Barnabas Tales

by Denzil Lawrence

  Next moment the yacht slewed into the wind and shook herself upright. “Let the main sheets.” he shouted and looked for Daniel - where was he? Sickness and cold disappeared in a surge of alarm and adrenaline. Jack pulled himself to the tiller - the safety line trailed over the rails. Astern on the end of it, in the dark, he could just see the orange lifejacket. “Daniel” he bellowed.

  A head appeared at the hatch - “All right?” it asked. “No - quick - Daniel’s overboard - put on your lifejacket and line and help.”

  Jack threw off the main sheet. The sail, free now to thrash, swung overhead no longer forcing the hull over. He turned to the safety line, grasped it and pulled. Daniel’s form approached the boat, face down. Nearer the yacht, the pull of the line fixed to the front of his lifejacket turned him over, pale face upwards and streaked over with hair.

  Jack pulled harder, but could not hope to lift a dead weight. The boat plunged in the waves, stern lifting high and then crashing down near Daniel. Charles appeared at his elbow - “You’ll never pull him in like that.” Daniel opened his eyes and weakly moved an arm. “We must get the sails down, everyone on deck properly tied on, and I’ll go down with a rope. We can put the ladder down.” “We could try to winch him in with the safety line.” “But he’s going to be hit by the stern - someone must stop him crashing onto or under the hull. We can’t use the motor.”

  By then the crew were arriving, ducking under the wildly swinging boom. “Lifejackets and tie on!” Jack undid the stern ladder and the protecting wires while Charles put a warp through the carabineer at the boat end of Daniel’s lifeline, tied it, took the warp to a winch, and struggled to release the clip from the anchor point in the cockpit. Another warp went round Jack to steady him, and a third prepared with a bowline and a loop to put over Daniel. Jack, at the bottom of the ladder plunged alternately up to his waist in water and then high above it, and watched as Daniel was pulled closer. “Try to bring him on his back - head to me” he shouted, and whether by skill or providence Daniel’s shoulders came within reach. Jack got both arms under Daniel’s and heaved as the stern lifted. He felt the warp holding them both tighten - “Pull Daniel in over me.” he shouted again, and the wet weight lessened as Daniel was slid up over him and over the stern into the cockpit.

  Jack clambered back himself, and fell onto the floor of the cockpit over the feet of the rest of the crew. “Are the sails down? Can we have some engine to give us steerage please. Get Daniel below? Is he all right?” He felt sea-sickness well up irresistibly and half rolled over as he vomited. Hands pulled him into the cabin, helped to strip off his waterproofs and he collapsed into his bunk, bucket at the ready. “Is Daniel hurt? What time is it? Thank goodness our watch is over.” Despite the wet, and with a sense of unreality, sleep surged over him. What a hobby!

  ECLIPSE NIGHT

  James had seen eclipses before so even a complete one had not kept him from his bed, but at 04.15 his late night coffee and small glass of wine took their effects and wakened him. A slim splash of silvery light shone through the bathroom curtains. When he drew them two thirds of the moon stood to his left in a clear cold sky with a large bite missing on the right-hand side. The frosted lawn, white-lit, ran up to a shaggy conifer beside the bird table, and below him the roof of his car glinted and shone. Across a ploughed field a dark line of hedges marked the main road, backed by a black mass of poplars by the mill. Brilliant white light bathed the view, but if he had looked carefully enough no doubt he would have seen a few warm kindly yellow glints from the local hospice.

  James tottered back to bed – the eclipse would be over in a few minutes. But something worried him and was not quite right. The view from his window had changed.

  He got up again, wrapped his dressing gown round himself and returned to the window. At the far corner of the field two hedges met, and between them there was a new dark shadow. A black object lay inside the field. The main road was silent, and empty.

  James collected his binoculars – at first his view was indistinct, until he used the image-stabiliser. Yes, there was a vehicle in the field, and beside it a figure pulled itself up, and sank down again.

