A Ship's Tale (5 page)

“Flynn,” I replied, giving him a warm handshake.

“Harris got us out of France you know, only two steps ahead of the German army. Never was there such a great heart! I know he put his life at hazard for us many times over. My family and I will always be happy to help him, and any friend of his. We can sew almost anything, but we must have the material. Not even the black market people have enough of the canvas you need.” Brian threw up his hands in resignation.

Harris tried not to show his disappointment. “Well my friend, please keep your ears open,” he said, “We'll have to be getting straight back as it's already late and we have a good drive ahead of us.”

“Won't you stay for dinner?” Brian asked. “You never seem to have time for social visits these days.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Harris answered, “but thanks anyway. Could we have a couple of these?” he said eyeing a bowl of apples. “We missed our tea.” He pulled out two, tossing one to me.

“Come along, Flynn.” He made a quick exit, forcing me to scurry after him.

“Nice meeting you Brian,” I said waiving goodbye. “Thanks for the apples.”

“Stay well, my friends,” he called, and closed the door.

We were making for the car when suddenly Harris turned aside. He climbed over the bench at a nearby bus stop and slid down onto the seat, looking glum. The gaslight from a twisted street lamp emerging from a pile of rubble cast a wan light over us.

“That wasn't the news I'd hoped for,” Harris said. “I don't think that much canvas exists in all of London.” He gave a great sigh. We sat in silence for a time. To put the proper finish to our dismal mood, it now began to drizzle in the grey twilight. Harris gave no sign that he was even aware of this dampness.

Looking up the street, a red double-deck London bus had appeared and was making its way in our direction. Arriving at our stop, it drew up to let off two children. The conductor stepped off briefly, and walked to the front to have a quick word with the driver. As he got back on board and pulled on the bell cord, I happened to glance up at the advertising on the side of the bus. There were pictures of lions, tigers, and elephants, with blaring letters trumpeting CHIPPERTON'S CIRCUS, UNDER THE BIG TOP. A large circus tent occupied the background. All at once my mouth grew dry and I gulped.

“I say, Harris?”

“Yes?” he rumbled, chewing on his apple.

“When was the last time you saw the circus?”

“Circus?” he said, giving me an unfavourable look. “Have you gone round the bend Flynn? Who cares about that rubbish when there are more important matters at hand?”

“No, no,” I said with a smile. “I have a friend I think you should meet.”

“I've no time to run around a bloody circus,” he protested.

“You'll have nothing
but
time for what I've in mind.” I cajoled.

“Oh? And why do you think so?” he gazed at me with suspiciously.

“You'll just have to trust me on this one,” I said.

“Beats pissin' to windward. That's what this day has come to,” he muttered as he pitched his apple core.

The bus advertisement had also mentioned the place: Gravesend. It was not so far from the ships. I got Harris to agree to pick me up the next day. It was too late to go now, as my circus friend Robert would be busy with the evening performance.

We crossed the street, crammed ourselves into the car, and set off for Kent. With a roar of the mighty Morris engine, Harris resumed terrorizing the populace at large. I wondered what sort of reception I'd get back at the Inn after my flagrant truancy. Fortunately, Mrs. Beasley had gone to the village of St. Mary Hoo on a long visit and never noticed my absence. Relieved at surviving the excursion and not facing an inquisition, I found myself some cold dinner from the kitchen and then crept into bed by ten o'clock. I had a feeling that I'd need all the sleep I could manage in the days to come.

Chapter 3

THE CIRCUS

Next day, Harris and I stood on Windmill Hill at Gravesend overlooking the circus. It was a crisp October day with enough wind to set the bunting and flags fluttering in the sun, but we only had eyes for the tents. There was the big top itself, a huge circle with its twin poles climbing up at least sixty feet. There were three other tents, where animal cages were kept, and several caravans dotted around the site.

“I thought you weren't keen on being reduced to theft?” Harris chuckled.

“Well, yes, but I thought where there's some canvas, there might be more. I have a friend who works here, so I'm hoping that we can find out.”

“No harm in a bit of a look-see, eh?” Harris said with a smile. With that, we started down the hill. He looked over the tents gloatingly, as though they were already in the cutting room. As we were walking, one of the circus staff passed carrying a monkey that reached over and pulled off Harris's cap. Some passersby laughed, but Harris was not amused. He snatched it back, and put it back on his head. He drew himself up, the picture of wounded dignity, and cast a chilly eye upon the little creature. “Cheeky bugger, ought to be put in a pie,” he growled. The monkey made a rude noise as it was borne off. Harris's eyes bulged out.

