I have rated this piece as "T" because of death and general background nastiness. I hope I have labelled it correctly. If anyone thinks it should be rated "M" I will change it accordingly.
Roger leant on the railings surveying the unusual activity around the small harbour. Earlier a lorry had pulled up, a number of naval ratings jumped down from it and climbed aboard some of the boats. Their officer had gone straight to the harbour master's office and could be seen inside, deep in conversation with the harbourmaster himself.
Roger watched a pair of sailors on the boat nearest to him, Sydia, a white painted motor cruiser. One had opened the after hatch and dropped down into the tiny engine room, while the other checked around the deck and the wheelhouse. The head of the first reappeared through the hatch. "Oi, Bungs! I can't this thing started!"
"Well you're the flippin' stoker, what do expect me to do?"
"Just thought you might want to know," grumbled the first.
"Hey!" shouted Roger, "Have you checked the battery switch?"
"The flippin' what?"
"The battery switch."
"Where's that."
"Here let me show you." And Roger quickly climbed down the ladder to the boat.
"'Ere you can't come on 'ere. This 'as bin requisitioned by the Navy." protested the stoker, but did nothing to stop Roger coming aboard.
"Mr Matthews, the owner, showed me round and let me start the engine too."
"Come on Stokes," said the other sailor, "If he can get this ship going it'll save getting the Chief over. If he has to start the engine he'll never let you forget it."
"OK, but I don't 'old wiv 'avin' civvies on board."
"Aw stow it Stokes! It's only to get the thing started, then he can go ashore again."
The stoker moved to one side to let Roger down the engine room hatch. Roger showed him a switch, hidden beneath the main instrument panel, "Just flick this over and she should start. Now try the starter"
The stoker tried the starter again and after a couple of coughs the engine burst into life. The stoker looked slightly abashed at there being such a simple solution to his problem. He gave Roger a wry grin and a thumbs up.
Roger shouted so he could be heard above the engine noise. "Best switch it off again when you finish. It stops the battery draining too quickly. Where are you all going anyway?"
"Ain't allowed to say. It's all a bit 'ush 'ush."
"But you're all going to France, aren't you?"
"May be we are, may be we ain't, but I ain't tellin'"
"Fine, fine," said Roger, "I get the message. The BBC says the Army are being evacuated from the beaches in France by the Navy, and I see the Navy requisitioning shallow draft boats. I know a connection when I see it. Anyway if you're going far you'll need fuel, I think the tank is nearly empty. Mr Matthews hasn't been able to get much since the war started"
"That's all bin taken care of. There'll be a lorry load of fuel along soon to fill all these. Now you oughta be moving on. Thanks for showin' me that switch."
"That's alright. I'm happy to help out."
Roger climbed back up through the hatch, closely followed by the stoker. Once on deck he looked around the harbour. A couple of other boats now had their engines running and blue clouds of exhaust smoke drifted in the still air.
"Well have a good voyage, where ever it is you're going." said Roger.
"Thanks mate." and to Roger's surprise the stoker stuck out his hand, which Roger shook. For the first time he looked closely at the seaman. He realised he was facing a young man, probably not much older than himself. "Now you'd best push off 'fore you gets me in trouble."
Roger gave a grin and stepped ashore, waving to the other seaman, who was busy in the wheelhouse.
Returning to his vantage point by the railings Roger continued to watch the activities before him. A second lorry, this one loaded with fuel drums, stopped close to the harbour office and two overalled sailors busied themselves with a portable pump. The officer, a Lieutenant, came out of the office and was joined by a Chief Petty Officer.
The chief stood on the quay and bellowed something. He was too far away for Roger to hear what he said, but the accompanying gestures were unmistakeable; he was ordering one of the boats to come over and start fuelling.
