A Ship's Tale (25 page)

He applied the brakes, mended—ha!, downshifted, and came to a halt largely by virtue of our heading part-way up a hill at the time, which lessened the drama of the gesture considerably. “Right, then! If you don't like the way I drive,
you
do it,” he pouted, and climbed out.

“Really? I thought you said I drove like an old lady,” I said as I scrambled from my seat and round to the driver's side. Harris got into the passenger seat and left me in possession of the field. In my eagerness, I rolled back and then stalled the engine as I started off. Harris drummed his fingers on the back of my seat irritably, then pointed to my feet.

“Flynn, it's the pedal over there,” and he pointed to the accelerator.

“Well, I simply haven't your talent,” I retorted and re-started the motor. He gave a sniff of disdain as we unsteadily set off once more.

When we came into Gravesend, he directed me to the car ferry where we found Brian's son, David, waiting for us.

Harris said, “Here's the Morris and the key to the lorry as well. Tell your Dad how much we're still in his debt.”

We watched him install the old Morris on the ferry and turned our steps towards the tug docks. As we walked, Harris said, “That son of Brian's is an ungrateful sod—complained that the shop still smelt of elephant dung.” We had to laugh at that.

The morning was still cold and Harris took in a great breath of foggy air saying, “Now then, let's walk the last mile.”

“You make it sound like a bloody execution,” Robert groaned.

“You never can tell, any given day,” Harris replied.

“Oh, belt up and give it a rest! How did I ever fall in with the likes of you?” I asked.

“By coming to the just reward of a blameless life, m'boy,” he returned with a cherubic smile.

I concentrated on keeping up with his long strides and Robert fell in alongside. As we walked along the docklands, there didn't seem to be a soul out in the yards as yet, only a few signs of life from the early-rising maritime working folk along with maintenance and security men.

We were in good time for it looked a while yet before departure.

Already in attendance at the tug were the two government officials, standing primly by. I heard a low growl from Harris as we approached.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris,” one of them said, touching the brim of his bowler, “and where is the delightful Mr. Bowman today?”

“He's not feeling well,” Harris replied, “but he sends his love and hopes you won't miss him too much.”

“Oh, not
too
awfully,” said the official representative, tilting his bowler with a well-bred little laugh. “I say, it looks as though everyone is here. What do you say we just push off now and go down a bit earlier than we'd planned, eh?”

Harris eyed him speculatively. “I have no objection, but I think you'll find the tide's not entirely in agreement as of yet,” he cautioned.

The tug captain had come up and caught some of this conversation. He looked the government officials up and down, then took his pipe from his mouth and spat. “It's just about on the turn,” he said, “and the engines need a bit of warming up anyway.”

As we were about to board, one of the officials looked at Harris earnestly. “I hope you'll not be making one of your celebrated scenes over this,” he said in a clipped accent.

Harris returned his look coldly, “No, it's just a bloody shame that you lot don't know what to do with a good ship. She's been sound, sharp, and right in her time. But now you think she's nothing but a worthless wreck. We'll certainly never see eye-to-eye.”

“You know,” the other said lightly, “as with everything, it's out with the old and in with the new. Besides which, it's well past time we cleaned up that area down-river.”

Harris began to heat up now. “Another of your pat little excuses, is it? Well, if you're so bloody interested in tidying things up, you might well have a closer look at the Beasley Inn. I have my doubts whether the sanitation there would bear up under close scrutiny.”

I caught Harris's eye and shook my head warningly. One by one we climbed aboard and were treated to the ugly stench of fumes from the tug's funnel as we cast off from the dock. Hearing shouts, we looked back to see a reporter with photographer in tow, both of them running frantically. The tug captain was all for leaving them behind. Luckily we were still close enough to the dock for the tug to be manoeuvred against the side so the two men could jump on board. Harris said quietly that we needed their publicity for the start of our voyage. I wasn't sure what he meant. Harris simply repeated the formula: all things in good time!

