The Radio Operator in HMAS Jabiru during the forenoon watch one Saturday, received a signal from Canberra as his ship lay anchored off the north coast of Australia.
The message was relayed from a ham operator who picked it up emanating from the Beverly group, a cluster of reefs, outcrops, and atolls at the bottom of the Whitsunday Passage.
Wandering Tattlers, Greater Frigate birds and migratories use the reefs and beaches for rest during their travels, and turtles come ashore once a year to lay their eggs. Humanity left the area alone because it is low, windy and unattractive.
Jabiru was two hundred miles to the south of where the message originated. The sun was high in the sky; white caps flecked the green sea out beyond Sandy Cape.
Jabiru had recently joined the fleet, still carrying out trials, alone in the wide ocean. Because of these trials, in addition to the Ship’s Company, there was a number of technicians crammed into the sailor’s messdecks.
Unused to life outside universities, laboratories and testing grounds; they found the coarse, obscene banter of the messdecks curious and disconcerting. They accepted the situation with equanimity, and observed the sailors with owlish interest.
These men were boffin types, with beards, thick spectacles and white legs. They made an awkward concession to tropical dress, rolled up the sleeves of their shirts above bony elbows, donned ill fitting Bombay Bloomer shorts, and encased feet in clumsy sandals. They were not comfortable, only reinforcing an image of birds of strange plumage out of their usual habitat.
Saturday morning at sea meant the ships company prepared for the Captain’s inspection, and they cleaned, polished, swept and tidied the spaces between decks. The boffins sought the shade and refuge of workshops, places where inspection was not to take place. Smoking their briar pipes, they conversed in technical language until the typhoon of domesticity passed.
The signal passed to the Communications Officer, who tramped across a just scrubbed lobby, ignoring the sailor standing with a scrubbing brush in hand, to find the Captain on the Bridge, who studied the message and sent for the First Lieutenant.
“Number One, there you are.” The Captain addressed his second in command, a middle aged officer, passed over for promotion, due to a social faux pas involving spilled drink, the dampened breast of an Admiral’s wife. Drunken apologies effusively tendered, only exacerbated the situation.
The aggrieved husband was Flag Officer Commanding the Fleet. Such relatively harmless incidents are rendered pivotal, in the tenuous climb upwards. He had stumbled, never to recover.
No stumble had befallen The Captain, the second son of an Anglican Archbishop, blessed with excellent dentistry, silky hair and an easy manner. He held out the signal pad.
“We must proceed to Lady Fermoy Island.” He said. “We have to assist a scientist who is in some sort of difficulty”
He tapped the signal pad, as they crossed to the chart table at the rear of the Bridge. “We don’t know too much about Fermoy, do we?” He raised an eyebrow at the Navigation Officer.
The quickest route ran through the end of the Whitsunday Passage, at the southern extremity of the Great Barrier Reef, taking them through a chain of islets and atolls, and although shallow and tight, it was well marked and safe. Eight hours steaming should see them able to offer assistance.
“Let me know when we are ready for sea” said the Captain “I’ll cancel my inspection, which should please the troops.”
The First Lieutenant sent for Buffer, the sailor in charge of the upper deck.
“Buffer” He said. “Make ready for sea. We have a job to do. Let me know when boats, booms and ladders are inboard, Cable Party closed up ready to proceed.”
“Aye, Aye Sir” said Buffer and turned away. Buffer was tall with a hard lean body, broad shouldered and tanned. He had that grizzled sort of fair hair which falls out early, and had begun to do so. His eyes were a startling blue in the lined, angular face dominated by a large nose and a square jaw.
He set about his tasks as the voice of the Captain came over the sound system, relayed to all parts of the ship.
“D’ye hear there.” All announcements began this way in Naval Ships.
The Captain advised the ship was to sail, and inspection had been cancelled. The sailors, always ready for rumor, were already alerted by increased action about the upper deck, with the retrieval of the Boom, to which ladders and lines for the boats, now being hoisted had been rigged.
The cancellation was greeted happily by the crew as the Captain had foretold.
Soon the anchor was wrenched from the sea bed, and it rattled home into the hawse pipe. The ship steamed away, into the green chop of the open sea.
Sailors settled down to the duties of the afternoon, governed as always, by routines and traditions. Bells rung, orders given, watches kept, courses reported, charts consulted. All was safe, orderly and seamanlike.
The sea slapped against the ship, sending spray flying across the forecastle, as it dipped into the swell and yawed upwards, flinging good handfuls of salty ocean against the windows of the bridge, far above the waterline.
Below decks soon became stuffy and uncomfortable for the sailors, who went about dressed only in blue shorts and brown sandals. Wind rattled in the yards and flapped in the sea ensign, begrimed with soot from the funnel.
The wake creamed and boiled behind, the ship steamed steadily North North West.
Late in the afternoon, Number One addressed the ship to advise that they would soon arrive at their destination.
At his instruction, the boats were made ready to be lowered; boom and ladders prepared, the forecastle crew readied the ship to come to anchor, bracing themselves against the rolling deck as they did so. Lashings were removed from the cable, and wisps of steam hissed from the capstan.