“Steady on,” I laughed.

We'd been walking for a while taking in the festivities when I decided to ask a gateman for my friend. He directed us to one of the animal tents. There we found him cleaning out a lion's cage.

“Attention on deck!” I called out. Robert looked up and then dropped everything he held into a clattering heap.

“Flynn!” he cried. “You're a sight for sore eyes! How the devil are you? I haven't seen you in months. I thought you'd moved on without leaving word.”

Robert and I were old friends and served two years as shipmates. Being demobbed from the Navy, or as some say “mustered out,” we were doing what we could, and times were hard. There were no more convoys to escort and not much work available.

“No, I'm still around, Robert,” I said, giving his hand a good pumping. “Oh, and this is my friend Harris.”

“Hello,” Robert said, “welcome to show business,” and he reached out for his first Harris handshake. Robert's face may have turned a bit purple, but he bore this unexpected initiation in the spirit it was intended. He held his released hand out before him as a dog would an injured paw. “Here, sit down,” he said, indicating some bales of straw with the other hand.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Bare-arsed and bleeding from every pore,” said Robert. “And you?”

“Much the same mate. Just going at it day by day,” I responded. “I wasn't sure I'd still find you working here.”

“Not much else for the doing. I was aspiring to become a rich drunk by now, but I'm afraid I've only achieved the latter.” He laughed ruefully; then he gave me an enquiring look.

“Well, let's have it. You didn't come here to see a lion hula-dance in the sideshow.” Robert was always one for getting to the point.

“Right you are,” I answered. “We are looking for a large amount of canvas. Where does all this come from?”

“Is
that
all? Well then, how much of a supply? I've got enough to make suits for an elephant or two,” and he waved a hand at the nearest tent.

Harris spoke, “I was thinking of a bit more, say perhaps 3500 square yards.”

Robert's mouth opened to speak, and then he burst into laughter. “You're not serious? Starting up a circus of your own, are you?”

“No, just interested in the canvas.” Harris replied.

“You could rig sail on a lot of small craft with all that,” he said.

“Or a large one,” added Harris. He stood up, his immense frame casting the only shade around. He pulled off his cap with one hand and with the other mopped his head with a handkerchief. “Let's take a walk round,” he said in a low voice.

We strolled off away from the crowd. “Now how would one go about finding that much canvas, Robert?” Harris asked.

“Join the circus?” Robert said with a shrug.

“Why, it would never have crossed my mind without you asking,” Harris returned with faint sarcasm.

Robert waved a hand at the large tents. “All this will be taken down and packed away a week from now, and I'll soon be looking for work again.” He turned to me. “What the devil would you be wanting sail canvas for anyway?”

“Care for a drop?” Harris suggested, producing a flask from his coat.

“Not here,” said Robert nervously. “I'd get sacked if someone saw me. What's all this about sail canvas? Doing a bit of seamanship these days, Flynn?”

“It's a long story, but if you come for a drink tonight, perhaps we can shed more light on the matter,” said Harris.

Robert frowned, “Right. Where and what time?”

“Eight o'clock,” Harris began. “From Gravesend take the country lane that goes east out across the marshes signposted to Lower Higham, then follow it onto High Halstow and head south past St. Mary Hoo to Allhallows. Allhallows is a tiny village with a few houses and an old Norman Church on a slight hill overlooking the estuary, literally in the middle of nowhere. There is a cosy little pub with the nicest barman and the nastiest landlady—”

“Oh my God,” Robert exclaimed, rolling his eyes, “you don't mean the Beasley place?”

“Then you've met Mrs. Beasley?” I asked. “I just started working there.”

“That old bat! She's gone completely doolally tap. We should have dropped her on the Germans. The bloody War would have been over years earlier,” he laughed. “A couple of months back, she ordered me out of the pub because there was a fight. Mind you, I wasn't even
in
the fight—I just happened to be the last one in the place when she arrived. ‘Out!' she said, ‘you young hooligan! You ruffian, just look at my floor! I'll have the authorities on you!' Well, her beastly floor had nothing to do with me, and I was a bit annoyed. When I left, I slammed the door a bit too hard, and it came completely off its hinges. The blasted door chased me down the steps. She raised bloody hell and told me to ‘never set foot in here again, you young jackanapes!'” He chuckled, “I wonder if she'd recognise me again.”

