How To Be Brave

by Louise Beech

  ‘But it’s school then!’

  ‘How about I take you and meet you after?’

  Rose danced around the kitchen again, scattering her new books.

  ‘Shall I put these in your book nook?’ asked Jake.

  ‘No,’ she said, looking at me, nervous. ‘I don’t want to keep my books there anymore. Do you mind? I want them in my room now.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. I had expected this.

  ‘I loved being in the book nook,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think any other stories would be quite right there now, would they?’

  I smiled, and she smiled back.

  Then we all went upstairs. On the landing Jake frowned at Rose’s new off-pink door. I waited for the question I’d dreaded since that horrible day, the answer I had to give ready in my throat. But Rose said, ‘Oh Dad, do you like my new door? I had a really bad hypo one time and kicked the old one shut and broke it up. Don’t be mad – I can’t help how I am in a hypo.’ I tried to interrupt her with the truth. It wasn’t fair that she take the blame. But Rose talked more loudly over me. ‘So Mum got me this new door. What do you think?’

  Jake shook his head and laughed. He looked around the room and his eyes moistened. I knew how he felt. Even her bedroom had changed. Chaos had calmed. The once choppy sea of papers and DVDs and pens and books and clothes was now a smooth expanse of folded jeans and orderly items.

  While Rose was cleaning her teeth he said, ‘She seems so grown up, Nat. How can she have grown so much in only three months? I feel so bad that I missed all of this. What you two had to cope with.’

  ‘Don’t.’ I shushed him with my finger to his lips. ‘You did what you’re supposed to do – your job. And I did mine. I know I made things difficult for you at first. I was a pain in the arse. But now I wouldn’t change any of it.’

  ‘I’m so proud of both of you,’ he said.

  ‘I am of you.’ I hugged him. ‘I’m glad I had to do this on my own. I needed to.’

  Rose came back into the room, toothpaste smeared above her top lip. She climbed into bed, said, ‘Can Dad stay with me for ten minutes?’

  ‘Okay.’ I tucked her in. ‘Just ten minutes though.’

  The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe fell from under her pillow, its bookmark still at the title page.

  ‘Will you read this now instead?’ I asked her.

  ‘Maybe soon.’ She paused. ‘It just won’t be as good though, will it?’

  ‘As Colin’s story?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t suppose anything ever will be,’ I said.

  ‘I was wrong,’ she said softly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I said animals in stories are more interesting than people. And I still think they’re great – like Scarface was. But people are the only ones who make you feel everything. Especially your own people.’ She paused. ‘In the morning will you tell me about when Colin got home?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We’ll do that tomorrow.’

  ‘But tell me … did he get better? Please tell me that.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ I said.

  ‘Did he find a sweetheart?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘Your great grandma. And they had three lovely children.’

  She smiled.

  So I left her and Jake; their heads bowed close like two sails on a ship blown together. I watched them for a moment, sharing jokes. It occurred to me that a person doesn’t have to be physically present to be with you. You can be separated by time or miles and still affect one another.

  I closed the off-pink door.

  Then I went to the book nook and took all the paperbacks from the shelf and put them in a box. I put both of the cinnamon cushions on top and put the box near the stairs. I polished the wooden bookcase until it looked like new. I closed my eyes and pictured Rose in her room, reading again. Words devoured secretly once more, beneath her duvet, with a torch. She might read slowly at first, grumbling each evening that the sentences were too clunky and the build-up too slow. She might say that the story didn’t make her heart dance. But I knew then she would remember how to enjoy made up books and everything would fall into place.

  When a hand gently touched my shoulder, I smiled. Jake.

  I looked up.

  It wasn’t Jake. It was the other ghost.

  I looked into dark eyes, and the ocean and a tattered boat sail and my own face, but no colour, as though I viewed the images through a black-and-white filter. I readjusted my focus, took in his face, and all the sea colours flickered – jade and turquoise and amber.

  Colin.

  Grandad.

  He was young and unlined and cleanly shaven. He had on a suit with thick lapels, kept together by four buttons forming a square, over a hand-knitted jumper and finished with a striped tie. Two medals were pinned to his chest and he wore his hair the way men had in the forties, swept to one side with gluey gel and cut short around the ear.

  I heard the gentle roll of waves. A breeze caressed my ankles and moved the curtains at the patio doors. Salt tickled my nose, filled the air. Colin smiled and it softened the penetrating study in his eyes. It was like the sun after a long, cold night. He was so close I could have leant forward and kissed his cheek.

  He bowed then, courteous, a little shy, and looked towards the back door.

  ‘I don’t want to say it,’ I cried, because I knew. I’d learned to say thank you, but I’d never get used to people leaving.

  ‘You mustn’t be scared of goodbye,’ he said, his voice just like that night in the hospital, his accent beautifully rich Yorkshire, familiar in its flow, like mine only from a time gone by. He smelt of musky aftershave. ‘I’m just going back to the sea. To meet my brothers. My mum and dad. My Kathleen. My friends from the lifeboat.’

  He didn’t belong to us anymore. I knew this. He had to to go where he was supposed to, and I had to let him. Hadn’t I insisted Rose let go?

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ he whispered.

  Back at the hospital that night I’d lied and told him I wasn’t afraid. Now I realised we don’t get less scared, we just find it easier to admit it when we’ve been as brave as we can.

  ‘I’ll try not to be,’ I said.

  ‘Good lass.’

  ‘Young Rose is really the bravest of us all.’

  ‘Thanks to you,’ I said.