After the first two boats had fuelled Roger tired of just watching, so he wandered over to the harbour office. In the past he had spent several afternoons in there, listening to the harbour master's stories of his sea-going youth. The old man had learnt his trade in sailing ships carrying wool from Australia, moved to on to steam ships and had visited ports in every continent. Now at an age when most men would spend their time pottering in the garden he supervised the running of the small harbour.
The Harbour Master was just how he imagined Peter Duck would be, with a weather-beaten face, tufts of grey hair poking out from under his battered cap and clear blue eyes that always looking towards the horizon.
"Morning Mr Roger." He was greeted as he entered the little office. "I saw you watching the goings-on out there."
"Good morning Captain Jenks. Are they taking the boats to France? The sailors wouldn't tell me."
"Aye, they'll be off as soon as they've finished fuelling. Bringing back our poor soldiers from Flanders. That Lieutenant told me they need the smaller boats to pick men off the beaches and take them out to the bigger ships offshore."
"Why haven't they taken Maisie?", Roger looked out at the harbour launch as he asked the question.
"That's a very good question young man," replied the harbour master with a grin. "I told 'em a little white lie earlier. When the Navy came round asking about the boats and how fast and how reliable they were I said that old Maisie there could only manage four knots."
"But she's faster than that!" protested Roger "Don't you want her to help bring the army back home?"
"Now I didn't say that. Did I? I just didn't want the Navy taking her. I fancies one last foreign trip before I'm too old, so I thought I'll take her across myself."
"What! You'll take Maisie across to France by yourself?"
"And why not? I've been handling small boats for nigh on sixty years."
Roger could not think of a suitable reply to this. "When are you going then?" he asked.
"Once these navy guys have all gone I'll be off. When they're at sea they won't care about one more small boat out there."
"Could I come too?" Roger had asked the question before he had really thought about it.
"This isn't going to be a quick afternoon trip round the bay and back in time for tea. I'll be away for a good while, and if things are as bad as the Lieutenant says there's a fair chance of not coming back. No, you'd best stay here. It's not a job for kids. I'm sure you'll find a way of helping out if you want to."
Roger was about to retort that at seventeen he was no longer a kid when an idea came to him. "You're right Captain Jenks, there are lots of ways of helping out."
"That's the spirit. I'm sure you'll be called on to do your bit before long. Now I must get Maisie ready for the trip, then I'll nip home to get some rations to see me through."
Roger said goodbye to the old harbour master and went back outside. Instead of going back to his favoured place at the railings he made his way up into the town. Threading his way through the quiet residential streets he came to a terraced house. He pulled a key from his pocket, let himself in and went up the stairs to the back bedroom. Working quickly he pulled a small knapsack out from under the bed and crammed a spare sweater inside. Briefly he considered taking a change of underwear but decided there might not be the opportunity to change.
Back downstairs he looked through the kitchen cupboards, there was not much suitable to take: a tin of condensed milk, a couple of day-old currant buns and a slightly wrinkled apple. He decided to leave the tin of milk but added the other items to the contents of the knapsack and was about to fasten the straps when he remembered drink. From under the sink he took a screw-topped bottle, and filled it with water. There was just room to slide it into the pack with the other items.
Patting his pockets, Roger confirmed he had a handkerchief, penknife and a pencil. He had just one more thing to do before leaving.
From a drawer he took a writing pad. For a while he chewed the end of the pencil while he thought about what to say. After due consideration he decided to keep the message short.
Dear Aunt Rosie,
I have gone round to Dover with Captain Jenks, the harbour master, to help the soldiers coming back from France. I might be away a few days.
Your loving nephew,
Roger
There, he hoped his aunt would not be too inquisitive and try to contact him in Dover. She was a widow and had never had children of her own, so was unused to dealing with youngsters. Roger had often stayed with her for weekends, it being so near his school. Bridget had been evacuated to North Wales with the rest of her school and Mother had taken the opportunity to move down to Plymouth to be near father. It was impractical for him to make the long journey to join her so he had elected to spend the time again with his aunt at the coast.
