How To Be Brave (21 page)

I remember when Bamford passed away, God rest his soul. I remember it only because it was so forgettable. I do not say that with rude disregard or disrespect for the man – Bamford was an amiable young chap. I say it because by then we were immune to death. He was the sixth to die and we had quite literally run out of care. The shock when Scown died, and then Young Fowler, and Arnold, meant we had so little feeling left as time went on. It was the twenty-ninth day when Bamford passed and we hardly prayed when we put his body to sea. Now I am shocked by it. I think of him on the
SS Lulworth Hill,
once when we sat on a tea break and he told me about a girl he liked in his village and how he was too shy to tell her he liked her. I was coarse with him and told him to seize life by the shoulders. So I had a drink for him one night in our local when I’d been home a while. One beer. For Bamford. To say, we did care. We were just young and tired and thirsty and hungry, and we wanted to go home
.

Colin woke hopeful on day thirty – it was the day Officer Scown had predicted they might reach land. As though in the same mood, the ocean appeared remarkably calm. Her waves lapped affectionately at the boat. Perhaps foolishly, Colin dipped a hand in the water and let it caress him, before Platten woke and told him to get his bloody fingers away from the sharks.

‘Maybe today land,’ Colin said to Ken, as they poured a few more ounces of water. Every time the cup came around the men tried to savour it, to slowly sip and relish each precious drop. But it proved impossible and they glugged it in two or three too-brief mouthfuls.

‘Land?’ asked Ken. ‘What about your ship?’

‘It’s day thirty.’

‘So?’

‘Day
thirty
.’ Colin repeated it, knowing Ken would realise.

He did but his reaction was one of indifference. ‘Just another day,’ he said. ‘No more chance today of a ship or land than there was yesterday or the day before or will be tomorrow or the next day.’

The previous night Ken had caught a large ray, a beautiful creature that fought hard to escape the spear. They shared and devoured him desperately, licking and sucking every bit of flesh. Afterwards – revived as though they’d had a few brandies – Ken had been optimistic, saying that if they caught more fish they could well last until they reached land or sighted a ship, whichever came first. Colin, in a slump then, had wanted to say that when the water ran out it wouldn’t matter how many fish they caught. But he’d stopped himself.

Now Colin felt hopeful and Ken dismissed him. So went their relationship aboard the lifeboat; when one man gave up, the other pushed ahead.

Day thirty wore on with mind-numbing tedium. Colin was determined he’d be the first to see that hazy hint of land. He lay on the foredeck, drifting in and out of sleep, where brutal dreams offered a ship that was only clouds, and consciousness gave the girl with Titian hair, who urged him on and called him Grandad.

When the sun had reached her cruel heights and all were sprawled in the bottom of the boat, Bott suddenly leapt to his feet, shrieking maniacally. For a brief, wonderful moment Colin thought he had sighted land.

But with superhuman strength Bott grabbed the two nearest men – Weekes and Leak – and jumped overboard. The whole thing happened so fast and yet unfolded sluggishly before Colin’s fatigued eyes. He saw it like slowed-down film footage; like the time he’d gone to the picture house with his brother Eric and the film broke.

‘Grab them!’ yelled Ken, rushing to the boat edge.

Colin and Platten joined him, calling at those who had barely moved, ‘Men overboard! Men overboard!’

Sharks had already closed in. By some fluke Leak floated near the boat and was hauled back in. He was so stunned that Colin felt he wasn’t even sure what had happened.

Platten stood, put a foot on the edge, ready to go. Colin did too.

‘It’s suicide.’ Ken stopped them. ‘They’re too far to reach. There’s nothing you can do now!’

‘But we have to …’ Platten appeared not to know what they had to do.

A shark flashed through the water like the sub that had taken the
Lulworth Hill
down and attacked Weekes. His scream ripped through them all. Bott was flailing about madly and had managed to keep them off, but now the grey shapes closed in. Ken turned away and covered his ears, his face a picture of misery and guilt. Platten and Colin did too, the three of them like the
See No Evil, Hear No Evil
monkeys. But nothing blocked out those final screams or the wild whirling water.

