Thursday, September 12, 1940
“We’re moving! We’re finally moving!” Louis came running into Bess’s cabin. She’d felt the tremor in the ship when the engines had started, but she hadn’t realized they were actually moving.
She leapt off her bunk. She’d been trying to read the book her father had given her, but she kept falling asleep. With all of the air raids, she hadn’t had much sleep lately. But she was wide awake now.
“Let’s go up on deck,” she said. She was shaking with excitement.
They raced down the narrow corridor and up the metal stairs, almost crashing into Miss Hillman who was on her way down.
“Miss Hillman! Did you see? Are we really moving?”
“Yes, Bess, but we are only just leaving the landing stage. We’re heading out to the middle of the river, where we’ll anchor until tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?! I thought we were leaving today. We’re all ready!”
“Apparently, there has been a bit of delay,” said Miss Hillman. “But Signalman Mayhew assured me we’ll head out sometime tomorrow, probably in the late afternoon.”
“I’m going to go find Michael and see if we can have a football game,” said Louis, pouting.
Bess sighed. “This waiting is awful.”
“Why don’t you head up to the playroom and find Beth?” said Miss Hillman. “I think I saw her heading up there. There are shelves of great books. I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll like.”
Bess wondered if Miss Hillman had read her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was to go back to her cabin and try to read Freedom and Democracy.
But when she got to the playroom, it was pandemonium. The five- and six-year-olds were playing a loud game of tag, running and screaming everywhere. Eleanor was turning a jump rope with Patricia. Joyce and Marion were skipping and laughing. Beth was braiding Joan’s hair.
“I’m so glad you’ve come up,” said Beth to Bess. “Isn’t this waiting horrid?!”
“I know,” said Bess. “I really thought we were on our way. But Miss Hillman says it won’t be until tomorrow.”
There was a group of children writing letters at a table in the corner of the room. Ken, the boy with the large overcoat was there, hunched over. Bess could see that he was writing an illustrated letter—there were drawings of different parts of the Benares and many lines of writing.
“It’s our last chance, if we want to send something home,” said Beth. “Cadet Critchley said they’ll take letters to shore and mail them before we head out.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Bess. “I’m going to wait. I’ll write a long one as we sail. That way I can send it with a Canadian stamp once we’ve landed.”
“Maybe we could give Gussie a hand,” suggested Beth. Gussie was sitting with her sisters and brothers. She was obviously trying to write her own letter, but her little brothers didn’t know how to write yet, so she was trying to teach them, and keep them from fighting.
“Here, Gussie,” said Beth, “shall we write out the letters for your brothers so you can write your own?”
Gussie looked up at Bess and Beth with grateful eyes. “That’d be nice. I’ve got ever so much I want to say to our mum, but I also want her to hear from Eddie and Lenny. Connie ’n Violet, they’re all right. They know how to write.”
“I’m tellin’ ’em about the playroom, an’ the rockin’ horse,” said Violet.
“An’ I’m tellin’ ’em about getting in the lifeboat!” said Connie proudly.
Bess sat down beside little Lenny. “What would you like me to write?” she asked, gently pulling the paper in front of her.
“I want to tell mum ’bout the gulls. We gave ’em a bit of our biscuit an’ they started peckin’ and fightin’ and screamin’!” said Lenny excitedly.
“Can you write about the lifeboats?” Eddie asked Beth. “Can you tell our mum about how we practice to jump into the sea?”
Bess and Beth wrote out Lenny and Eddie’s letters while Gussie wrote to her parents and to her older sister Kathleen. “You’d like our Kathleen,” she said to Bess. “She’s smart like you. She’s too old to come with us now, but she’s goin’ to come to live with me in Canada, when the war’s over. Maybe you’ll visit us when she comes.”
When the war is over. Children grow so quickly, thought Bess. She looked at little Lenny. Would he even remember his sister Kathleen?
* * *
Ken sat on a deck chair. He’d finished his letter to Mollie and was trying to draw the Duchess of Atholl. This was his third try. The ship was so close that he couldn’t take it all in. He settled on sketching some of the details that he could see—the bridge, a lifeboat. Then he looked back to the pier and began drawing one of the cargo ships.
“Not bad.”
The voice made him jump. He’d been so focused on the drawing that he’d forgotten completely where he was. He looked up to see a young sailor, not much taller than him, squinting in the sunshine.
“This one, the Marina, that’s my favourite. Built in ’35. Mate of mine’s on her crew.”
“How long have you been in the Royal Navy?” Ken asked.
“’Enlisted in ’39. Right at the start. Way to see the world, you know. An’ I’ve always been good at codes.”
“Codes?”
“Codes, cyphers, puzzles. That’s why they trained me up as a signalman. Signalman Mayhew,” he said, saluting. He took out a packet of cigarettes. “Guess I can’t offer you one of these!” he laughed. “How old are you?”
“I’m thirteen, sir,” Ken felt embarrassed by his short pants, his thin arms and legs.
“Ah, well, you’ll be joinin’ up in no time. I’ve just turned nineteen myself. The next six years’ll be your best,” he winked.
Ken wondered where he’d be in six years. Right here, he thought, on the deck of a ship, in uniform.