  ‘No, it is thanks to her,’ he said, gruffly. ‘Tell her I got the drawing she did on the sail cloth and I read her words – You have to know how to be happy to know how to be sad and if you know both of those things you’ll know how to be brave. They’re good words. Very good. He smiled.

  I heard the waves building, the breeze about my ankles more urgent.

  ‘Have you always been with us?’ I asked.

  ‘Always,’ he said. ‘Watched you folk come and go, seen you get born and some pass on. But I miss the sea. Once you’ve been on it, you can never quite let it go. It gets in you, in your blood. Even when it sinks your ship, takes your friends, your hope.’ He straightened and patted his tie. ‘Christopher Columbus once said, “You can never cross the ocean until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.” I thought of it often, you know.’ He paused. ‘I couldn’t go back there after the lifeboat. I couldn’t even think of it without great pain. I hated it for taking my friends, our ship, my youth, most of all my little brother. But I know now the sea wasn’t to blame. The sea just … is. We can either live on it and try and survive, or away from it and never know her lessons.’ He paused. ‘And I’m ready to go back there now.’

  The night at the hospital I had wanted to put a hand over his but feared it might seem forward – now I did. He patted it and he kissed my forehead. He smelt of faint tobacco and wool.

  ‘I won’t look back,’ he said, ‘but it doesn’t mean I’m not watching, Natalie.’

  The breeze picked up again and my skirt fluttered about my knees. He turned and headed for the back door, but I didn’t want to look. His presen
ce faded the way it had when I was small and someone opened the bedroom door.

  It was like the last paragraph in a favourite book. I didn’t want to look at the words because I didn’t want to say goodbye. But it surely wasn’t goodbye because I could think of the story whenever I wanted. Creating it for Rose was over. I’d never create it like that again. Never trade blood for words. Never go to the lifeboat. But I would know we had done.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said, at the back door. He opened it.

  I wouldn’t say it. I couldn’t.

  Outside, the winter dark whispered to me. It’s time, it said. The candle is out, smell the promise of new days, of snowdrops coming, of changes, of spring, of beginnings.

  Colin stepped outside. The ocean waited, its swirls a sweet roar that I knew he didn’t fear. I ran to the door. Spray dampened my face. Salt hung in the air. He walked up the garden, through the mist. For a moment I thought I saw the lifeboat, on a shimmering horizon in the wispy haze, and men there lifting their hands in a salute. In the rush of water I heard the final roll-call of every man. Their fourteen names floated over the endless ocean and soared into the sky.

  I had to say it. He belonged to the ocean now.

  I called, ‘Goodbye, Grandad.’ I knew that he heard me over the waves, even though he never turned around.

  And then I closed the door and went home too, back to my sea.

  AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD

  Young Rose is right. In a story there is always the end and then a what happened after that, because really there’s never an end at all. Stories don’t stop dead and no one lives happily ever after. Even when we die the things we did live on after us, like the spray from a homeward-bound ship.

  After their rescue Colin and Ken recuperated aboard HMS Rapid for some days, until she reached Freetown, in West Africa. There they stayed for two weeks at the Disabled British Seaman’s Rest Hospital. Only then, at the end of May 1943, did they board a troop ship bound for England.

  Once home, Ken and Colin parted ways to return to their loved ones. They united again to deliver the many messages for their lifeboat brothers’ families. Together they visited Officer Scown’s wife and handed over his broken ring, with the words, ‘He was courageous, and a gentleman to the last.’

  Mrs Scown had the ring repaired and today their daughter Wendy cherishes it; along with her father’s medals and many letters he gave before setting sail from Hull. One paragraph written in curled script might have been written with poetic foresight: Don’t forget your Daddy whilst he’s on the sea, for he’ll always think of you, his darling one – Wendy.

  For a while after their return Colin and Ken gave help to the Ministry of Information in promotional work, recounting their tale in numerous factories across the UK. But Colin found it increasingly difficult to talk repeatedly about his ordeal. Reliving it impacted his health, and he eventually stopped.

  Colin didn’t return to the sea; he trained as a joiner and married his sweetheart, Kathleen. They briefly broke their honeymoon to go to Buckingham Palace, where Colin received the George Medal. His bravery also earned him the Lloyd’s Medal, which gave the Armitage family a unique record. Brother Alf, a Captain in command of the tanker Scalaria, was also given this award for his gallantry. When the ship was bombed, he carried the third officer to safety, and ordered the anchor to be lowered so the crew could cling to it for five hours while a fire blazed above.

  Colin fathered three children, two sons and a daughter, who then went on to have his six grandchildren. Sadly he only lived long enough to see his children reach four, three and one. They grew up with barely fleeting memories of him, his absence felt as acutely as their mother’s presence.

  Six years after he was rescued from the sea Colin died, aged only twenty-seven, of heart failure and asthma. He left behind his medals, a worn wallet, an identity card, a legacy of bravery, and an incredibly proud family.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to the incredible early readers who helped shape and improve the book: my beloved sisters Grace Wilkinson (the first reader!) and Claire Lugar, my (crazy) mother who wishes I would describe a blade of grass in six pages, Scott Derry, Daniel Ash, Ruth Dugdall, and Jacqueline Grima.

  Thank you to my father for the sharp and helpful edits. He and my aunt, Jane Leng provided a rich wealth of family information and some wonderful stories. Thank you to the late Peter Armitage for all the beautiful family photographs, footage, newspaper cuttings, and letters. Thank you also to Wendy Scown for sharing with me her father, Officer Scown’s, letters, medals and stories. How wonderful that this story brought us together. