"Which part of 'Meet me at Harwich steamer pier' do my family not understand?"
Commander Edward Walker RN realised he had spoken this out loud and rather bitterly as he watched the myriad small vessels in Flushing Harbour fade into obscurity astern as the North sea ferry gathered way and steamed between the pierheads. He could no longer pick out the mast of the small white cutter where, to his surprise he had spotted his elder son, on the foredeck making ready to pick up a mooring. They had exchanged a brief greeting (so there could be no possible doubt) before he rushed to the embarkation deck, sadly too late the gangplank had been taken in, the mooring warps dropped and it would have been foolhardy to attempt to jump the widening gap.
Ted Walkers frustration and disappointment can be appreciated. The tour of duty in the Far East had lasted eight months! He had been counting the final weeks, days, hours all through the interminable rail journey as the train crept like a centipede across the largest land mass in the world. He made his way forward and onto an upper deck where there were plenty of vacant deck chairs. Having settled on a good position to enjoy the seascape and the morning breeze he ordered a whiskey and soda from a passing steward.
Eight months! Eight Months away from wife and family and unlike his previous posting to Malta it had been quite impractical for his wife and youngest daughter to visit. There had been letters of course, regular fortnightly missives organized by the schools the older children attended, bright newsy epistles from Mary usually accompanied by a few words and a drawing from Bridget. Then the others, written when the mood and opportunity arose, Marys on pastel notepaper lightly scented and packed in batches into stout official looking envelopes. His own, usually on a postcard from an exotic port but always in an envelope. Marys were packed in his cabin trunk now. He had kept them safe, his link with Mary the love of his life. Besides it wouldn't do for the ranks to get wind of them.
The morning was fine and bright with a light onshore breeze. As the steamer cleared the land she was beginning to feel what was a surprisingly heavy swell for the conditions, with a bit of spray coming over the bows but not getting anywhere near the upper decks. Now he had calmed down Ted had to concede that it was a jolly good idea of Marys to charter a yacht with skipper and bring the children to meet him in Holland, it's just a pity she hadn't thought of it earlier, in time to tell him when they could have agreed a rendezvous. They could have sailed home together and it would have given them an extra day before the Navy reclaimed him. Oh! How he missed Mary! The children too of course but he tried not to let it show.
What was to be done? Knowing that he was aboard this Nederland Steamer would his wife turn straight round and come back? Ted fervently hoped not. The more he thought about it the more benefits of the scheme occurred to him. Leaning back in the deckchair he noticed the radio aerial rigged between the masts and recalled that the vessel was equipped with modern ship to shore communications. He had indeed intended to send a message to Alma Cottage from the ship; but how would the radio officer receive the rather unusual request he was now contemplating?
Glancing down Ted realised his glass was long since empty and went to stretch his legs and find the steward.
"Would you get me a refill please."
"Certainly Sir. The same again? McFuddles Malt wasn't it?"
"I'll bring it to you"
"Thanks. I'm just forward of the funnels, starboard side."
Returning to his seat Ted considered how best to proceed. His attempt to engage the ships third officer in conversation had not been a success, the man just didn't seem to share Teds enthusiasm for all things nautical. Their exchange had ended abruptly when he sighted his son. This, whilst not exactly denting his confidence, had made him cautious. Some merchantmen would relish seeing a Naval Officer in difficulties.
This was important. The steamer would make the crossing much faster than any yacht. If he could be sure his family would wait in Flushing he could return and be with them within 24 hours.
He sighted the steward approaching, sure footed on the rolling deck and rose to meet him.
"Thank you very much." "I hadn't expected to meet an Englishman on the crew of a Dutch vessel."
"Yes Sir, there's a few of us from Harwich. It's just as easy as living the other side and the company likes to have us for the English passengers." "You're a Navy man aren't you Sir."
"Yes. How did you know?"
"You're not troubled by the motion for one thing. But there's something about Royal Navy officers, I served in the Great War. They were good times in many ways."
"I enjoy the life, on the whole, peacetime of course." "I've just finished a tour of the Far East and I'm taking a shore job at Shotley."
After a moments thought.
"Do you know the Radio Officer? Do you think he'd be willing to try and get a message to the Flushing Harbour Master?"
"Yes, we're all on good term aboard, he'll help you if he can."
Ted told the man the situation.
"She's a small white hulled cutter with red sails, I'd guess about five tons Thames measurement. I don't actually know the port of departure, probably Harwich, but there can't be many yachts arriving from England."
"Leave it to me Sir."
The steward set off back along the deck and Ted settled down to wait. The sun climbed and the breeze picked up a little. Ted was really warming to the idea of a sea passage in a sailing yacht before he settled down to the desk job. He mused on the possibilities the glass in his hand forgotten.
At length Ted spotted the steward returning along the deck. There was something strange in the mans expression which he couldn't quite place. The steward silently handed him a folded slip of paper. Ted opened it, stared and read it again, then swallowed the contents of his glass in one gulp!