The tug sounded one loud blast of her horn, the international signal for getting underway, and we began our slow cruise past wharves, docks, and warehouses. Many were in ruins, bearing the enduring tokens of the Luftwaffe's regard, and loomed eerily in the fog like some landscape from a nightmare. It was a gloomy and dispiriting ride, making it hard to believe that there was to be a glorious break for freedom at the end of it.

As we passed into the estuary, the water started to get a bit choppy. We slowed our speed and crept along through the pitch and yaw. We strained our eyes for a sight of the shoreline in the fog, and at last we recognised the dim smoke of our bonfire. In the end it was the tall masts of the
Bonnie Clyde
that guided us in as we spotted them above the low-lying billows of fog. The tug captain now slowed us down by putting the engines in reverse to aid in negotiating the turn that would bring us up to the bow of the
Bonnie
, carefully avoiding the hazard of the sunken coal barque.

As we drew alongside the ship, we could see Boris standing there. In his hands was a line ending in a heaving weight. He swung the heavy knot and flung the line over onto the tug, where it was taken up. This line was attached to a large hawser which was then drawn over to the tug. More lines flew, and were exchanged and pulled across while the tug's engine was put ahead to take up the slack. The tug captain walked out onto the stern of his boat, looking the
Bonnie
over with a practised eye.

“Here, looks like a fair bit of salvageable material there. Why, some of that line looks rather new.” He craned his neck this way and that, trying to see more.

One of the officials made a dismissive gesture. “That's of no consequence now,” he declared. “We don't intend to spend all day chipping away at bits and pieces.”

“Well, that's as it may be, sir,” said the tug captain, “you'll not want to be forgetting to save the ship's wheel after that fellow's done steering her to where we're going to do the scuttling.”

“Aye,” put in Harris, “You've already taken the anchors and whatever else was worth having.”

“That's right then,” said the tug captain. He turned to his deckhand, “Let me know when we're secured,” he cried. Then he went into the wheelhouse returning a moment later with a mug of what must have been month-old coffee. The stuff looked as if it could eat right through the bottom of the cup.

We watched as Boris deftly got everything in order. It was amusing to think that everyone imagined Boris was the only hand on board the
Bonnie Clyde
, when a full outlaw crew was quietly hiding below.

“Do you need any help?” one of the deckhands called out.

Boris looked at him. “No, no help. Boris not needing help. Everything much under control.”

The deckhand looked round with a baffled expression. “Here, who's this Boris?”

“That's him you're talking to, you bloody fool,” said Harris impatiently.

“Now, now,” one of the government officials chided, “We can't know everyone's name here. We're just doing a job. I hardly think that anyone sensible will grieve for this old hulk once she's gone. Why, the shoreline will look much better straightaway.”

Harris was preparing a retort, but just then the deckhand returned to tell the tug captain that all the lines were secure and she was ready to go.

The tug captain went out for one last look. “Since we're not pressed for time, I believe I'll just go aboard for a bit of a look around.” Then he realised that there was no way onto the ship from the bank. “Wasn't there a gangway there only the other day? Who in blazes took that down? And what on earth for?”

Harris and I looked at one another out of the corners of our eyes. “Oh, that was gone days ago, probably stolen like everything else,” Harris said casually.

“It was? Those bloody scavenger bastards!” yelled the tug captain. “I'm sure they've picked her clean by now. Well, let's not sit here and mope. It's time to be off.”

The rumble of the tug engines got louder as they met the strain on the hawser when the slack was fully taken up. A long slow turn to starboard would bring the bow of the ship around. We watched as her nose came round and she was carefully eased past the sunken barque. All the lines and rigging groaned a protest as if the ship were a bit arthritic and didn't care to stir out of bed. I looked carefully, but could see nothing visible about her to arouse any suspicion. Harris's mud idea seemed to have done the trick.

