Friday, September 20, 1940, 6:32 AM
Friday morning dawned with a warm, sunny wind. As Ken woke up to his third morning in the lifeboat, he heard Officer Cooper and Cadet Critchley synchronizing their watches. “I make it 6:30 am.” said Cooper.
“I have 6:35,” said Critchley.
“Let’s set it at 6:32,” said Cooper.
Six thirty-two. How strange to be caring so much about the time, Ken thought. But he knew that shipboard, even if it was only on a lifeboat, officers kept to routines. Dinner, with its dipper of water, would be at twelve. Supper, with the second dipper of water and tin of milk, would be at six. That was all that mattered, really. That, and storytime.
Gradually, everyone woke up and stretched, to the best of their cramped ability. The lascars scooped small handfuls of seawater into their mouths, swished it around, and spat it out, preparing to say their morning prayers. Ken wondered if they cheated and swallowed. It would feel so good to swallow.
“Our father, who art in heaven.”
Father O’Sullivan was still sick with the fever. He lay on the bottom of the boat, leading a morning prayer. Ken watched him fingering his rosary beads constantly. What would happen if he got sicker?
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
Ken looked sideways at the priest. He imagined the priest’s fever getting worse, imagined him dead, in the bottom of the boat. What would happen then? Would they have to throw him overboard? Would he sink or float?
“And we are grateful for a good wind today,” Officer Cooper said, answering the prayer with his own expression of gratitude. He sat in the stern, as he had been doing for three days, holding the tiller. “We could do a hundred miles on a day like this. But we still need to keep a good lookout. Mr. Nagorski, if you would be so good as to take the first rota. Master Sparks, your turn will follow immediately after.”
“Look!” Billy was pointing high into the sky. “Sunderland flying ships! Two of them!”
Ken strained his eyes to see two distant figures swoop in the sky.
“Gulls,” said Peard, hurling a gob of spit over the side of the boat.
And so the day began. With disappointment.
The sun and wind dried their clothes. Ken’s legs ached. His back ached. Everything ached. He tried to enjoy stretching as he manoeuvred over the forward thwart to get to his lookout post in the bow. He felt as though he was wrapped up in a tight sheet, like an Egyptian mummy, unable to move any of his muscles. As he sat in the bow, he tried to will a ship onto the horizon. But there was nothing.
“What shall we sing?” Auntie Mary asked loudly.
“‘Run, Rabbit, Run’!” said Fred.
“‘Pack up Your Troubles,’” said Derek.
“‘There’ll Always Be an England,’” said Paul, and he quietly started singing, “There’ll always be an England, while there’s a country lane.”
Auntie Mary joined him. “Wherever there’s a cottage small, beside a field of grain.”
And then everyone was singing.
There’ll always be an England
While there’s a busy street,
Wherever there’s a turning wheel,
A million marching feet.
Red, white and blue; what does it mean to you?
Surely you’re proud, shout it aloud, ‘Britons, awake!’
The empire too, we can depend on you. Freedom remains.
These are the chains nothing can break.
There’ll always be an England,
And England shall be free
If England means as much to you
As England means to me.”
Ken sang loudly, proudly, sending the song out on the waves, out on the wind to the four corners of the world.
Harry the Gunner stood as he sang the last chorus. On the last line he saluted and somersaulted backward into the water, fully dressed, to emerge laughing and spluttering. Everyone—the lascars and even Auntie Mary—applauded.
When dinner was served, Ken was relieved of his lookout post and went back to his perch on the side bench, between the duck hole and the lascars. A biscuit, a half sardine, and a dipper of water.
Billy and Derek gave their biscuits to Auntie Mary. “Can you look after this for me?” said Billy. “I might want it later, but I can’t swallow it right now.” Ken watched her tuck the biscuits into her pockets. He knew he should eat his, to keep up his strength. But it was like swallowing clay. When no one was looking, he quietly crumbled it and dropped it into the sea.
“Right, who’d like to hear about what’s happening to Captain Drummond?” asked Auntie Mary.
“Hurray!” shouted Fred, Howard, Derek, Billy, and Paul. Ken grinned as he moved closer.
“Captain Drummond felt a pistol at his back. ‘And so vee meet again, Captain Drummond,’ said a strangely familiar voice in a heavy German accent.”
Ken felt the sun warming his face. He looked out across the sparkling blue water as Bulldog Drummond battled for his life. It was almost peaceful, sailing along, listening to the adventure.
“Reinholdt turned the key and flung open the heavy steel door.
“‘Ah, the room of nails,’ exclaimed Drummond.
“‘Yes, captain, I’ve got you now. You’ll never escape!’ And with an evil laugh, Bulldog Drummond was shoved into the dark room.
“The ropes bit into his wrists. He heard the distant sound of machinery and watched in horror as the wall of nails began to move inexorably toward him. Only seconds stood between him and certain death!”
Silence. “Go on, Auntie Mary,” said Billy, nudging her.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
“No!”
“The story will continue tomorrow.”
Ken looked around. He’d escaped for as long as the story was told. Now he was back in the prison. He wasn’t sure which was worse, being cramped or bored. Nothing to do for the rest of the day except look forward to the supper ration. Half a dry biscuit. Half a sardine. A tin of milk. A dipper of water.
Eventually, the sun faded, the stars came twinkling out, and Auntie Mary massaged his legs and feet. She’d started doing that with each of the boys last night, to try and help them get to sleep. Ken could barely feel her working her thumbs down his calf muscles, and onto his puffy, swollen, wet feet. She moved slowly, carefully, but it was as though his feet belonged to someone else’s body. Still, it relaxed him.
He lay there looking up at the sky. There was no moon, and the stars covered every part of the sky and were reflected in every part of the water. He was living in a bowl of stars. He felt as though he could reach out and touch them. He connected the dots of the stars, trying to remember what he knew of constellations.
“A shooting star! Make a wish,” said Fred.
In the dark of the night, his fourth night on the lifeboat, his wish was pretty obvious.
Saturday, September 21, 1940, 6:30 AM
Another morning. Ken wasn’t sure what day it was. It might be Saturday, but he was losing track of time. He lay on his back listening to the morning routines—Officer Cooper and Cadet Critchley synchronizing their watches, the lascars saying their prayers, Paul moaning softly from the duck hole.
Suddenly, Father O’Sullivan shouted, “A whale! Look! A real live whale!”
The priest was standing on the thwart in the middle of the boat. Father O’Sullivan, who had been lying on the bottom of the boat for days, seemingly near death. He was pointing and laughing.
Ken sat up and jerked around to look where he was pointing. Out in the water, about a hundred yards from the right side of the bow, was a sleek black back swimming beside them. It was longer than their entire boat.
“The most magnificent of God’s creatures,” called out the priest.
“It’s huge!” said Derek.
“Look, there’s more!” yelled Billy.
Six whales—or was it eight whales?—were swimming beside the boat. The water was churning. The sight filled Ken with awe. It was hard to believe what he was seeing. Spray shot high up in the air from their breathing holes. He wished he could draw them. He longed for his notebook and pencil.
“Man the gears!” Officer Cooper snapped them out of their trance. The shout sent shock waves through the boat. Peard, Critchley, and Purvis all moved to the Fleming gears and started pulling and pushing with all their might.
“We must get away. They could swamp us! Ramjam, get some of your men to work the gears. Tell them the whales will come and scratch their backs on the boat. They could flip us over if we don’t move out of here,” yelled Cooper.
Everyone responded to the urgency in the officer’s voice. Ramjam quickly translated and five lascars grabbed onto the gears. Cooper steered the boat away from the enormous creatures. Ken watched the whales recede into the distance.
When they were out of sight of the whales, a sad calm flooded over the boat. Father O’Sullivan led them in a morning prayer of thanks to God for the wonders of the sea, for the whales. And a thanks for his improved health.
Ken was really sorry to have to leave the whales. They were the first sign of life outside the boat that they had seen in four days.
Dinner was the usual. No one wanted biscuits anymore—they used them as plates for the sardines and then gave them to Auntie Mary for safekeeping. Ken suspected that she was dropping them in the ocean, as he was. He wondered if fish liked hard ship’s biscuits. We’re feeding the fish, he thought to himself. That’s funny. It’s as though we are in a large aquarium tank. Maybe that’s why the whales came along. Maybe they like hard ship’s biscuits.
After dinner, Mr. Nagorski sat on the bottom of the boat pulling soggy pound notes from the pocket of his overcoat. He spread them out meticulously, holding them flat on the wooden footings with spare ship’s biscuits.
Ken stared. Such a lot of money.
“What’re you doin’ that fer?” growled Gunner Peard. “Ain’t much use here.”
Mr. Nagorski kept at his task. “Not here, no. But I will need it when we are rescued.”
Ken suddenly remembered his money. The money that his stepmother had given him to help him in Canada. What had happened to it? He’d given it to Auntie Mary, as they all had, for safekeeping.
“Auntie Mary …” he began.
“Auntie Mary, where is my money?” interrupted Howard. “I gave it you in the dining room. That first day. I had four and six. I’d been saving it. I’ll never have that much again.”
“My mum gave me a tanner,” said Billy. “She’ll be furious if I’ve lost it. You do have it, don’t you, Auntie Mary?”
“What about my good-luck joey?” asked Fred.
“I’m sorry, boys,” Auntie Mary held up her hands. “The money was all in a special bag in my cabin in the ship. When the ship was torpedoed, I’m afraid your money went down.”
“But I was going to buy my mum a present when I got to Canada,” said Derek angrily.
“Will they give it back when we get to Ireland?” asked Howard. “Maybe that Mr. Shakespeare’ll give it us back.”
“Who?” said Derek.
“Mr. Shakespeare,” said Howard. “The one who came on the ship that last day. Before we left Liverpool. ’Member? He checked our life jackets and made sure we knew where our muster station was? He said he was with the government, with CORD.”
“You mean CORB,” said Ken.
“Yeah, that’s it. He sent the letter to my mum and dad saying I could go to Canada. Maybe he’ll give us back our money,” said Howard.
“My mum’s gonna be mad at me …” sniffed Paul.
Mr. Nagorski stopped putting out his money to dry. He waved his hand for attention.
“Boys, boys. It is very regrettable that Miss Cornish had to leave the moneybag behind on the Benares. But of course her attentions were most correctly directed toward her girls and her duties as escort.”
Ken felt ashamed that they’d seemed ungrateful to Auntie Mary. Of course she’d been trying to look after her girls. And here she was looking after them, massaging their feet and legs every day, and telling them the Bulldog Drummond stories.
“Do not worry,” Mr. Nagorski continued. “When we get back, I will make up to each of you the money you have lost.”
Ken’s jaw dropped. He and the rest of the boys looked at Mr. Nagorski in stunned silence. He’d known that Mr. Nagorski was different. He sat so straight every day in his homburg hat, overcoat, and gloves. He shined his shoes every morning, using a bit of a handkerchief that he kept in his pocket. And he spoke with an accent. But Ken hadn’t known that he was rich. He must be really rich, thought Ken. He’s probably a millionaire.
“Thank you very much, sir,” said Howard, speaking for them all. “Thank you very much, indeed.” Howard paused. “Do you think we’ll be taken to Canada or be in Ireland when we are rescued?”