Not Flag or Fail (22 page)

Fishy glanced at his watch and told us that he had better get back up to the wheelhouse as Harper would need him to take over the helm whilst he brought the log up to date and tidied the charts up and all of the Captain stuff that had to be done before the boat docked.

“How long will that be?” I asked as he started up the steps.

“Oh not long now, another half an hour tops.” and he was gone.

I kicked off my Wellingtons’ and sat back on one of the empty bunks, it would have been easy to lie down and drift off to sleep but I wanted to stay awake and see landfall when the time came. Ronny took up the same position on the other bunk and we chatted away about what we would do when we got back. We had yet another cigarette, although by now I was smoking mainly to help me to stay awake. When we had finished them we were about to go up on deck when the Flight Sergeant we had seen earlier, returned with our kit which was now dry.

“There you go gents, all nice and dry for you, courtesy of the engine room and just time to get changed before we start our turn for the harbour, only about a quarter of an hour to go now before we’re back in Blighty.”

We got our own kit on and made an effort to look as smart as we could, folded up the RAF kit on one of the bunks and went up top.

“Blimey it’s the bleeding Army again!” said Fishy who was back at the wheel again the Flight Lieutenant standing next to him.

“Well there she is.” he said pointing through the windscreen, as the boat headed at what must have been close to full speed towards the distant dark shape of land.

“Where are we heading for?” I asked.

“Ever heard of Burnham on Crouch?” The Flight Lieutenant asked. By way of a reply I told him I hadn’t and he went on to tell us that, that was where the boat was based.

“Nice little mooring on the river Crouch, and a nice little billet in the town, most of the time you wouldn’t know there was a war on,” he said “getting lighter now, feel free to smoke if you want to.” he continued.

Fishy pulled back the throttle levers and the boat settled more into the water, although compared to our earlier speed we were now travelling quite sedately, I guessed that even now we must have still been doing about twenty knots.

Not too far in front of us I could make out white caps on the sea and I asked Fishy what was causing the disturbance. He explained that what I was looking at was basically where the sea met the river current. In minutes we were part of the disagreement and the boat bucked and rolled a few times as we passed through the area, Fishy increasing the throttle momentarily to compensate.

“That’s it, we’re in the river now, another ten minutes or so and we’ll have you home.” he said as he leaned forward onto the wheel, while he used both hands to take out a cigarette and light it.

“Help yourselves.” he said tossing the packet in our direction, neither of us did, instead I looked at my watch, it was just approaching three thirty.

“How long have we been away for?” I said turning to Ronny.

“Three nights.” he replied “Oh and several lifetimes.”

“Amen to that.” I said and after having second thoughts, helped myself to one of Fishy’s fags.

With practised ease Fishy nudged the boat alongside the quay in Burnham on Crouch. There was a heavy swell on the river, much more noticeable now that the boat had stopped. It was still pretty dark but we were obviously expected and I could hear voices from above as ropes were thrown ashore and tied off.

Except for Fishy, who was still at the wheel and the Captain, all of the boat’s crew were now on deck and all were busy with their own allotted tasks. Eventually one of the men, who we had seen earlier in the dingy, shouted in to Fishy that all was secure. The now familiar gurgle of the big diesel engines fell silent and all of the crew, this time including Fishy, lined up on deck, there were seven of them plus the Flight Sergeant who had looked after us earlier, whom it turned out was the boats medic.

All of them saluted as the Captain came out of the wheelhouse carrying a briefcase; he returned the salute and then spoke to them, thanking them for their part, in what he described as another successful little adventure. He then dismissed them with the words “See you in ten minutes, my round I think!”

One at a time we all climbed the steel ladder leading up to the quay, at the top I asked Fishy what the Flight Lieutenant had meant by my round.

Fishy explained that they had a tradition of always having a beer or two on the completion of a successful mission.

I mentioned the time of day but Fishy putting his finger to the side of his nose told me that the time wasn’t a problem if you knew where to go.

