The Corfu Trilogy (63 page)

‘Well, he’s not going to retire on
us
,’ said Mother firmly. ‘Don’t invite him again.’

‘I thought you’d like him,’ said Larry. ‘He’s travelled all over the world. He’s even been to India. He’s full of the most fascinating stories.’

‘As far as I am concerned he can go on travelling,’ said Mother. ‘The stories he’s been telling up to now aren’t what
I
call fascinating.’

Captain Creech, once having discovered our ‘anchorage,’ as he put it, became a frequent visitor. He would arrive generally, we noticed, just in time for a meal, shouting, ‘Ahoy there! Can I come aboard and have a chin-wag?’ As he had obviously walked two and a half miles through the olive groves to reach us, it was difficult to deny him this privilege, and so Mother, muttering evilly, would rush into the kitchen and water the soup and bisect the sausages so that Captain Creech could join us. He would regale us with tales of his life at sea and the names of the places
that he had visited. Names that I knew only from maps would slide enticingly out of his disjointed mouth. Trincomalee, Darwin and Durban, Buenos Aires, Wellington and Calcutta, the Galapagos, the Seychelles and the Friendly Islands. It seemed that there was no corner of the globe that he had not penetrated. He would intersperse these stories with prolonged and exceptionally vulgar sea-shanties and limericks of such biological complexity that, fortunately, Mother could not understand them.

Then came the never-to-be-forgotten day when Captain Creech arrived, uninvited, for tea as we were entertaining the local English minister and his wife, more out of a sense of duty than of religion. To our amazement, Captain Creech behaved remarkably well. He exchanged views on sea-serpents and the height of tidal waves with the padre and explained the difference between longitude and latitude to the padre’s wife. His manners were exemplary and we were quite proud of him, but towards the end of tea the padre’s wife had, with extreme cunning, managed to steer the conversation onto her children. This subject was all-absorbing to her. You would have thought that not only was she the only woman in the world to have given birth, but that they had been immaculately conceived as well. Having treated us to a ten-minute monologue on the incredible perspicacity of her offspring, she paused momentarily to drink her tea.

‘I’m a bit too old to have babies,’ said Captain Creech.

The padre’s wife choked.

‘But,’ he went on with satisfaction, ‘I have a lot of fun trying.’

The tea-party was not a success.

Shortly after this, Donald and Max turned up one day at the villa.

‘Muzzer,’ said Max, ‘we are going to carry you away.’

‘Yacht party,’ said Donald. ‘Fabulous idea. Max’s idea, of course.’

‘Yacht party where?’ inquired Mother.

‘Round ze island,’ said Max, throwing out his long arms in an all-embracing gesture.

‘But I thought you didn’t know how to sail her,’ said Leslie.

‘No, no. We don’t sail her. Larry sails her,’ said Max.

‘Larry?’ said Leslie incredulously. ‘But Larry doesn’t know the first thing about boats.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Donald earnestly. ‘Oh, no. He’s quite an expert. He’s been taking lessons from Captain Creech. The Captain’s coming along too, as crew.’

‘Well, that settles it then,’ said Mother. ‘I’m not coming on a yacht with that disgusting old man, apart from the danger involved if Larry’s going to sail it.’

They tried their best to persuade her, but Mother was adamant. The most she would concede was that the rest of the family, with Theodore, would drive across the island and rendezvous with them at a certain bay where we could picnic and, if it was warm enough, bathe.

It was a bright, clean morning when we set off and it looked as though it were going to be ideal for both sailing and picnicking; but by the time we reached the other side of the island and had unpacked the picnic things, it began to look as though we were in for a sirocco. Theodore and I made our way down through the trees to the edge of the bay. The sea had turned a cold steel-grey and the wind had stretched and starched a number of white clouds across the blue sky. Suddenly, along the rim of the sea, three water-spouts appeared, loping along the horizon like the huge undulating necks of some prehistoric monsters. Bowing and swaying, graceful as swans they danced along the horizon and disappeared.

‘Aha,’ said Theodore, who had been watching this phenomenon interestedly, ‘I have never seen
three
of them together. Very curious. Did you notice how they moved together, almost as if they were… er… you know, animals in a herd?’

I said that I wished they had been closer.