“She's a bit of a strange one. She's also quite touchy and rude. After all, she's been a widow since the Great War,” I said.

“Oh, and this War wasn't great enough?” Robert replied sarcastically.

“Ha!” Harris burst in, “Poor blighter. Her old man probably committed suicide after the Armistice when he realised he was being sent home to her.” We all laughed.

Robert said, “See you at eight o'clock.”

It was time for us to get back. Fortunately, the circus grounds were less than twenty miles from Allhallows, and the return trip to the Inn was not long, especially in a flying Morris. I had taken a very generous break for lunch, and hoped it wouldn't arouse any suspicions. I had Harris leave me down the road from the Inn just to be sure that Mrs. Beasley wouldn't see his car. I then got back to my work, thinking about everything that had transpired. It was good to see Robert again, for it had been several months since our last visit. I was now curious what would come of our meeting at the Inn. The last twenty-four hours had held more intrigue than I'd been accustomed to. Although there was an element of intrigue, I had to admit all this made me extremely nervous.

Chapter 4

AN EVENING AT THE INN

The fog was billowing up like great clouds of smoke in the chilly air as I went to the pub side of the Inn. It was one place we were not likely to run into Mrs. Beasley. Even though the pub bore her name, the licensee was actually a seasoned tapster by the name of Martin who was a pleasant character well liked by his customers. In the evening Mrs. Beasley liked to stay safely in her parlour sipping sherry.

I paused at the shed long enough to throw in the rake and clippers I'd been using in the garden. I was too tired to walk in and hang them up. I'd find them tomorrow right enough.

As I got to the entrance, Harris's car came bumping along the road and parked on the other side. A young lad ran over to meet it, and after a few words disappeared into the fog. Bowman and Edward had just arrived and we all met up at the door of the pub. Bowman straightaway asked, “Do ye think yer friend will help us?”

“If he can, I'm sure he will. He's been there only a few months, so it may…wait a moment. Let's get inside and talk. I, for one, need a drink,” I said shivering. Everyone nodded and we pushed open the pub door. “Who was that boy?” I asked Harris.

“Just a kid,” said Harris. “You'll soon meet him.”

Going in, my first impression was that it seemed no less foggy inside than out, so thick was the tobacco smoke. It was a damned sight warmer at least. This was the local and boasted a good view of the water. Men were sipping and storytelling as a game of darts was in progress. Luck was on our side, for the table nearest the fireplace was just coming free. We quickly took our seats by the welcome glow of the flames. I saw Boris at the bar with the collar of his wool coat still turned up and his knit cap pulled down. Harris hailed him, “Ahoy there, Boris!” The Russian smiled and came over, pulling off his watch cap. He sat down and whispered something of interest to Harris. I strained to hear, but it was lost in the noise of the pub.

“Right then,” I said, “looks like we're all here except Robert. I'm sure he'll be along any time now.”

Bowman gestured to our group, “No introductions for this part of the crew.”

“You mean there are more?” I asked.

“Questions, questions,” said Bowman. “Everything in its own good time.”

A dart game was being played by a couple of drunken lads. The more they drank, the wilder the contest and their aim became. The murky air buzzed with flitting darts. Suddenly, Harris snapped at the air with one hand as though catching a fly. Then he brought his hand down and opened it on the table. There, plucked in mid-flight, was a stray dart. I couldn't believe my eyes.

“Christ, Edward!” Harris boomed. “This quite nearly flew up your nose.” Everyone laughed. Edward's lips moved, but without words.

Harris rose and stood looming, “Now then boys, game's over.” It seemed for a moment as if all talk in the pub stopped. “Let me have the other darts,” he said, walking over to the two drunks. He spoke to them in a soft but steady voice. “I think you've had too many pints to be throwing these about.”

“Oh, do you now?” began one of the two, as his friend tried to dissuade him from offering any further challenge. The first fellow truculently shrugged off the other's restraining hands and stood his ground. Harris extended one hand towards him, holding the dart in his fist point up, thumb against its shaft. As the fellow reached for it, Harris pushed his thumb forward, and with one flick, broke it neatly in two and placed it in the drunk's hand. From the look on the poor lad's face, one could see that he was not entertaining the notion of any further discussion. Harris returned to the table with a pleased look on his face.