He folded the letter and placed on the hall table, so his aunt would see it when she returned from her job serving in the baker's shop. Shouldering his knapsack Roger set off back towards the harbour.
o – o – O – o – o
On arrival back at the harbour a quick glance was all Roger needed to know that the requisitioned boats had already left. Looking out to sea he could see them heading towards the southern horizon and France.
He risked a brief look in the harbour office as he passed. Sat behind the main desk was Captain Jenks' assistant, with his head bent low over a book. Satisfied the man would not disturb him for a while Roger continued round to the quay where the harbour launch was berthed.
Maisie was used for a variety of jobs around the harbour; acting as a tugboat, moving people and equipment, even servicing navigation marks. The boat would never win a competition for good looks. She was a tubby, sturdy craft, about fifty feet long with a wheelhouse and small cabin amidships. A pair of exhaust pipes for the diesel engines protruded from behind this structure. Behind them a small skylight gave light to the engine room. Her black hull was protected by a massive rope fender running right around the boat, but this had not prevented her collecting many dents and scrapes over the years.
Roger pausing at the top of the steps to see if he was being watched. But no, everyone in sight was going about their own business. Jenks had shown Roger round during a previous visit, and now he tried to remember the layout and where Jenks was unlikely to look for a while. There was only one place he could think of, it would not be comfortable for a long trip, but he did not intend staying there more than a couple of hours.
After another quick look around and Roger was down the stone steps and standing on Maisie's deck. He tried the wheelhouse door, as hoped it was unlocked. Within a few seconds he was inside and had closed the door behind him. From the wheelhouse he went down the short flight of steps leading down to the cabin. This was a spartan space; with a long, slatted, wooden bench along each side, and a table bolted to the deck.
Roger manoeuvred himself between table and bench to a small door in the forward bulkhead. He opened it and checked inside. Yes, it was as he remembered, a storage locker containing tins of paint, some old rope and a bundle of cotton waste. It would be cramped but he could conceal himself in there when Jenks came aboard. Hopefully Jenks would not even come into the cabin, let alone look in the locker.
As best he could Roger rearranged the contents to so he could sit more comfortably. A pile of cotton waste over a couple of tins made an acceptable, if rather narrow stool. He was about to settle into the small space and pull the door closed when he remembered to ensure he would be able to open the door again from inside.
A piece of waste jammed in the door held it nearly closed, and allowed a narrow strip of light into the locker. Roger hoped that if Jenks did look down from the wheelhouse would not notice the door was not fully closed.
Roger then settled down in the semi-darkness to wait. It seemed an eternity before he heard footsteps on the deck above. Carefully he listened, there were two sets of footsteps and voices. Who had Jenks brought aboard?
The door to the wheelhouse opened and he heard Jenks say, "Just chuck your dunnage down there then stand by to slip. I'll start the donkeys."
Two soft thumps indicated bags being tossed down onto the deck of the saloon. This was followed the sound of movement on the deck above as Jenks and whoever was with him moved about. This continued for a few minutes then there was a sudden roar as first one, then the other engine started. Roger could not hear anything else above the noise but he felt Maisie rock slightly. Then the engines' note changed and there was the sound of water flowing past the boat. They had left the jetty.
Time passed slowly as Roger sat in the near darkness of the locker. His perch on the paint tins was already getting uncomfortable and a twinge in his right leg told him he would soon be suffering from cramp. But, he reasoned to himself, if he came out hiding too early Jenks would turn back and put him ashore.
He held his wristwatch close to the chink of light coming through the door and tried to see the time. Not for the first time he wished his watch had a luminous dial like John's. Eventually he could make out the position of the hands. He had only been in the locker for a little over half an hour, much too short a time for them to be well clear of land. Delving into his knapsack Roger rummaged about for one of the current buns and the bottle of water, and settled down to a welcome but rather uncomfortable snack.
After eating the bun and washing it down with some of the water Roger decided that perhaps it was time to let himself out of the locker and reveal himself as a stowaway.