Soon the ship was creeping towards its selected anchorage. A sailor held the anchor mallet ready, and when ordered, hammered the cable free. The anchor hurtled to the seabed, took purchase, and the ship was riding in the lee of the island.
Lady Fermoy was fringed about with a coral reef which pitched up jagged teeth of shining rock able to slice the keel of any unsuspecting boat. The wind stirred up choppy waves which crashed against the reef wall.
Jabiru had anchored near an opening, too narrow and shallow for large vessels, but a motor whaler with an experienced crew could negotiate its confines easily.
Under the all seeing gaze of Buffer, the boat’s crew took to the craft.
“Lower Away” said Buffer. Seamen passed lines hand over hand around stag horns, and through the heavy wooden blocks.
“Handsomely now” Buffer said, his eyes flicking over the operation, the boat’s crew, lines, boat, and the blocks. As the boat jerked slowly to the waterline, the Coxswain started the engine.
“Avast lowering” Buffer raised his voice over the noise of the engine, now sputtering oily fumes over the sea. Buffer held his arms outstretched from his body.
“Standby” he said. And “Slip.” The Bowman in the boat released clips attaching the boat, which now free of the heavy wooden blocks, dropped gently into the swell. The Coxswain swung the rudder, slammed the gear forward, pointing the boat towards the shore.
They surfed through the gap between sandy headlands, chugging towards the beach.
The Bowman saw the Scientist first; a broad smile lit his features, seeing her waving a towel above her head. The Coxswain steered the boat to where she stood; he cut the engine and the keel scraped on soft white sand.
The Bowman threw a small anchor as far forward as he could. They clambered over the side and waded through the warm shallows.
“What seems to be the trouble?” said the Coxswain as if he was meeting a motorist stranded beside a country lane.
The Scientist stared at the two sailors, their faded cotton shirts and shorts, feet shod in the incongruous sandals. She read “H.M.A.S. JABIRU” on their cap tallies.
“The Navy to the rescue” She said, with a low throaty chuckle.
“I expected fishermen or some such. Never the Navy. Not for one minute.” She laughed again, showing brilliant white teeth.
“It hardly seems necessary, not important enough for our Navy….” trailing off she walked over to her camp site, an orange-coloured tent, small and cramped, dug into the side of a sandy hump. The opening angled away from prevailing winds which had heaped sand against the sides.
Away from the cooling effects of the water the sun beat down, it was hot and humid. She led them to her boat, upturned on the beach. A yawning gash ran down a third of its length.
“I was dashed against the reef” she said. “I’m taking my readings, when a huge wave swept in, and before I knew it, I’m upside down, the boat tumbling towards the shore.”
“I swam after it. It’s ruined, and I can’t continue my work.”
They examined the boat, and stood silently for some moments. It seemed that it could be repaired but it was not their decision to make.
“We’ll go back to the ship.” said the Coxswain, at last. “You can explain to the Captain, He will know what to do.”
“This is an adventure” said the Scientist. “I have never been on a warship, this should be most interesting”
The sailors thought she was beautiful. Tall and slender, she wore a length of cotton cloth passed between her legs, and bound about her slim waist, like a dhoti. A mans’ singlet cropped above the navel, covered her breasts. Light brown hair containing an occasional strand of grey swung in a thick plait between her shoulder blades, as she helped the sailors push the boat off the sand.
She sat demurely upon the centre thwart of the boat, which puttered greasy black smoke over the sea.
Sailors smiled down as the boat came alongside, the Coxswain handed her onto the slippery rungs of the ladder.
With athletic strides, she landed nimbly on the deck, grinning at Buffer.
“What a surprise?” She laughed her throaty musical sound.
“I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. The young man said I am to see the Captain. Are you he?”
“Not by any means “ said Buffer, returning her grin “Come with me I’ll take you to him”
“No need, I will do that.” Said Number One, who had come from the Wardroom on seeing the boats’ return.
“Hoist the whaler, will you, Buffer. The sea is getting up, and it will be safer that way”
“Aye, Aye Sir.” His face inscrutable. A glance at the horizon and the almost imperceptible way the deck was shifting under his feet, told him the approaching weather might not just be a shower.
Soon thunderheads crackled around the horizon; rain slanted down onto the sea under the weight of the approaching storm. Lightning forked out of the purple clouds.
Quickly sailors worked to raise the boat out of the now boiling sea. Number One appeared on the deck with the Scientist.
“Have the boat take her back, and return, chop, chop. There is not enough light left to assist now, the ship will remain at anchor, and we will carry out repairs tomorrow.”
The boat manned by its crew, had been raised to the level of the deck, which made it easy for the Scientist to step into it.
“The adventure continues, my Captain” she said to Buffer as he bent to the task of lowering the boat.
She could not see his eyes under the shadow of the peak of his cap, but she fancied they shone with amusement.
The boat was lowered closer to the sea, now slapping the keel with green summits, falling away to deep valleys.