“Why didn't ye just crush the damn thing to a powder?” grumbled Bowman.

“Ah, but then you would have said I was showing off,” Harris smiled.

The laughter and chat picked up again when Robert came through the door. “Good evening everyone. I trust I haven't kept you waiting.”

“No,” I said, “This is only my first round.” I held up my glass in illustration.

“Thanks for coming down,” Harris began. “This is Bowman and Edward. We've ordered a pint for you, and that's Boris getting our drinks there.”

We all looked up just in time to see the barmaid slap Boris. He came back to the table with our drinks, grinning. “She likes me, yes?”

“Oh, that much was quite obvious to all,” Edward said laughing.

“What brought on the violence?” asked Harris, trying to hide his amusement.

Boris looked blank, “Language misunderstanding I think so, but she still smile.”

“Oh, ever the ladies' man, aren't ye?” coughed Bowman, “but ye haven't reached Harris's deviant level of behaviour around the ladies, praise be.”

Harris pretended to look elsewhere, but gave a nasty cackle.

I stood up and took Robert's arm. “Excuse me, but may I chat with you a moment?” I asked, tugging at his arm.

“But it's warm here by the fire,” he objected. “'Tis colder than a whore's heart this night. It's the blasted fog. Besides, this is the best show in town, eh?”

“You would know,” I said, abandoning my plan for a private word.

It was obvious to me that Robert was a possible recruit to the project, now that his job was coming to an end. First we needed to settle the matter of the canvas.

“Did you find out anything more about canvas?” I asked.

Robert took a good long drink before answering. “I've asked around for canvas everywhere,” he said, “but there's not a spare foot in all London, let alone 3500 square feet. I talked to a few old shipmates who work in the Chatham Dockyard and London Docks. There's not a bit of canvas. Even if there was, scrap-yard security is pretty tight. It seems a good deal of stuff goes missing.”

Harris's eyes grew big as he cleared his throat noisily, taking a long drink. In fact, he found that he'd quickly drained his glass and waved to the barmaid to order another.

“But what I'd like to know,” Robert continued, “is what the devil do you need all that canvas for? And what's all this bit about sailing, anyway?”

“Hush lad, lower your voice,” Bowman interposed. “All things in due course.”

Suddenly from outside there arose the agonised yelp of a dog. A few heads turned, but in the main room the heart-rending sound was ignored by the pub-goers as it disappeared into the distance. One man rose and went out.

“What in God's name was that?” Robert exclaimed.

Harris raised a placating hand. “Don't let it alarm you. It's just the landlady's tom-cat. Himself likes to lie in wait by the steps and attack dogs. One really can't let a small dog out unescorted most nights around here. Curse the little bastard.”

Harris leaned back in his chair. “Now, this afternoon you mentioned that they were taking the circus down for the winter soon.”

“Yes, this is the last week of work for me,” said Robert. “Then I don't know what I'll be doing.”

Harris thought for a moment. “What happens to everything after that?” He asked blandly.

“When the circus comes to town, all of the equipment is carried by rail in six goods wagons. They're packed with everything needed to put the circus together: animals, games, tents, and enough rubbish to invade France all over again. Those tents are a pain in the arse! So damn many parts, and every one of them is heavy. We lay out the canvas, put up the poles, rig everything so the horses can pull it all up, and get some of the local kids to work for free passes. In a few days, we're going to warehouse everything except the animals. They go back to the zoos.”

“Warehouse?” Harris asked, as he set the two front legs of his chair down and leaned forward to listen closer.

“Right,” said Robert. “We can't leave it all in the goods wagons—they have to be returned to the railway company after the season. Trouble is, the kids are frantic to help put the tents up when we first get in, but they vanish when it comes time to taking it all down.”

Robert eyed us thoughtfully. “Say, would you gents like a day's work?”

Harris turned to the table, and took piece of a paper and a pencil out of his coat. “How many people do you need?”

“There's no such thing as enough people when you're packing a bloody circus,” said Robert.

“There will be this time,” grinned Harris, “I'm quite sure I can get you plenty of willing lads.”

“How?” laughed Robert. “At gunpoint?”

“No,” said Harris. “I know someone who runs an orphanage. They just barely get by, and I'm sure the boys'll be worth their wages. I'll be needing twenty or so free passes for them right away. They won't be of much use come closing day.”