  Dressing warmly for the frost, he went downstairs, opened the front door, started his car and scraped the windscreen. Along the main road he stopped, switched on the emergency flashers and pushed through the remains of the hedge. “Are you all right?” he called. “Up to a point, sir.” came the reply.

  A young man sat on the ground beside the car. “Can you get up?” “I’ve damaged one ankle.” “Is anyone else in the car?” “No” “We must get you into shelter from this cold. Have you phoned for help?” “No – I’m not carrying a phone. I hoped to hobble to the road and hitch a lift into Hereford, but could not reach the road.” “Were you knocked out?” “No, just injured my leg as I was thrown out.”

  James half supported, half lifted the man. Together they reached the nearby gate and clambered into James’ car. “I could take you straight to A&E at the City Hospital.” “Please don’t do that – it is vital that I reach a certain address by five thirty.” “You don’t seem in much shape for travelling at present. Where do you want to go?”

  The man hesitated, “I’m on an exercise – a selection exercise – and I must reach the main service camp by five thirty, or weeks of effort are wasted.” “You won’t be able to carry on if you’ve broken a bone or even badly sprained your ankle.” “I’m at the very end – these are the final hours and any of us that get back in time will probably be selected. If I am back there I should have time to recover with my own unit before any transfer.”

  James looked at the man and remembered his own son’s gruelling selection process. Twice he had helped – once when a car-load of soldiers came up the drive to crash out on beds and sofas for an hour’s sleep, something they had not enjoyed for days – and again by a night drive into remote mid-Wales to rescue his son and a companion pinned down in a farmhouse when a unit of Ghurkhas hunting for them camped nearby.

  “All right” he said. “Is there anything in the car you need? Whose car is it?” “I borrowed it from my sister. It’s a terrible old banger and the steering wheel came off in my hand as I was coming down the straight. She said that the steering was a bit loose. My kitbag’s on the back seat. I’d be most grateful if you would get that, sir.”

  They drove the ten miles to the camp entrance. The young man said he was from the Green Jackets but gave away little else. At the gate-house James handed him over to the guard, just a few minutes after five o’clock. “I’m tremendously grateful, sir. I’ll arrange for the car to be dealt with during the day. Good morning.”

  The moon was circular again as James drove home. He was not greatly surprised when the wrecked car was removed by an army vehicle later in the day, and within the week a case of Famous Grouse mysteriously appeared on his doorstep. After all, the full moon is a time for surprises.

  THE TUNNEL

  People say I’m a happy person, but Tuesday was a bad day. Bossy Aunt Maureen came to stay. She always made me do more than I wanted. Sometimes I became very upset.

  That day, she and Mum took me to the big fair. It was very busy and really noisy with lights flashing everywhere. We walked around and Aunt Maureen said “The Ghost Tunnel - I’ll take her in there.” Mum said “I’m not sure she’ll like that.” “She’ll be all right with me - going with me will make her brave. It’ll be good for her.”

  So Aunt Maureen paid and we went through the turnstile and stood beside the water where the boats stopped. I nearly refused when I heard faint shrieking, but then a boat came. Two people had their arms round each other and were laughing and smiling.

  We climbed into the boat and Aunty sat beside me. A man pushed the boat off and we began to move towards a curtain. I held my breath. Behind the curtain it was soot black like our cellar with the door shut. The dark smelled very strange, musty and damp. Suddenly some green shiny bones came out of the darkness and swept down towards us wi
th a deep sad moan. It was very frightening and I began to cry. Aunt grabbed my arm, which made me jump. She said “Here, don’t be a baby. Hold my hand tight.” Then the bones were behind us and I felt a little better. I held Aunty’s hand tightly.

  But a little time later horrible things brushed over my face and caught at my hair and I heard an evil cackling sound. I tried to put my head right down into my skirt. Next there was a terrible growl and I looked up. A big lion was about to pounce from the side of the boat, which was even more frightening. I wished I had never climbed into the boat and that I had gone to the loo earlier.