Buffer leaned over to give instructions to the crew, but against the rising wind and the noise of the boat engine, the Coxswain misheard, and released the boat, plummeting into a deep valley, instead of onto the crest of a summit. That oncoming wave lifted the boat into the path of the heavy wooden blocks swinging wildly in the wind, catching the Coxswain under his chin, pitching him into the sea.
The Bowman leaped quickly to the tiller, punched the engine into gear, and steered clear of the ship’s side, to recover the Coxswain, who clung to a bright orange lifebuoy, hurled from the upper deck the moment he had hit the water.
The Scientist leaned out of the boat and assisted the sheepish seaman to scale the gunwale of the rocking whaler. He sat miserable and embarrassed as the Bowman maneuvered the boat back to their ship.
A ladder and fenders were let down, to prevent the boat smashing to pieces, as it rubbed and grated against the side.
Quickly Buffer leaped down the ladder and took the tiller from the Bowman.
“Get the Coxswain on board” he said “I’ll take the boat in myself; the Scientist will help”
Buffer and the Scientist pushed the whaler off, and it turned in a wide safe arc towards the island. He glanced back at the shrinking figure of Number One, who was staring after the boat, hands on hips, lips pressed into a thin line of deep annoyance.
The Scientist stood in the bow and guided Buffer through the narrow passage. The wind was blowing fiercely in the storm; the pounding surf was breaking over the reef. The whaler shot through the opening, and hurtled to the beach. They leaped from the boat and dragged it to higher ground.
“You cannot attempt to get back out there tonight,” she said as they stood, panting from their exertions. “It is nearly dark; to sail against this running sea would put you on the reef.”
He stood uncertainly before her, scanning the sea beyond. He could see Jabiru clearly, the distance was not great, but huge waves crashing and streaming over the reef made it as impenetrable as a prison wall.
The Scientist said “We should gather some wood for a fire; we can dry our clothes and eat out of tins tonight. I suppose the Captain will know you are safe?”
“Yes.” said Buffer “He will know I would not risk damaging the boat.”
They built the fire. Sparks flew upward in the wind. The Scientist removed her wet clothes and stretched them out on the guy ropes of her tent. She was seemingly unconscious of her nakedness, and when she suggested that Buffer rid himself of his sodden clothing, he did so and hung them beside hers.
In the flickering firelight they ate canned beans, washed down with warm beer. She was intrigued by the pattern of suntan that the design of the plastic sandals had made on his feet. He looked at them as though he had never seen them before.
“I suppose when everyone else is the same it goes unnoticed,” He smiled in the light of the fire. “You are seeing me out of context.”
She had seen also that his toenails were cut straight and clean, such evidence of self containment and strength touched her, although why this small act of self husbandry did so, she was unable to fathom.
The fire died away. She undid her plait, which freed around her shoulders, rippled and teased in the wind.
“The fire has gone” she said finally.” My tent is a one man affair, and as fate has it, you are one man.”
Buffer covered the glowing ashes with sand. He followed her to the tent and zipped it from the inside.
His large hands were rough from years of work, scarred and calloused from fid and marlin spike. Years of splicing wire rope, sewing canvas, carrying heavy cable. Ammunitioning ship with heavy shells and cordite left their mark, but he touched and cupped the weight of her as though she would break, tracing gentle patterns on her cool skin.
Kevin woke early. When the first fingers of dawn lightened the sky he crept from the tent and dressed quickly. The gentle sea whispered over the reef. He woke Jennifer. Smiling, she watched him safely through the channel.
He secured the boat and climbed quickly onboard and sought out Number One. He found him in the Wardroom, finishing his breakfast.
He listed the items needed to repair the boat. Number One summoned the Shipwright, and gave instructions that he was to take a Mate and affect the repairs.
As it was Sunday, later in the morning the Captain walked though lines of his men, starched and pressed in white uniform. Inspection completed, the Captain led them in The Lord’s Prayer, prayers for Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and for those whose business is on the waters. Buffer looked out upon the sparkling, perfect blue sea, to where the atoll shimmered in the sun.
Later, the Scientist saw the ship moving away with short blasts on the siren she knew were for her. She watched until it dropped below the horizon, happy with her repaired boat, able to continue her readings.
A week later, Jabiru, her trials finished, detoured from its return to Garden Island to spend a harrowing night searching for Voyager, which had been run down by the Flagship.
Jabiru’s men lined railings with searchlights, binoculars and red rimmed eyes, for any signs of their mates. They found scraps of timber, a lifebuoy and an empty life raft. Observing the grief of the sailors, the boffins excused all erstwhile profanity.
These events forced Jennifer from Buffer’s mind. Later in the Brooklyn Hotel near the Quay, a shipmate remembered to ask him about the night he took the boat to Fermoy. He just drained his glass, and said “My shout” and changed the subject.
3,000 words.
Note
This is a work of fiction, and characters described therein have no relation to any person. There is no RAN Ship named Jabiru, or was not at the time the story is set. The “Voyager” incident however, did take place, in February 1964, with the loss of some 84 lives. There is a Brooklyn Hotel, in George Street, Sydney, near Circular Quay, which was a popular drinking spot for Navy sailors in those days.
Michael Grelis.
No comments:
Post a Comment