Robert was interested, “Tell the headmaster to come and see us.”

“I will,” Harris smiled. “We've plenty of lads. Will twenty be enough?”

“With some of the present company along,” said Robert, eyeing the massive Harris, “we should have the job well in hand. We've a whole bloody trainload to move.”

He drained his glass and shoved it towards Harris, who signalled the barmaid with a raised finger. As soon as we got a refill, Robert looked at Harris, “Now then, I've been doing all the talking about the circus. Who's going to tell me what's going on?” We looked at one another, wondering who would speak up. Bowman was the leader, but so far Harris was doing all the talking.

“Right,” said Harris. “Let's take a walk.” The others nodded in approval. “I've a little something for the road,” Harris said. He pulled open his coat, showing a flask peeking from an inner pocket.

Robert and I put on our coats in expectation of the cold and damp awaiting us outside.

“Hold this table at all costs,” Harris said over his shoulder as we left and, with the laughter behind, we hustled through the door. “Let's take the car, it'll be faster.”

I stopped in my tracks, remembering his driving. I called over to Robert, “Oh, God! Now we're in for it, old friend.” Harris looked over his shoulder and shook his head sadly at my lack of faith.

We crammed into the Morris. This time I was in the rear seat as we bumped and clattered down the road towards the ship. Robert dodged Harris's elbow just as I had to. While it was not far on foot, we were glad to ride. The wipers strained to keep the windscreen clear in the dense damp. We slowed to a stop, and Robert wound down his window. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the old masts rising up dimly in the fog. We opened the doors and stepped out.

“I'll be damned!” he exclaimed. “You've outdone yourself this time, Flynn. Does the Royal Navy know you've hidden these ships in plain sight?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Blimey, as soon as you trimmed the sails they'd know, and in short order. You'll never outrun a Lighter, let alone a Motor Torpedo Boat. Those MTBs are fast and are still used by the Costal Patrol.”

“What makes you think we hadn't considered that already?” said Harris.

Robert folded his arms. “Very well then, what's the plan?”

“The plan is all right here,” Harris said, pointing to his great dome of a head. “We desperately need sail canvas. You tell us when those tents come down, and we'll send you more help than you ever dreamed of. This is our only chance. I'll tell you as much as you need to know.” He repeated to Robert what I knew of the
Bonnie Clyde
, and why he and Bowman had the only chance of making this rescue happen successfully. He brought out the flask and passed it round.

Robert stood giving the
Bonnie
a good looking-over. “Sound is she?”

“Sound!” Harris replied.

Robert was still puzzled. “I don't understand how you're going to sail this off without notice. You'll have all the luck of a waxed cat running through Hell chased by an asbestos dog.”

Harris stood pulling on his pipe for a while, blowing smoke into the fog. “There will be some onlookers, even some of those government officials, but no one will figure it out till it's too late to do anything to stop us.”

With this last statement, Harris suddenly became deadly serious, and his soft voice exuded even more than its usual degree of veiled potential mayhem to any who dared cross him.

“What I am proposing to you now is something that you either take or leave. If you leave it, you'd best be aware of the consequences if you repeat the story to
anyone
. On the other hand,” he laughed, “if you take it, then we'll have another badly needed friend.”

All this was very solemn, and I knew that the rescue of the
Bonnie
had become something of a sacred duty. I became acutely aware of the situation now created for Robert. This had gone from looking for canvas to something I had not anticipated. Now I was concerned that I'd landed Robert in an awkward position, one from which he could not easily retreat. I had to say something.

After a moment I cleared my throat, “I do hope you'll agree with what we have planned Robert, because I simply cannot bear to think what these unfeeling civil servants have in store for the
Bonnie.
We can do nothing to save the other ship, the one without a name. Bowman calls her the
Auld Lass
. She's too far gone already, and the “coal barge” died long ago. But by God we can save this one. I'm not asking you to sign aboard. We just need the canvas, even if that's all you can help with.”

Harris went on without further ado, “What we propose is that the tents from the circus never reach their storage place. That is, we will
requisition
them for the best of reasons. I don't think the owners of the circus would happily agree to this, so we must act as thieves for the moment. Time is of the essence. Already the men in suits have scheduled the
Auld Lass
for scuttling, and the
Bonnie
is soon to follow.”