We followed the rest of the crew towards a pair of big steel gates set into a high brick wall. Fishy explaining to us that the wall separated the Air Sea Rescue berths from the rest of the quay area. As we got closer this was confirmed by the presence of two RAF MPs, complete with rifles, one of whom opened a small wicket gate to let us all out.

Outside of the gates we saw the rest of the port, which was mostly silent now in the early morning light. Other boats, mainly of the fishing variety, bobbed about excitedly on the rivers swell, we could hear the singing of chains and riggings as the boats bumped about at their moorings. We walked along at the side of Fishy, following the rest of the crew who all seemed to know where they were heading. Once we were away from the quay we headed down a street lined by terraced cottages, all silent, with curtains closed against the blackout. At the end of the street we turned left into a wider road this one a mixture of houses, shops and businesses, all of which were still in darkness.

The airman leading turned left down an alleyway and the rest of us followed, about halfway down the alley was a doorway above which hung a pub sign which read the Artificers Arms. One of the airmen knocked on the door and we heard the sound of a bolt being pulled back and the door opened. We all fell into an empty passage then the street door closed behind us, ahead of us the first of the airmen opened a door and we all entered a cosily lit parlour with a welcoming coal fire burning brightly in the fireplace. A big mahogany bar counter occupied one wall and half a dozen wrought iron tables and a mixture of chairs were spread around the rest of the small room. Behind the bar stood a stocky individual in collarless shirt and waistcoat A smile on his face, as he looked around whilst he counted up his customers and said “Ten pints then is it lads?”

The crew spread out around the bar, some sitting with their feet up on the tables, battledresses unbuttoned, cigarettes being lit. The man from behind the bar passed amongst us, distributing pints of beer. I looked around, watching my fellow customers, some taking sips and savouring the taste, others preferring to take great gulps emptying a quarter of the glass and still others, Ronny amongst them, seeming to prefer to simply hold the glass before them and spend a moment in quiet meditation before actually tasting the ale.

I lifted my glass and took a drink and started to relax, it was as if only now sitting there in this little English pub that I began to realise what we had actually done, we were back home safely and in one piece and we’d pulled it off, done what was asked. I turned to Ronny who was sitting next to me and touched my glass to his “Cheers!” I said smiling.

The little room started to fill with cigarette smoke, chatter and humour, after about five minutes a couple of the crew took our glasses and went behind the bar to refill them. After another five minutes, as we were half way down our second pint, from a door to the side of the bar counter the man who had earlier let us in reappeared in a mess steward’s white jacket, pushing a trolley filled with plates and dishes “Breakfast is served gents, plenty for everyone so no need to rush.”

He off-loaded the dishes onto an empty table and set the empty plates onto another, then went back out of the door taking the trolley with him, returning immediately with plates of bread and toast.

“Just what is this place?” I asked Fishy.

“Well I’ve only bin once before but apparently it was an empty pub before the RAF acquired it, now its sort of the social club, it seems we always come back here after we’ve been out on a special, part of the tradition like.” with that he got up and got a plate and moved towards the food, Ronny and I falling in behind him.

Bacon, sausages, black pudding, grilled tomatoes and eggs quickly found their way onto our plates and we were soon back at the table with both myself and Fishy applying liberal dollops of HP sauce before starting to tuck in.

Part way through the feast I returned to the serving table and liberated some more toast and a big mug of tea, somehow beer did not seem to be the correct choice of drink to accompany a breakfast and I still hadn’t got used to the idea of drinking beer so early in the morning. I used my fourth piece of toast to mop up the last of my eggs, I’d been greedy and had three, I sat back with a satisfied sigh. Ronny and Fishy had already finished, Ronny had not loaded his plate as heavily as I’d done, whilst Fishy had exceeded even my efforts, he had wolfed his down at an alarming rate as if he feared it may be taken from him. During the meal the Flight Lieutenant had come into the room and was now at one of the other tables eating what looked like kippers. Fishy stopped to say something to him as he returned from the bar with three fresh pints and we watched the Flight Lieutenant answer him with a raised knife, a full mouth and a shake of the head.

