The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (23 page)

‘Sshh, Bill!’

‘I says what I sees and I’ll not apologise for it,’ said old Bill, wiping the mirth from his eyes with the edge of the tablecloth.

Eventually things calmed down and the boys helped Niall check the blacks and add to the fire while Hilda cleared the table. They sat down for tea as the first clap of thunder rumbled outside. The mantel clock was just striking eight when there was a loud hammering on the door.

Hilda opened it to reveal Will Tomkins, clutching his knees, panting. The men all got to their feet.

‘The boats!’ Will puffed. ‘Mr Cheeseman sent me. Come – Come, quick as you can!’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

All at Sea

‘What about the boats?’ Old Bill asked, alarmed.

Will clutched on to the doorframe as if he might collapse without it, he’d obviously run all the way from the harbour. ‘The boats, Mr Arbuckle! They’re gone!’

‘What d’you mean, gone?’ Ron asked, incredulous. ‘There’s close on twenty boats in that harbour. They can’t have gone!’

‘The lines!’ young Will gasped. ‘Someone’s cut the lines!’

The men were moving in seconds, reaching for boots and oilskins. The Arbuckles hurried next door to grab their things and had returned, carrying shuttered lanterns and rope by the time Niall had dug his fishing gear from the trunk in the back lean-to.

‘Is it the Germans?’ Will panted. ‘Enemy Sabotage?’

‘In King’s Hadow?’ said Michael. ‘Don’t be daft!’

But seeing the boy’s hurt face, Hilda gave him a motherly squeeze.  ‘I don’t think so, love. More’n likely a mistake. Probably not as bad as it looks…’

They didn’t hear the rest of her sentence because they were already out of the door and running.

When they reached the moorings, with a puffing Old Bill only half a minute behind them, they realised that Will had exaggerated. Not all the boats had gone – just most of them. Whoever had cut the lines that secured the vessels to the wall had timed it perfectly to coincide with the turning of the tide. Six fishing boats pitched in the choppy grey harbour; the rest,
The Sara Luz
among them, could be seen in the distance, drifting like leaves out to sea.

Captain Keen appeared at their side. ‘It’s a bally shambles isn’t it, eh?’ he shouted over the roar of the wind. ‘Lord knows what might have happened if Corporal Jenkins hadn’t been passing.’

‘Corporal Jenkins?’

‘Yes. You met him the day you arrived, Ralf,’ Keen replied.

An army car rumbled along the cobbles towards them. ‘Ah, here he is!’ Without further ado, Keen leapt into the passenger seat. ‘Coast Guard, Jenkins! Quick as you like.’

‘Sir!’ Jenkins replied. The car roared off up the hill.

‘Bloody fool!’ The boys looked round, surprised. Gordon Kemp was shaking his head. ‘He’ll never get there in time. Nearest Coast Guard’s more’n an hour away.’

‘He’s trying, though,’ said Ralf. It hadn’t escaped Ralf’s notice that Keen was already thinking of a way to help. And he had a bad arm. He couldn’t help admiring the Captain, despite his over the top ways.

‘He’d be better off using his head instead of blundering around trying to be a hero. Hardly surprising he fell down that hole,’ said Kemp dismissively. ‘Never looks before he leaps.’

‘But what could he do, Mr Kemp?’ Leo asked.

Kemp pursed his lips then answered, speaking as if to a five year old. ‘Tel-e-phone. It is 1939, you know!’

Ralf didn’t know what to say.

‘The box in the village is out. Line’s down in the storm, I think.’ The baker shook his head. ‘But he could have just called from the station. Lloyd Hatcher’s on his way now.

‘There’s a phone at the Post Office too,’ Ralf said.

‘Tried it but Miss Brindle’s out with her dogs,’ Kemp tutted. ‘In this weather! I ask you!’

The rain was slashing down by the time they joined the cluster of fishermen on the end of the slipway and Ralf had to turn up the collar of his oilskin to stop water dripping down his neck. He and Leo pitched in to push rowing boats towards the water then scrambled aboard the last to leave. Even with Niall and the four Arbuckles aboard, it took nearly ten minutes to row out to the six vessels that remained in the harbour.

