Wednesday, September 18, 1940, 5:00 PM
The sky changed colour. The sun was starting to set. Bess’s nose was filled with salt. It was getting hard to breathe.
She knew she had to keep going for Beth. But it was going to be hard, very hard to face another night.
“Beth … one … more night …” Her voice was barely a whisper. She heard Beth trying to speak and turned her head to look at her. And then she looked past Beth and saw…
“A ship,” she said.
“No … imagin … ation …” whispered Beth.
But Bess could see it. A huge destroyer, painted in zigzags. It looked very real.
She couldn’t call. Her voice didn’t work. She couldn’t wave. Her arms didn’t work. Would anyone see them?
The destroyer wasn’t moving. It was just sitting there. Maybe it was a ghost ship after all.
Then, through blurred vision she saw something else. It looked like a small boat coming closer. Toward them. There were men rowing. She heard words, but couldn’t understand them. Maybe she was dreaming again. Or maybe … they’re Germans, she thought.
We’ve got to fight them.
Not sure I can.
Loud cheering.
A rugby match?
“Come on, me darlings!” A voice cut through her dream. “We are going to get you off of there.” They don’t sound like Germans, thought Bess.
Everything went black.
When Bess woke up she was in a large, cushioned chair. She looked slowly around. There were sailors everywhere, staring at her. She saw Beth on a sofa at the other side of the small room. She blinked.
“Miss?” said one of the sailors softly. “Would you like a bit of hot soup?” He tenderly handed her a steaming mug. As she raised her hands, she saw two bloated, jelly like objects, with bits of skin hanging off them.
“I … I don’t think I can hold anything,” she whispered.
The sailor held the cup to her lips. But she couldn’t make her throat swallow the thick liquid. She shook her head.
Just then, an officer came into the room. He knelt down beside her.
“Hello. I’m Officer Collinson, the medic on the ship,” he said gently. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Bess. Bess Walder.”
“How are you feeling, Bess?”
“A bit dizzy.”
“Bess, I’d like you to try to drink just a bit of this warm sugar water. It’s got a bit of rum in it to help you sleep a bit. You’ve had quite a shock,” Dr. Collinson added.
“Is Beth all right?” Bess asked.
“Your friend? She feels about the same as you.”
Bess took a sip of the drink that Dr. Collinson offered her. It slid down her parched throat. She took another sip and closed her eyes. She opened them again. The sailor with the cup of soup was looking at her.
“Did you … rescue me?” Bess asked slowly.
“Yes, miss.” She saw that his eyes were filled with tears.
“What … what is your name?” Bess’s eyes were starting to close.
“Albert Gorman, miss. You just sleep now,” he said softly.
Bess began to drift off. “Thank you very much, Mr. Gorman,” she murmured as her eyes closed.
* * *
Sonia was bundled in blankets, hanging snugly in a hammock in the officer’s mess. She felt the ship’s engines stop and start up again. Stop and start. Stop and start. After each time, sailors brought in more rescued passengers from the Benares.
From her hammock, Sonia watched her mother help Dr. Collinson tend to survivors as they were brought in. Waterlogged people came in for cups of hot soup and tots of rum before being tucked into hammocks, cots, and bunks throughout the ship. Broken bits of stories came to her ears.
“… five of us on a raft …”
“… swimming until someone plucked me out …”
“… there were thirty-one …”
With every new arrival, Sonia’s mother asked, “Have you seen a girl called Barbara Bech? Have you seen my daughter?”
Then Sonia heard singing, a solo voice, high, like the choirboy she heard at Christmas. She wondered if she was dreaming.
Rule Britannia,
Britannia rule the waves
Britons never, never, never
Shall be slaves!
She opened her eyes and saw a sailor walking in with a bright red sack slung over his shoulder. Christmas? The sack was singing.
The sailor set the sack down. “I think you can take this off now,” he said. “It’s done the job.”
“I promised my mother I’d keep it on until I got off the boat in Canada.”
“Colin!” Sonia shrieked.
“Well, you’ll not be heading to Canada now,” said the sailor. “I think she won’t mind, seein’ how you’re safe under the protection of the Royal Navy.”
Just then another sailor came in, carrying a girl, wrapped in a blanket. He walked over to Sonia’s mother.
“Now just look what I found all wrapped up safe in bed beside the ship’s funnel,” he beamed.
“Barbara!” Sonia’s mother burst into tears.
* * *
The sun set.
Lieutenant Commander Simms had done all he could. He had found twelve lifeboats, some overturned, some empty, some filled with lifeless bodies. He’d found one lifeboat from the Marina, with a crew who had picked up some passengers and lascars from the Benares. He’d found two girls, barely alive, clinging onto the overturned hull of a lifeboat. He’d searched every inch of his 20-mile box search.
That’s it, he thought, with a deep melancholy. Of the 408 passengers and crew, he had rescued only 106. Some of the children were in pretty bad shape. He wasn’t sure if they’d survive.
There were no more survivors to look for. It was dark. There was nothing more he could do.
He set sail for Scotland.
He didn’t know about lifeboat 12.