“He says you’ve got a few hours to yourselves before the brass come down to fetch you, so he’s detailed me to look after you, bleeding nursemaid again aint I .” he said as he distributed the drinks between us.

“You needn’t worry on my account; just point me to a bed.” I said “Amen to that.” echoed Ronny.

Minus boots and smocks, we were still dressed at eleven a.m. when Fishy awakened us from a welcome four hours sleep that we had been allowed to take in the bunks, in the sick bay of our rescue craft.

“There you go lads, some hot water so you can get a quick rinse before you meet the lovely Commander Harrison, who’s come down specially to fetch you.” Fishy said as he poured water from a steaming kettle into an enamel bowl. “I’ve already filled one its over there.” he said nodding with his head, “I’ve put you a couple of little towels out, come up on deck when you’re done.” with that we watched him disappear up the steps to the wheel house.

Once washed and awake again we went up on deck and saw that Fishy was off the boat and standing by a Hillman Tilly, talking to a man in an RAF boiler suit.

“My gawd you don’t seriously expect us to ride in that do you sergeant?” Ronny drawled pointing to the Hillman.

“No I don’t it’s his,” said Fishy pointing to his companion “and by the way it’s Flight Sergeant to you and we’re walking anyway.”

The sun shone brightly down as Fishy led the way to some prefabricated office buildings down at the end of the compound.

Parked outside one of the buildings we noticed a very smart Humber staff car, still in its polished black, no sign of khaki drab paint anywhere.

A very attractive ATS driver sat at the wheel of the car obviously waiting and obviously very bored with it.

We followed Fishy into the building and into a small office where we found Rachel Harrison in conversation with Flight Lieutenant Harper.

Harper stood up as we entered and we all got through the necessary saluting. Rachel Harrison spoke to Fishy, asking him what he thought of his new job and told him she would soon have plenty of work for him. She stood up and said goodbye to both Fishy and Harper and went out telling us to join her in the car once we had said our goodbyes.

With genuine affection we expressed our thanks to both Harper and Fishy, and as a mark of respect we both saluted as smartly as we could and left the office to join Rachel waiting in the car.

It was almost three in the afternoon when we arrived in Croydon; we had stopped in Romford for a cup of tea and a sandwich but as we continued our driver had increasing difficulties getting into London because of military convoys blocking the roads. There were also a considerable number of diversions that had been set up to avoid areas damaged by visits from the Luftwaffe.

We finally arrived behind the walls of the old house, in the late afternoon; the sun was still shining down warming the familiar terracotta brick and the pitted stone portico.

No sooner had the car stopped when the door to the house opened and out came Lieutenant Baker, he was grinning from ear to ear and almost ran to the car to greet us, “Well done lads!” he said as he opened the rear door to let us out . “Come on, let’s get you inside straight away the Major’s waiting for you.” We followed him into the Major’s office, inside the room the Major rose from his desk and came across the room to greet us, an arm outstretched, warmly shaking hands first with Ronny and then me.

“Well? Have you got it, did you pull it off?” He asked, one eyebrow rising slightly as he did so. I undid my smock and pulled out the papers from inside the map pocket handing them to the Major. “Bloody good show lads! You see what can be done with a little bit of application? Come on over, lets all sit down over here.” he said heading over to an area of the room that was informally laid out with old sofas and armchairs.

“One moment sir, shouldn’t we give them a chance to freshen up first?” said Lieutenant Baker.

“What? Oh yes of course, sorry chaps, getting carried away, I’m so pleased you did it.” Lieutenant Baker led us out of the office into the hall and pointing up the stairs he said “We’ve left your old room ready for you, there’s some fresh underwear and clothing, nothing too formal, get a shower etc. and then come back down and join us, we’ll all be in Major Jackson’s office so take your time, we all have plenty to keep us busy.”

We climbed easily up the four flights to our old room at the top of the house, on each of the two beds someone had laid out a khaki shirt and matching trousers, clean underwear and a full wash kit including big soft towels which although khaki in colour I had not seen the likes of them in any Army-kit before.