Once there, the men split themselves between the fishing boats and started their engines. How they were planning to board the vessels out at sea Ralf didn’t know, but there was a gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach now and he watched the waves anxiously. It was full dark, the moon was new and the winds rising.

The men were quiet as they chugged out to sea. Ralf stood at the rail of
The Griffin
his eyes fixed on
The Sara Luz
. Leo, next to him, was shaking his head.

‘What?’ Ralf asked.

‘Something's not right,’ he said.

‘There’s a lot of us here,’ said Ralf with more confidence than he felt. ‘And Niall and Michael are here to help. It’ll be okay.’

Leo frowned. ‘Not that. Something earlier. Something someone said...’

Ralf was about to reply when a shout cut the air.

‘I told you to go home!’ Ben Cheeseman, far from comfortable on the deck of the pitching vessel, was holding Will Tomkins by the shoulder and giving him a good shake. Will, shame-faced, started to say something but Mr Cheeseman cut him off. ‘How did you manage to slip aboard, anyway? Your mother will be worried sick!’

‘It can’t be helped now,’ said Old Bill. ‘He’ll have to stay ‘till we’re done.’

‘Well, he can make himself useful as he’s here,’ said Niall, not unkindly. ‘Ralf and I could do with an extra pair of hands on
The Sara Luz
.’

Old Bill nodded, turned to Leo. ‘You alright to go with ‘em too, lad?’ he shouted over the rising wind. ‘Niall could do with another sailor if he’s taking that landlubber aboard!’

Leo grinned and minutes later, when they reached
The Sara Luz
, deftly secured grappling ropes and followed Niall aboard. Ralf helped Will Tomkins, who was now shaking with a mixture of excitement and fright, over the rail and then shoved him towards the cabin. There, he rummaged in a locker until he found a spare life vest and watched, stony faced, as the younger boy buckled himself into it. Ignoring Will’s flushed embarrassment he grabbed the seldom used life line from the locker, tied one end on to Will and secured the other to the rail.

In the meantime, Niall had started the engine and Leo had thrown back the lines. Satisfied that everything aboard
The Sara Luz
was alright
The Griffin
chugged away. Not far away,
The Inga
, a small sailing boat, was being tossed around on the rising waves. With some difficulty in the worsening rain, encumbered by life vests of their own, Niall and Leo managed to throw grapples whilst Ralf, now at the wheel, held
The Sara Luz
steady. With
The Inga
safely secured, and Will watching the towrope, the others cast their eyes towards the horizon in search of other escaped craft.

‘Looks like they’re having trouble with
The Fisher King
!’ Leo shouted over the wind.

Niall wiped rain from his eyes and frowned into the distance. ‘I can’t see any of the others,’ he said. ‘Let’s give them a hand before Old Bill does himself an injury.’

The Fisher King
was not the trouble, though. The problem lay with
The Griffin
. For the first time in nearly a decade, her engine had cut out.

‘I don’t understand it!’ shouted her skipper, Ned Beechy, from the cabin doorway as a green looking Ben Cheeseman tried to hold the wheel steady. ‘I checked her over yesterday!’

‘We can tow her back in on
The Fisher King
,’ Michael called. ‘If we can get close enough to board...’

Niall nodded and manoeuvred
The Sara Luz
closer. Again he and Leo threw grapples. Ralf could see the strain in their faces as they hauled against the waves to pull the boat closer. Soon, lines flew from
The Griffin
too and one after another the Arbuckles clambered aboard.

Ralf hadn’t thought it was possible but the waves seemed to be getting larger and, seeing his concern, Niall took over the wheel. It would take an expert hand to guide the boat back to shore and the young soldier’s mouth set in a grim line as he anticipated the journey ahead. What a way for Niall to spend his last night at home, Ralf thought.

He was just about to shout something of the sort to his brother, when a shout from
The Fisher King
told him the grapple lines had become entangled

Perhaps Will Tomkins wanted to prove himself or make up for coming when he knew he shouldn’t have? Maybe he was just caught up in the moment? At any rate, before Ralf could move and Leo could do no more than roar ‘No!’ in his direction, Will had unhooked his lifeline and run to the side to grab the offending rope. The boat pitched. Ralf looked on in horror as Will faltered for a second, his arm reaching over the side and his feet off the deck, then plunged headfirst into the water.