“There's a lot of canvas on those yardarms,” one of the deckhands remarked.

“Yes, but it's all old worn stuff we came across,” Harris responded. “Surely we owe her that much. After we put a hole in her, we'll set the sails, and let her go down on her own, just as we did for the last one. Surely all the tug operators must have heard about it.”

The tugboat captain nodded in agreement, and everyone settled in to await the pull out to sea.

It was at that moment I realised why Harris had called the other scuttling a rehearsal. The tug crew and the officials would be expecting the same procedure this time, so no one was the wiser. Harris pointed, and we looked to see the
Bonnie Clyde
's old commission pennant being run up the mainmast, ostensibly for the last time.

“Right then, we're off,” the tug captain cried out. “Take her about easy.”

He pushed on the throttles, and the tug moved forward with a roar, easily pulling the ship from her mooring. A single gull circled, seeing her off with plaintive cries.

“It's sad when you think about it,” Harris said sombrely. “This good ship giving decades of service, all those years of usefulness, and when she's finally going, only one single seagull shows up.”

I put my hand on his shoulder in exaggeratedly solemn consolation. “Do not despair, my friend,” I said in a theatrical voice. I muffled a yelp as he pushed his elbow into my ribs.

“Let's not put it on too thick,” he hissed.

As the ship bobbed along behind, we could see Boris at the helm, keeping her on an even course behind the tug as we worked our way out over choppy waves. I watched in admiration at the way he handled the great vessel, expertly compensating for resistance and slack in the hawser. The fog had nearly gone, giving us average weather for these waters.

“Good thing it's not raining,” one of the deckhands said.

Now that we'd started on the long haul to the scuttling site, Harris beckoned Robert and me to go aft of the tug's cabin as if to watch the
Bonnie Clyde
straining at the tow behind us. He then told us a bit more of the plan that had been hatched to give us as many hours' head start as possible.

Harris said to me, “Your part is to back me up and make as much noise as possible when I pick a fight with one of the tug's crew or one of the officials. I'll signal you in some way when we start our part, and then just do your best.”

“Fight?” I asked.

“It won't escape your notice!” he assured me.

To Robert he said, “Your part is critical. You have to be quick, and make sure that none of the others sees what you're up to. Your signal will be when the fight starts. You'll be waiting for the chance to get into the wheelhouse.” Harris took a small magnet from his pocket. “Place this magnet on the east side of the binnacle, so that magnetic north will appear to be north-east or worse, and the boat will be steered in a more northerly direction, pointing to Clacton or Harwich. Use this tape to be damned sure it stays put and out of sight.” He went on, “Next, while you're in the wheelhouse, you have to remove the handset from the radio and hide it on yourself. Once you're done, you must get to where the fight is so I can see you. Then you and Flynn are to get up the rope ladder to the
Bonnie
as fast as you can, and I'll be as close behind you as I can manage.”

Now we were really burning our bridges—with a vengeance! Suddenly Robert and I were the key players. Robert wanted to know what to do with the handset. “It's to land on board the
Bonnie Clyde
,” Harris said.

“I want to know how I can help,” I told Harris.

“Just make sure no one tries to clobber me with a belaying pin or something from behind,” Harris replied with a wry look.

I was angry that Harris had not discussed these details with us before we set out. This way we had very little notice to accomplish something so critical. Harris insisted that all would be fine if we did as he said. Harris and Robert went to scout out the wheelhouse while I sat quietly and waited.

Now every passing minute seemed like an hour, and an hour all but an eternity. The two officials were having a jolly time. It was like an outing to them.

I went up to the wheelhouse after Harris and Robert had finished enquiring as to our position. It seemed we'd be arriving at the spot they selected for the
Bonnie
's grave in less than an hour. I went back for my vacuum bottle and poured myself a mug of tea.

“What's that you're drinking?” Harris asked with a hopeful expression.

“Oh, it's a type of tea.”

“Tea?” he said, with obvious disappointment.