PETER BENCHLEY’S NOVEL The Deep is based on the extraordinary coincidence of two ships sinking, one exactly on top of the other. The fact is – the true fact is – that there was a third, precisely atop the other two. Such was the improbability of Nature, however, that when rendering the story into Art, Benchley omitted one of the trio.
I, rather more boldly, have omitted none of the improbabilities of the following story. I believe it passionately, and have transferred it from Nature to Art only because of a need to bridge the gaps in memory of the protagonists. Where they have remembered perfectly, I have recorded; where they have forgotten, I have embellished – embellishments based always on their best efforts of memory, and with the corroboration of others in the know.
Overall, this is the most sincere pub story I have ever heard. It is about real people and real events and its consequences are evident to this day. If it is not true, a story equally unlikely is required to account for present circumstances.
MY LITERARY STYLE has been described – not necessarily flatteringly – as ‘Dickensian’. I assure you, you offend the people in this book (all under assumed names) if you regard them as larger than life, or implausible.
Those who find them so have never been to Westport.
I listened patiently to Royce Rowland, Bob Dodds, Dooley Morgan et al, telling me how they had ‘shot the gear’, ‘tied the Jesus knot on the cod-end’, ‘dropped the wobbly bars’ … until I realised there was only one way for me to make sense of working in the sea off Westport – to become a ‘grommet’ (deckhand) myself. And I did. For the maritime scenes, therefore, I take over the hard work from Royce Rowland. The thoughts, experiences and (alas) the sexual adventures, however, remain resolutely his.
Equally, I acquainted myself with Royce’s journey to … no, I won’t say, it will spoil the story. Suffice to say, I have been from one end of Royce’s odyssey to the other, and visited the important places there-between. I thank Creative New Zealand for the funding to do so.
There are many other people I have to thank – fishermen, teachers, schoolmates, ‘middle management’ officials, friends, enemies, barmen/maids, tycoons, tunnelling contractors, lawyers, lovers, gangsters, pilots, airline hostesses, good-time bar hostesses, wives, travel agents, other people’s wives, and, overwhelmingly, Royce himself – but for their own sakes, it is advisable that I do so under the aliases used in the following pages. Perhaps I can say thanks to Stuart, Mac, Fossil, Flag, Simon, Atsu, Scotty, Mioko, Clive, Tim, Gary, Bert, Mark, Steve, Graham, Roger, Arthur, Peanuts, Rory, Neil, John, three Daves (one the boss), Peter W, Beatrice Ellen Ann, Peter J, John E, Fishing News and Bob without giving too much away, but in the main, the protagonists will know who they are – and I fervently trust that no one else does.
Equally I have hidden the identities of the actual airlines involved in the story, and have used instead, the names of two popular and well-patronised carriers of the time: Air New Zealand and Qantas, neither of which took the route described in this book (see Appendix Three).
I refer critics of the quantity of nicknames appearing herein to Appendix One.
I refer critics of the strenuous sexual content to Appendix Two.
Please note, the photographs of ‘Royce Rowland’ are not current – he is somewhat older today, but still handsome, charming, bothersome and incident-filled. And – may I stress – happily and faithfully en-partnered. He pursues the same trade today, but no longer out of the port in this book. Typically he made no further financial gain after his first ‘hit’ but the industry he pioneered persists, to the benison of all those who ply the sea off Westport.