  After that we went past a cave where a man was hitting a sobbing woman, while a child hid behind a rock. And then there was an awful white thing floating just in front of us and beckoning us on with a dreadful smile. I thought I would die of fright, but Aunt squeezed my hand very tightly for a short time before she let it go. But I didn’t want to let her go, so I hung on to her hand even when she stopped squeezing.

  There were other nasty things, and a big man in funny clothes appeared and threatened us with a long curved sword. By then I had stopped crying and hoped that the ghosts would stop soon and not hurt us. I saw snakes hissing, and steam rising, and suddenly three ghosts rushed at us from different directions making horrible groans, but by then I had seen a little line of bright light ahead of us. “Aunty, I think we are nearly safe.” I said, and squeezed her floppy hand even harder.

  In another minute or two we came under a curtain into such a bright light that I could not see anything. I shut my eyes tightly. And suddenly we were at the landing stage and the man who put us into the boat was looking at us. “Crikey”, he said, and dropped his cigarette into the water.

  I let go of Aunty’s hand and climbed out of the boat. Mum was waiting and I ran over to her and burst into tears. “Oh, Mum, that was awful. Why did you let Aunt Maureen take me there? I need to go to the loo.”

  Mum was not listening to me - she was looking at the boat and the man. Then another person came to help with the boat.

  In a few minutes a white van with a lovely bell took Aunt Maureen away. Mum cried a bit, but then she bought me some popcorn, so the visit to the fair finished nicely. But I don’t ever want to go back in a Ghost Tunnel.

  HOP-PICKING AT COLDBANK FARM, HEREFORDSHIRE.

  Dearest William, I hope that you have settled into college and made new friends. Do you like the lecturers and teachers? Write and let me know if there is anything we forgot to pack or which you now need.

  The hop-pickers have started to arrive. Most have caravans, but a few walked from the station and will sleep in the shed which you cleared of pigs last week. Most are the same old families from Merthyr but there are a few gypsies from Ludlow way – I expect there will be fights before they settle down. We’ve locked the Church and the Proberts have taken in their garden gnomes. Hop-picking starts tomorrow unless there is the usual strike. Black Major is lame, the farrier is coming to treat him, but we can manage without for a few days.

  I must stop now. Father is coming in with the men for supper.

  Love from Mother.

  Dearest William, I do hope that you are enjoying yourself at college and working hard – I expect working too hard to have much time to write.

  Well, we had our strike and after shouts and threats and the caravans pretending to get ready to move we made settlement for a shilling an hour for the kiln workers and pickers, plus a small bonus at the end of picking. The rate is more than last year, but several of the other yards have wilt so the hop price should be better. The carts work throughout the day bringing bines to your father’s new machine in the big shed. The usual petty pilfering goes on and Davies the Police visits the caravan field daily. One lad was caught with a big bag of our potatoes - no one else grows this variety round here and several plants had been dug in the corner of Lower Field. So he’s off to custody despite the usual hard luck story.

  Some of the gypsies come to the house – and I think one lad has been making eyes at Suzy. So far the weather has been dry.

  Your ever-loving Mother.

  My dearest William, We have still not had any news about you and I’m beginning to worry a little. How is the food? Is your bed comfortable? How do you warm your room? And have you met good respectable people? I’ve heard so many stories about the bad company sometimes found at college, so I really worry about you.

  The hop-picking goes well, but Jeremy the Sulphur is too ill to work. His old chest trouble has recurred, and the man loading sulphur in his place shovelled too much one night and nearly gassed the whole farm. Father was very upset about the waste, and the hops were over-bleached, but we can mix them in with others. He thinks they will probably not notice at Burton.

  We have had two babies born and three broken arms and legs so far. The vicar paid a visit to encourage them to attend church. An egg hit him on the back of his head, just below his hat brim. I’ve never seen him so angry. He seemed to think it was our fault because the egg was stolen from our hens. Oh, and Suzy is showing definite signs of interest in a gypsy lad. I’ve spoken with her mother who gave her a good talking-to, but I don’t see any change.

  Please write. I’m longing to know how you are getting on.