“Yup,” the signalman continued, “the only problem is the waitin’. When you’re ready to go, you’re ready. But we’ve got to wait for the commodore and the rest of them to show up.”
“The commodore? Aren’t we under the command of Captain Nicolls?” Ken was thirsty for information about the workings of the ship.
“Commodore Mackinnnon’s in charge of the convoy.”
“The convoy?!” said Ken. His voice had squeaked with excitement and he hoped that Signalman Mayhew hadn’t noticed.
“Yup. Safety in numbers. If a U-boat tries to torpedo a ship in a convoy, the other ships’ll attack it and rescue the boat that’s hit.”
Ken had read about convoys. He knew that they had to have a lead ship.
“Who’s the lead?” he asked, trying to sound as knowledgeable as possible.
“HMS Winchelsea.”
The Winchelsea! Ken knew all about the Winchelsea. He’d read about her battles in the Great War. He couldn’t believe she was going to be sailing with them. He couldn’t wait to draw her.
“And we’ll have a couple a corvettes aside us,” Mayhew continued. “They’re like tiny destroyers. Can do a lot of damage to a U-boat, they can. And at the start we’ll have a Sunderland flying boat with submarine-killer depth charges that can blow a U-boat clear outta the water, watchin’ us from the air.”
Ken had drawn hundreds of Sunderlands in the Wembley library. He realized that he was sitting with his mouth wide open. He coughed and tried to rearrange his face so that he didn’t look like such a stupid little kid.
“Yup,” Mayhew went on, “we’re goin’ in convoy with eighteen other ships. Eighteen! We’ll stretch three miles over the ocean! You’re going to Canada in style, mate.”
That night, Ken lay in his bunk in the dark thinking about what a great day it had been. He’d had lots to eat, had explored the whole ship. He’d written his letter to Mollie. He began to drift off to sleep, with a happy grin on his face.
bang! Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting crash and the boat rocked. He was awake instantly. Another bang. The boat rocked even more.
“What is it?” Terry called from the bunk below. “What’s happenin’, Ken?” His voice sounded small in the dark.
“I think it’s a raid. A raid on the docks,” said Ken. He tried to make his voice sound calm. He counted the seconds between each hit and tried to imagine how close they were to the ship. The ship rocked with every crash.
“Are we gonna get bombed? Where’s the shelter?”
“No shelter on the ship, Terry. But it’s okay. They don’t really aim for the ships. They’re aimin’ for the docks.” Ken tried to make his voice sound more confident than he actually felt.
The cabin door opened. “What’s happening?”
Derek and his brother Alan were holding hands in the doorway. Ken could just barely see them. The ship was blacked out and there was virtually no light. They had to have blackout conditions on the water. A single light, even just from a torch, would make them an easy target for the bombers.
It was one thing to be in an air-raid shelter during a bombing raid. It was quite another to be sitting out in the open, in a huge boat, rocking from side to side. The bombs seemed so close.
Ken heard Alan sniffle. “Derek, I want Mum.” His voice was strained.
Just then the tall figure of Reverend King filled the doorway. “What are you boys doing up?” he asked.
“Alan’s a little scared, reverend,” said Derek. His voice was shaky.
“Nothing to be scared of. It’s just Jerry’s way of saying goodbye to us. Nothing to worry about at all.” The reverend’s voice sounded strained, like he was working hard at sounding cheerful.
There was another crash, and the boat rocked fiercely. “Just think about the great football game you’re going have on the deck tomorrow morning with Mr. Rennie,” said the reverend, as he steadied himself on the doorframe.
Alan was sniffling even louder.
“Here, Alan,” said the reverend, reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown. “Here’s a cookie that I saved from dinner. I’m sure that will make you feel better. Sorry I don’t have any more for the rest of you boys.”
“That’s all right, reverend,” said Terry, but his voice sounded thick with fear.
Another crash. The boat rocked.
“Need to get you boys back to your own room,” said the reverend.
Derek started to cry. “I don’t know how to look after Alan. I don’t know what to do,” his voice started to get louder as the tears started to flow.
The reverend knelt down. “That’s all right, Derek. You aren’t alone. You know that, don’t you? Look, I’ve got something special for you. It’s my good-luck charm. It’ll bring both you and Alan good luck.”
Through the darkness, Ken could just see the reverend handing something to Derek. It was small and white and fit into the palm of his hand.
“What is it?” Derek asked.
“It’s a lamb. Not a real one of course. It’s a special charm made from Bakelite,” he laughed. “Think of it as the lamb of God. It will protect you. All of you,” Reverend King said, straightening up. “Now, time to head off to your own beds, boys, so that Terry and Ken can get some sleep.”
Sleep. How could he sleep as the ship rocked with each crash? He needed to stop thinking about the bombers, to try and stop imagining the massive airplanes dropping their bombs so close by. Ken squeezed his pencil and notebook tightly every time he heard a crash. He tried hard to think about sailing tomorrow. He remembered sitting in the lifeboat, pushing and pulling on the Fleming gears, the boat gently swaying beneath him. He imagined that the crashes were the sound of the sailors applauding him for his great work with the levers. Cadet Sparks. He let the ship rock him to sleep as though he was a baby.