didn’t speak again until the tug boats had reached Barry Island, when they gave two more long blasts, released their lines and headed back to port.
The Devonian may have been an old lady, but it soon became clear to Harry that Captain Havens and his crew knew exactly how to handle her.
‘Take over, Mr Bradshaw,’ said the captain, as another pair of eyes appeared on the bridge, their owner carrying two mugs of hot tea. ‘There will be three officers on the bridge during this crossing, Lu, so be sure that Mr Clifton also gets a mug of tea.’ The Chinaman nodded and disappeared below deck.
Once the harbour lights had disappeared over the horizon, the waves became larger and larger, causing the ship to roll from side to side. Havens and Bradshaw stood, feet apart, appearing to be glued to the deck, while Harry found himself regularly having to cling on to something to make sure he didn’t fall over. When the Chinaman reappeared with a third mug of tea, Harry chose not to mention to the captain that it was cold, and that his mother usually added a lump of sugar.
Just as Harry was beginning to feel a little more confident, almost enjoying the experience, the captain said, ‘Not much more you can do tonight, Mr Clifton. Why don’t you go below and try to catch some shut-eye. Be back on the bridge by seven twenty to take over the breakfast watch.’ Harry was about to protest, when a smile appeared on Mr Bradshaw’s face for the first time.
‘Goodnight, sir,’ said Harry before making his way down the steps and on to the deck. He wobbled slowly towards the narrow stairwell, feeling with every step he took that he was being watched by even more eyes. One voice said, loud enough for him to hear, ‘He must be a passenger.’
‘No, he’s an officer,’ said a second voice.
‘What’s the difference?’ Several men laughed.
Once he was back in his cabin, he undressed and climbed on to the thin wooden bunk. He tried to find a comfortable position without falling out or rolling into the wall as the ship swayed from side to side as well as lurching up and down. He didn’t even have a wash basin to be sick in, or a porthole to be sick out of.
As he lay awake, his thoughts turned to Emma. He wondered if she was still in Scotland or had returned to the Manor House, or perhaps she’d already taken up residence at Oxford. Would Giles be wondering where he was, or had Sir Walter told him he’d gone to sea and would be joining the Resolution the moment he landed back in Bristol? And would his mother be wondering where he could be? Perhaps he should have broken her golden rule and interrupted her at work. Finally, he thought about Old Jack, and suddenly felt guilty when he realized he wouldn’t be back in time for his funeral.
What Harry couldn’t know was that his own funeral would take place before Old Jack’s.
52
HARRY WAS WOKEN BY the sound of four bells. He leapt up, hitting his head on the ceiling, threw on his clothes, squeezed into the corridor, shot up the stairwell, ran across the deck and bounded up the steps on to the bridge.
‘Sorry I’m late, sir, I must have overslept.’
‘You don’t have to call me sir when we’re on our own,’ said Bradshaw, ‘the name’s Tom. And as a matter of fact, you’re over an hour early. The skipper obviously forgot to tell you it’s seven bells for the breakfast watch, and four for the six o’clock watch. But as you’re here, why don’t you take over the wheel while I take a leak.’ The shock for Harry was to realize that Bradshaw wasn’t joking. ‘Just be sure the arrow on the compass is always pointing sou’-sou’-west, then you can’t go far wrong,’ he added, his American accent sounding more pronounced.
Harry took the wheel with both hands and stared intently at the little black arrow as he tried to keep the ship ploughing through the waves in a straight line. When he looked back at the wake, he saw that the neat straight line Bradshaw had achieved with such apparent ease had been replaced by the sort of curves more associated with Mae West. Although Bradshaw was only away for a few minutes, Harry had rarely been more pleased to see anyone when he returned.
Bradshaw took over and the uninterrupted straig
ht line quickly reappeared, although he only had one hand on the wheel.
‘Remember, you’re handling a lady,’ said Bradshaw. ‘You don’t cling on to her, but gently caress her. If you can manage that, she’ll stay on the straight and narrow. Now try again, while I plot our seven bells position on the daily chart.’
When one bell rang twenty-five minutes later and the captain appeared on the bridge to relieve Bradshaw, Harry’s line in the ocean may not have been entirely straight, but at least it no longer appeared as if the ship was being steered by a drunken sailor.
At breakfast, Harry was introduced to a man who could only have been first engineer.
Jim Patterson’s ghostly complexion made him look as if he’d spent most of his life below decks, and his paunch suggested he spent the rest of the time eating. Unlike Bradshaw, he never stopped talking, and it quickly became clear to Harry that he and the skipper were old friends.
The Chinaman appeared, carrying three plates that could have been cleaner. Harry avoided the greasy bacon and fried tomatoes in favour of a piece of burnt toast and an apple.
‘Why don’t you spend the rest of the morning finding your way around the ship, Mr Clifton,’ suggested the captain after the plates had been cleared away. ‘You could even join Mr Patterson in the engine room and see how many minutes you survive down there.’ Patterson burst out laughing, grabbed the last two pieces of toast and said, ‘If you think these are burnt, wait until you’ve spent a few minutes with me.’
Like a cat that has been left alone in a new house, Harry began stalking around the outside of the deck as he tried to become familiar with his new kingdom.
He knew the ship was 475 feet long with a 56-foot beam and its top speed was fifteen knots, but he’d had no idea there would be so many nooks and crannies that undoubtedly served some purpose which, given time, he would learn. Harry also noticed there wasn’t any part of the deck the captain couldn’t keep a watchful eye on from the bridge, so there was no chance of escape for an idle seaman.