  Love, Mother.

  Dear William, We had a very impressive letter from your tailor saying how honoured he was to provide you with two top-quality suits and a coat, and he enclosed his account. I am glad to know that you are dressing well, but I have not shown it to your father – perhaps in a few days when the picking is nearly over. I’m sure that you must be working hard and impressing your teachers, or tutors as father tells me that I should call them.

  The hop machine in the big barn broke down, so now the men and women pick as in previous years. That fool Brian panicked when one of the temporary workers slipped and fell under the main belt. He stopped the machine far too quickly and broke all the gears. And she was only a woman from Weobley. So everyone is working harder, stripping and sorting the hops by hand, while your father is furious, striding round and shouting at the staff. But he always gets angry at this stage of hop picking. Suzy ran away last night - presumably with the young gypsy, and her mother had hysterics in our kitchen this morning. We always have some excitements at picking time, as I’m sure you remember.

  Hoping that this will cross with a letter from you to your father about the tailor’s bill if not to me.

  Love, Mother.

  Dear William, I saw the postman cycle to the door today, and convinced myself that he had the letter for which I long. To my disappointment there was only an official-looking envelope addressed to your father with the College name on the outside.

  Picking is over, the hops are in their pockets, and the pickers leave today. We can put the pigs back in the shed and count up how much has been stolen from the farm and the village. Everything should soon return to normal.

  I showed your father the tailor’s account along with another bill which arrived this morning, and after that he opened the personal letter from the college. He did not tell me the contents, but afterwards said it was from your tutor. He is always very tired after hop-picking - he was rather flushed when we spoke.

  Father has to meet his agent and the solicitor – something about the two deaths we had during the picking (I think I mentioned the person from Weobley) - and then tomorrow he will come to college to visit you. I offered to accompany him but he prefers to travel alone. He has a room at the Mitre and I’m sure you should welcome him as soon as he arrives. I feel that you ought to see him before he visits your tutor.

  There is news of Suzy – she sent a message to her mother from Shrewsbury. Old Jeremy’s chest has improved.

  My dearest William – please don’t be offended but I wonder whether perhaps you are not suited to the academic or studious life. I should love to welcome you home here if that is what your father decides, however I found him looking in the atlas for Philadelphia after he told
me he is going to visit you. Then he muttered something about a barmaid, your bills, and all this year’s profits from the hops.

  Whatever is decided, I will continue to write to you and hope that you will give me pleasure by replying now and then. When you father comes, remember, he is always a little tense at harvest time.

  Love, Mother.

  A HEN-NIGHT EVENT AT THE LOCAL PUB.

  (or Culture to the People.)

  Ladies and Gentlemen, or rather Ladies Alone! You see me in place of my younger colleague and I have to bring you the bad news that he had an unpleasant accident in bed early today and now has such a bad back that he’s gone to hospital. His wife told me he had arranged to meet you this afternoon to discuss and illustrate “The Male Figure in Classical Art”. I am delighted to do so – I have always believed that heads of academic departments should cover for unexpected accidents to junior lecturers, just as they should cover when I am unavoidably engaged in conferences, work overseas, or with the media. It is always a pleasure to leave the ivory towers and explain our passions and interests to a wider audience, especially one including so many younger ladies. What a fine hall this is, with you all seated around friendly tables! I’ve never stepped onto a platform to a drum roll before. I hope this will be a memorable occasion, as soon as our host finds a projector for my slides.

  Madam, please say that again. Oh. Certainly I will get on, and you are quite right – the hall is comfortable hot, and I am happy to accept your advice to take off my coat. How kind of you to make that suggestion.

  Now where were we? Ah, Yes! While waiting for the slides I’m sure you all know that in antiquity many cultures created models or drawings of animals or humans, and sometimes exaggerated particular parts. If I had the projector I would like to show you some of the fertility figurines found in many primitive societies, and trace on to the genius of the ancient Greeks as they raised their sculpture to a superb and shaped art, developed further by studying anatomy and improving their techniques. The earliest ...