We Saw The Sea (7 page)

“Ladies and gentlemen! The next entry. . .”

“We want Salome!”

“The next entry!” shouted The Bodger.

“To hell with the next entry! “ roared back the bachelors round the walls. “We want Salome!”

The tumult died a little as the Captain was seen to bend and whisper to the O.C. Troops.

“That girl’s got a future, Bushy.”

“I should say so, sir. Shall we go on with the show?”

“No. Anything else would be an anticlimax, don’t you think?”

The Purser, who had watched the show from a strategic position near the door, went away to the Chief Steward’s cabin and drank whisky with him. Their shouts of “We want Salome! “ and the drunken squawkings and flutterings of the six parrots kept officers in the neighbouring cabins awake until early the next morning.

Phyllis Featherday’s
danse du ventre
was the sensation of the voyage. (It was judged by the ship’s officers the best entertainment put on by the passengers since the night before Southampton when the wife of an R.A.M.C. captain did a strip-tease in the lounge and inadvertently sneezed off her brassiere.) Mrs Featherday was mortified and obscurely blamed Goldilocks. Phyllis herself became a ship’s celebrity and was surrounded by interested young men whenever she appeared. Tommy Mitchell was interested enough to suggest that Phyllis give a repeat performance of her
danse du ventre
in the privacy of his cabin. Goldilocks had another lecture from O.C. Troops.

With Goldilocks as impotent as Napoleon in exile and the Fancy Dress Party over, there were no more social events until the ship reached Singapore.

No leave was allowed until the families had cleared the jetty and the young bloods who were going on to Hong Kong watched the disembarkation with cynical eyes.

“Makes you think what a two-timing lot of twisters they all are,” said Sandy, the Olympic torch bearer, bitterly. “Get Delilah there. Dig that shark skin outfit. It’s about twenty times as much as I saw her wearing the night before last.”

“Don’t get all bitter and twisted,” Paul said. “Put yourself in her husband’s place. He wants to see his wife come down the gangway calm, chaste and exquisite. Not dashing down in her dressing-gown as though the lecherous lascars were still after her. Besides, he’s got plenty of time to put two and two together and find out just what did go on in the good ship
Astrakhan
”

A huge Major appeared on the gangway and embraced Dolly. Tommy Mitchell blenched.

“Santa Maria! Is
that
her husband? Thank God I didn’t shout good-bye!”

Dolly disengaged herself neatly and tripped away on her husband’s arm without a backward glance at
Astrakhan
, for which Tommy Mitchell was grateful.

The Bodger came up on the boat deck.

“All right, men,” he said. “Put your eyeballs back in their sockets. You can get ashore now. The ship leaves at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

From the sea Singapore had looked a modern city but behind the tall buildings there were warrens of narrow streets with deep gutters and washing hung in lines from the rib-tiled roofs. There were sky-scrapers and sampans, barefoot beggars and American convertibles, Sikh taxi-drivers, Malayan girls with paper sunshades and traffic policemen with white boards like wings on their backs.

It was a city where so many different races lived that they could, and did, form a football league.

The party from
Astrakhan
started at the Raffles Hotel, the most luxurious hotel the city offered and the hub of fashionable Singapore, the kind of place, Paul thought, from which George Dewberry would have been thrown out.

They ended in a dirty bar separated from the street by a chain curtain in a quarter of the city which they suspected was out of bounds, the kind of place, Paul thought, where George Dewberry would have felt at home.

It was not a successful run ashore.

“They’re all the same all over the world,” said Paul. “You go ashore looking for a few drinks and some excitement. You don’t know the place so you have to play it off the cuff. You get the drinks but you’d get more excitement in a morgue.”

“We could try a bit further on,” said Sandy in a tone of voice which made everyone say, “Let’s go back to the ship.”

A last bingo night and dance was held on the night before the ship reached Hong Kong. Bingo nights were afterwards one of Michael’s chief memories of
Astrakhan
. Sam Crayshaw’s voice calling out the numbers in an expert monotone voice:

“Eyes down for the next house. Sixty-six clickety click fifty-nine five and nine the Brighton line twenty-six two and six bed and breakfast shake’em up one and six sweet sixteen never been kissed seventy-six seven and six was she worth it oh dear me it’s number three
legs
eleven line! Lady there says she’s got a line check the numbers Bob.”