‘Um,’ said Theodore rasping his beard with his thumb. ‘I don’t think water-spouts are things one wants to get on… er… um… intimate terms with. I remember once I visited a place in Macedonia where one had… er… you know, come ashore. It had left a trail of damage about two hundred yards wide and a quarter of a mile long, that is to say
inland
. Even quite big olive trees had been, er, you know, damaged and the smaller ones were broken up like matchwood. And of course, at the point where the water-spout finally broke up, the ground was saturated by tons of salt water and so it was… you know… completely unsuitable for agriculture.’

‘I say, did you see those bloody great water-spouts?’ asked Leslie, joining us.

‘Yes, very curious,’ said Theodore.

‘Mother’s in a panic,’ said Leslie. ‘She’s convinced they’re heading straight for Larry.’

‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that,’ said Theodore, ‘they look too far out to me.’

By the time we had installed ourselves in the olive groves at the edge of the bay, it was obvious that we were in for one of those sudden and exceedingly sharp siroccos which blew up at that time of the year. The wind lashed the olive trees and churned up the bay to white-capped rollers.

‘We might as well go home,’ said Leslie. ‘It isn’t going to be much fun picnicking in this.’

‘We can’t, dear,’ said Mother. ‘We promised to meet Larry here.’

‘If they’ve got any sense, they’ll have put in somewhere else,’ said Leslie.

‘I can’t say I envy them being out in this,’ said Theodore, gazing at the waves pounding the rocks.

‘Oh, dear, I do hope they will be all right,’ said Mother. ‘Larry really is foolish.’

We waited an hour, with Mother getting increasingly panicky
with each passing moment. Then Leslie, who had climbed to a neighbouring headland, came back with the news that he could see them.

‘I must say I think it’s surprising they got this far,’ said Leslie. ‘The boom’s swinging about all over the place and they’re tacking practically in circles.’

Presently the yacht headed into the narrow mouth of the bay and we could see Donald and Max dodging about, pulling at ropes and canvas while Larry and Captain Creech clung to the tiller and were obviously shouting instructions. We watched their progress interestedly.

‘I hope they remember that reef,’ said Leslie.

‘What reef?’ said Mother in alarm.

‘There’s a damn great reef just there where that white water is,’ said Leslie.

Spiro had been standing gazing out to sea like a brown gargoyle, his face scowling.

‘I don’t likes it, Master Leslies,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘They don’t looks as though they knows how to sails.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Mother. ‘Why ever did I agree to this?’

At that moment (owing to the fact, we discovered later, that Donald and Max misinterpreted their instructions and had hauled up a length of canvas instead of taking it down) several things happened simultaneously. The yacht’s sails were suddenly caught by an errant gust of wind. They puffed out. The boom came over with a splintering crash that one could hear quite clearly on shore and knocked Max overboard. The yacht turned almost on her side and, propelled by the gust of wind, ran with a remarkably loud scrunching noise straight onto the reef, where she remained upright for a brief moment and then, as if despairing of the yachtsmen on board, she lay down languidly on her side. Immediately all was confusion.

Mother shouting ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’ had to sit down hurriedly on an olive root. Margo burst into tears, waving her
hands and screaming, ‘They’ll drown! They’ll down!’ Spiro, Leslie, and I made our way to the edge of the bay. There was not much we could do as there was no boat available to launch as a rescue vessel. But presently we saw the four expert sailors swimming away from the wreck of the yacht, Larry and Donald apparently propelling Captain Creech through the water. Leslie and I and Spiro stripped off our clothes hurriedly and plunged into the sea. The water was icy cold and the waves had considerably more force in them than I gave them credit for.

‘Are you all right?’ shouted Leslie as the flotilla of shipwrecked mariners came towards us.

‘Yes,’ said Max. ‘Right as rain.’

He had a four-inch gash on his forehead and the blood was running down his face and into his moustache. Larry had one eye bruised and scraped and rapidly swelling. Captain Creech’s face, bobbing between Larry’s and Donald’s, had achieved an extraordinary mauve colour, rather like the bloom of a plum.

‘Give us a hand with the Captain,’ said Larry. ‘Silly old bastard only told me as we went over that he couldn’t swim.’

Spiro, Leslie, and I laid hands upon Captain Creech and relieved the panting Donald and Larry of their rescue work. We must have made an arresting tableau as we staggered, gasping, through the shallows and out onto the shore. Leslie and Spiro were supporting Captain Creech, one on each side of him, as his legs seemed in imminent danger of buckling.