What Ralf did next was neither brave nor stupid. It was just necessary. Even as Ralf grabbed a rubber life ring and ran to the rail, an inner voice was snorting at the situation. How many times was he going to have to save this kid from drowning before he got smart enough to stay away from water? His mirth vanished, however, the moment he leapt overboard.

Ralf felt like a truck had hit him. The water was icy and the shock of it, combined with an oncoming wave, made him splutter and gag. He fought to keep his head above the surface and looked round for any sight of
Will. He was splashing a few feet away and Ralf struck out to grab him as two more bodies hit the water. Michael and Ron Arbuckle had leaped from
The Fisher King
to help and they ploughed through the swell, reaching the boy at the same time as Ralf.

Although buoyed up by his life vest, Will was in a state of complete panic.
He thrashed, screaming in terror, arms churning in the water, waves breaking over him, coughing and retching out seawater.

The Arbuckles each took one of his arms but he was so terrified that he clung on to Ron and tried to climb ‘up’ him, out of the water. Ron went under. Michael shouted at Will to let go and Ron came up again, spouting water. Each time one of them attempted to help him the same thing happened.

The Arbuckles were tiring. Ralf saw them exchange a look of pure helplessness as they were unable to grab or attach the ropes that snaked towards them. He wanted so badly to help them but could feel his own strength waning.

Ralf stopped thinking. In the dip between two giant waves he kicked with all his might and pistoned himself skywards. Then, when his right arm was free of the water, he bunched his hand into a fist and punched Will as hard as he could.

Tom and Old Bill hauled Will, limp but manageable, onto
The Fisher King
as Ralf was pulled aboard
The Sara Luz
. He watched, gratefully clutching the blanket Niall had draped round his shoulders, as Will was placed carefully on the other deck, which now rolled just a few feet away. Next up the rope went Ron, then Michael but as the eldest of the Arbuckle boys reached the bow of
The Fisher King
, something happened.

Leo shouted out. There were no words to his call this time, just an urgent cry of warning. Clouds covered the moon. There was a sudden quiet. The sea fell back from the hulls of both boats and every man and boy paused in what he was doing.

‘Save us!’ Ben Cheeseman whispered from the deck of
The Griffin
. In the eerie lull, his words could be heard clearly on all three vessels. All eyes turned to where his were focused – on a deep black shadow on the horizon. A monstrous wave, a vast wall of water as tall as a three-storey building hurtled towards them.

Again,
Leo’s shout cut the night.

‘Michael!’ he screamed, his voice cracking with fear and concern. ‘Hurry!’

Michael Arbuckle didn’t need to be told twice. Ralf could clearly see his grimace and the cords standing out on his neck as he raced to haul himself the final few feet up the rope. His brothers strained forward from the deck, outstretched hands desperately reaching.

For one delirious second Ralf thought Michael had made it. Then the wave hit. The three boats were deluged with water. Michael hung on to the rail but his feet lost their grip and he dangled like a man-sized marionette from the side, raining seawater. Wood grated on wood. Timbers creaked. There were shouts of horror.
The Fisher King
and
The Griffin
were thrown together and Michael, dangling helpless in space, was smashed between the two vessels.

The next day Hilda, Ralf and Niall waited for the Troop Train at Dark Ferry Station in silence. The place was a churning sea of khaki, dotted every now and then with a patch of red or blue – the women’s hats floated like brightly coloured buoys on a dull green tide. Around them people mingled, saying their goodbyes to loved ones with feigned good cheer. But Niall, Hilda and Ralf were too shocked and exhausted to do anything other than go through the motions on automatic pilot.

This was a journey Niall should have been making with Michael but which he was now beginning alone. Michael would not be going to France. In fact, he would be going nowhere for a long time. They had only just managed to grab his battered body before he was dragged beneath the huge waves. Even now there was no certainty that he would survive and he remained unconscious at Dark Ferry Hospital. At best the surgeon said, with cracked ribs
, a dislocated hip and multiple fractures in his left leg, he’d be very lucky to ever walk again.