In the party afterwards The Bodger recited “Eskimo Nell,” a Q.A.R.A.N.C. girl lost part of her skirt, a Wing Commander received a black eye. Goldilocks was summoned before the O.C. Troops in the morning.

H.M.S.
Carousel
was a ship with a name and a history. She was the tenth ship of her name and her battle honours included both Sluys and Guadalcanal. In the period from 1939 to 1945 her bows were blown off by a bomb in Malta, her back broken by a mine at Tobruk, and her stern cut in half by a suicide bomber in the Java Sea. Her other war damage was, for her, comparatively local; her foremast and gun direction position were shot away by a German armed merchant cruiser in the Indian Ocean, her wardroom was wrecked by a shell from a shore battery on the Normandy coast, and her forward seamen’s messdeck was burned out when the projector burst into flames during a showing of “In Which We Serve.”

The ship had been rebuilt and redesigned so often that there had grown up a popular notion in the Fleet that young constructors joining the Royal Corps were given
Carousel
to practise on, like a teething ring. Her armament changed from her original force of nine 6-inch guns, in triple turrets, to multiple batteries of anti-aircraft guns, by way of quick-firing radar-controlled 4-inch guns in double turrets. Her radar was modified at annual intervals. A helicopter landing platform was built on the quarterdeck and removed before it had ever known the beat of wings. Mine-laying rails were laid out along the main deck but laying ports were never cut in the ship’s side. There were sudden changes, steps, drops, and inclines on every deck. Many pipes disappeared into bulkheads, never to reappear. Compartments existed all over the ship whose original purpose had long been forgotten and every passageway contained anonymous fuse boxes, plugs and brackets which baffled the ship’s company. The ship’s external appearance had changed so often that at last even “Jane’s Fighting Ships” admitted defeat.
Carousel
was struck from the lift of the other 8,ooo-ton cruisers of her class and given a special half-page of her own, her photograph being headed by the curt and aggrieved notice--”The silhouette of this ship is liable to radical change without warning.”

Such a ship could be expected to be temperamental and
Carousel
was as unpredictable as a prima donna. Her steering gear was liable to inexplicable failures. She had a tendency to sheer to port when going astern and was skittish and playful coming to a buoy in a tideway. But
Carousel
was too old and wise a ship ever to allow herself to get into serious difficulties. She handled like a fast motor boat, accelerated like a hurdler, and turned as quickly as a barmaid. She had never been known to run aground or collide with another ship and she had never damaged a jetty. She knew her way into Devonport better than her officers and went up the Hamoaze as confidently as an old mare approaching her stable.

The ship’s temperament was reflected in her officers and ship’s company. She was reputed to have the same effect upon her officers as old Istanbul had upon the suleimans; according to superstition, sooner or later all
Carousel
’s officers became slightly, pleasantly, harmlessly, but definitely, insane.

“You’ll like it here, Bodger,” said Jimmy Forster-Jones, the Commander.

“I hope so, Jimmy.”

“Everyone here is slightly round the bend. The chap you were supposed to be relieving thought he was a poached egg. We made him a huge piece of toast and he sat on it all day quite happily.”

The Bodger, once more back in a seagoing wardroom with a glass in his hand, was completely at home.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Jimmy,” he said. “It’s really good to see you again.”

“And it’s good to see you, Bodger. Seriously, we need you badly, to get some sanity back into those damn mess-decks. We’ve only just commissioned and the troops are getting restless already. Don’t blame ’em. About fifty of them have to live in spaces which the R.S.P.C.A. would be on your backs for keeping a dog in.”

“The whole trouble,” The Bodger said, confidently, “is that constructors don’t have to go to sea in the ships they design. If they
did
, then we’d see a difference. Tell me, with all due respect and all that, Jimmy, I thought you were passed over?”