‘Ahoy there!’ he called to Mother. ‘Ahoy there, my wench.’

‘Look at Max’s head!’ screamed Margo. ‘He’ll bleed to death!’

We staggered up into the shelter of the olive groves, and while Mother, Margo, and Theodore did hasty first-aid on Max’s head and Larry’s eye, we laid Captain Creech under an olive tree, since he seemed incapable of standing up.

‘Port at last,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Port at last. I’ll make sailors of you lads yet.’

It became obvious, now that we had time to concentrate, that Captain Creech was extremely drunk.

‘Really, Larry, you do make me cross,’ said Mother. ‘You might all have been drowned.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said Larry aggrievedly. ‘We were doing what the Captain told us to do. Donald and Max went and pulled the wrong ropes.’

‘How can you take instructions from him?’ said Mother. ‘He’s drunk.’

‘He wasn’t drunk when he started,’ said Larry. ‘He must have had a secret supply somewhere on board. He did seem to pop down to the cabin rather a lot, now I come to think about it.’

‘Do not trust him, gentle maiden,’ sang Captain Creech in a wavering baritone. ‘Though his heart be pure as gold, He’ll leave you one fine morning, With a cargo in your hold.’

‘Disgusting old brute,’ said Mother. ‘Really, Larry, I’m extremely cross with you.’

‘A drink, me boyos,’ called Captain Creech hoarsely, gesturing at the dishevelled Max and Donald. ‘You can’t sail without a drink.’

At length we had dried ourselves as best we could and wrung the water out of everybody’s clothes; then we made our way, shivering, up the hill to the car.

‘What are we going to do about the yacht?’ said Leslie, since Donald and Max, as the owners, appeared to be unperturbed by her fate.

‘We’ll stops at the next village,’ said Spiro. ‘I knows a fisher-mans there. He’ll fix it.’

‘I think, you know,’ said Theodore, ‘if we’ve got any stimulant with us, it would be an idea to give some to Max. He may possibly suffer from concussion after a blow like that.’

‘Yes, we’ve got some brandy,’ said Mother, delving into the car.

She produced a bottle and a cup.

‘Darling girl,’ said Captain Creech, fixing his wavering eye upon the bottle. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’

‘You’re not having any of this,’ said Mother firmly. ‘This is for Max.’

We had to dispose ourselves in the car as best we could, sitting on each other’s laps, trying to give as much space as possible to Max, who had now gone a very nasty leaden colour and was shivering violently in spite of the brandy. To Mother’s annoyance, she found herself, willy-nilly, having to be wedged in alongside Captain Creech.

‘Sit on my lap,’ said the Captain hospitably. ‘Sit on my lap and we can have a little cuddle to keep warm.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Mother primly. ‘I’d rather sit on Donald’s lap.’

As we drove back across the island to town, the Captain regaled us with his version of some sea-shanties. The family argued acrimoniously.

‘I do wish you’d stop him singing these songs, Larry,’ said Mother.

‘How can I stop him?
You’re
in the back.
You
stop him.’

‘He’s
your
friend,’ said Mother.

‘Ain’t it a pity, she’s only one titty to feed the baby on. The poor little bugger will never play rugger and grow up big and strong.’

‘Might have killed you all, filthy old brute,’ said Mother.

‘Actually, most of it was Larry’s fault,’ said Leslie.

‘It was not,’ said Larry indignantly. ‘You weren’t there, so you don’t know. It’s extremely difficult when someone shouts at you to luff your helm, or whatever it is, when there’s a howling gale blowing.’

‘There was a young lady from Chichester,’ observed Captain Creech with relish, ‘who made all the saints in their niches stir.’

‘The one I’m sorry for is poor Max,’ said Margo, looking at him commiseratingly.

‘I don’t know why he should get the sympathy,’ said Larry, whose eye had now almost completely disappeared and was a rich shiny black. ‘He’s the fool who caused it all. I had the boat under perfect control till he hauled up that sail.’

‘Well, I don’t call you a sailor,’ said Margo. ‘If you’d been a sailor you wouldn’t have told him to haul it up.’

‘That’s just the point,’ snarled Larry. ‘I didn’t tell him to haul it up. He hauled it up on his own.’

‘It was the good ship Venus,’ began the Captain, whose repertoire appeared to be inexhaustible.

‘Don’t argue about it, dear,’ said Mother. ‘I’ve got a severe headache. The sooner we get into town, the better.’