Afterwards they offered Leak a drink, but he pushed them off, swore and curled up to sleep.

‘We should’ve…’ Colin wasn’t sure what he meant to say.

‘Should’ve what?’ cried Ken. ‘Bloody jumped too? We did what we had to do! If we’d saved them, how could we have closed any wounds? They’d have bled to death in minutes, lad. We had to let them die or die ourselves, so we did what we did and only God knows if it was the right thing.’

‘Weekes was trying so hard,’ said Colin, angry. ‘He just said to me last night that he really thought he might get home. Bott had no right to take him like that. Jump if you must but don’t take others with you. The bastard.’ He paused. ‘What can we tell their families?’

‘We lie,’ said Ken. ‘Say they died peacefully, a mate at their side.’

Colin nodded. ‘What good would the truth do?’

Platten said, ‘If I don’t make it I want you to tell my twin girls that …’ He stopped, hand gripping his lapel. ‘However I go I want you not to dwell on that, but to tell them they were in my thoughts at all times. And tell my wife – tell her she made me very happy.’

There were only six of them now. Leak and Davies were semi-conscious but Stewart joined in the conversation. ‘Tell my mum,’ the young lad said, with effort. ‘Tell her I did my best.’

Ken looked at Colin. ‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘What should we tell your family if … you know?’

‘I’ll tell them myself,’ he snapped, and went to the foredeck to look for land.

By dark he gave up. No land or ship appeared on the thirtieth day. He cursed Scown for giving them false hope, cursed Bott for taking the cheerful Weekes overboard, and cursed himself for letting any of it happen.

In the morning Leak died, his tongue by then so black and swollen that he choked to death. It was another name added to the many now in the death log, leaving just five men, all wondering who might be next.’

‘I just can’t imagine watching all your friends die like that,’ said Rose. ‘Fourteen is half my class so like if I was on a boat with the girls from 5F I’d have to watch them die one after another. But I’d be first wouldn’t I? Cos I’d have no insulin. No, I want to say it! That’s how it would happen. Might be good to go first. Not watch all your friends die. By day thirty-three Grandad Colin had lost eleven friends. I know he liked some better than others. I definitely do. Like at school Rebecca Hartley is totally annoying but I’d be sad if she died. Anyway, by the end of day thirty-three there was just Colin, Ken and Platten. A whole month – that’s such a long time to live on a small boat and look at the same stuff every day. I’ve had diabetes two months now and that seems like millions of years already. I reckon when you do the same thing over and over it makes time drag. Don’t you? And they don’t even know how long they’ve got to go, do they?’

I received today a letter from the Ministry of Information, which I have filed with all other correspondences relating to the sinking of the
SS Lulworth Hill.
It read, in part, as follows – ‘I would like to stress the importance of your giving your account entirely in your own way, and would ask you, therefore, to regard these (enclosed) notes as nothing more than sketchy suggestions. There will be many points, which will benefit by being illustrated by your own reminiscences. I hope to have the opportunity of arranging for you to visit one or more of our factories in the near future, and will communicate with you on this point a little later.’ I think in relaying the facts of what happened, as I have had to do on numerous occasions and to a variety of organisations, the true story gets lost. But I am happier with the facts. I dwell too much on the reasons and they drive me half mad. I think it would make a good story. I think maybe somebody one day might tell it far better than I ever could. They might find more poetry and meaning and artistry in it than I.

‘On day thirty-four the heat reached its most intolerable intensity yet. It was the end of April now and the sun’s rays scorched everything below. The only solace was that the awning provided ample shelter for the tiny party.

Beneath it, the three remaining men formed a triangle as though trying to fill the boat in the absence of the others. Platten was the weakest now and slumped against a mast with his chin on his chest. Colin wanted desperately to go and watch for a ship but the heat that day rendered them all immobile.

Ken called a conference, which merely meant he an nounced – without moving – that they should talk about rations now they were just three.

‘What does each man think of an ounce of extra water?’ he asked, his words a dry rasp.

Platten looked up. ‘Is there enough left?’