“I was, but almost immediately my Navigating Officer lost some C.B.s. It was partly my fault, because I didn’t keep a close enough eye on him. I lost six months, got back into the zone, and was promoted next shot. It’s a strange life. Now I must push off and introduce the rest of the trogs to the Captain.”

“He was very civil to me just now.”

“Oh, Richard’s calmed down a lot. He’s got a phobia against Chinamen. He hasn’t been ashore anywhere yet except for official calls. Just the man to send to command a ship in the Far East, don’t you think?”

Captain Richard St Clair Gilpin had not changed, except for the fourth stripe on his sleeve. He looked down his nose at Paul, who was being introduced by Commander (E), just as he had looked at him in
Barsetshire
years before. “We’ve met before, haven’t we, Vincent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that your best uniform?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“Great heavens, boy, when a young Lieutenant meets his Captain for the first time he tries for once in his life to look smart and not like a walking scranbag!”

“I don’t think Vincent has had time to unpack yet, sir,” Commander (E) put in soothingly.

“Maybe. Maybe. What job are you giving him, Chief?”

“Outside machinery, sir. Taking over from Cardew, sir.”

“Ah. Well, Vincent, I don’t need to tell you that your part of the ship is vital, Steering gear, refrigerators and all that sort of thing can have a big effect on the morale of the ship’s company.”

“I realize that, sir,” said Paul, astonished that the Captain knew what machinery was in the Outside Department.

“We’ve had trouble from them in the past but now that you’re in the chair I expect everything to work properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And never let yourself get the feeling that your efforts are going unnoticed.”

“No, sir.”

“Good. That’s all.”

Michael was waiting outside, with the Commander. “Lieutenant Hobbes, sir.”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we, Hobbes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that your best uniform?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You need a new one.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“What job is Hobbes getting, Commander?”

“Boats and laundry, sir. For the first few months.”

“Well, Hobbes, I don’t need to tell you how important those two particular departments are to the morale of the ship’s company.”

“No, sir.”

“A ship is judged by her boats and by the appearance of her libertymen, Hobbes. If the boats are dirty and late, and the libertymen are scruffy, the ship gets a bad name. We have a lot to do in this commission to give the ship a good name. I give you that thought to take away with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. That’s all, Hobbes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

On his way along the passageway from the cuddy, Michael suddenly stopped. He had seen what he thought was a ghost. A midshipman was walking towards him.

“Hoy! “ Michael shouted. “Your face is bloody familiar?” The midshipman grinned. “You probably knew my eldest brother, sir.”

“Tom Bowles?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“And you’re his youngest brother?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Andrew Bowles, sir. My other brother’s name is Simon, sir. He’s a sub-lieutenant.”

Michael walked on, with a sense of shock. Tom Bowles’s youngest brother in a midshipman’s uniform somehow made Michael feel about ninety years old. He went up to the quarter-deck and into the wardroom feeling as though he ought to be on crutches.

Carousel
's wardroom was a long room just off the quarterdeck, panelled in wood upon which hung photographs of the Royal Family and the inevitable wardroom Van Gogh prints. Michael caught sight of Tubby Rowlands, whom he was relieving, by the bar.

“I’m jolly glad you’ve come,” said Tubby.

“Flow long have you been here, then?” Michael asked. “Too bloody long. I was here all through last commission. I’ve been here two years and eight months.”

“That is a long time.”

“You can say that again, boy.”

“Do you know what your next job is?”

“Haven’t the remotest idea. Looney bin, I expect. That’s where most people go after this outfit. I can’t think why you didn’t relieve me while we were still in the Med. I’ve just got out here and now I’ve got to go all the way back. Not that I mind, though.”

“The ship’s only just got out here?”

“Christ, yes. We’ve only just got worked
up
. We’re only just out of the
egg
.”

“What was the work up like?”

“It was hell, boy, hell. We came scooting out of the dockyard with dockyard maties leaping ashore like rats leaving a sinking ship. I expect you’ll find a few still on board if you like to look around a bit. Then we went to sea for a shakedown cruise and boy, was that a shakedown! It shook us all right! We had all our trials, noise ranging, degaussing, measured mile, turning and manoeuvring, full power trial, radar calibration, the lot. . .”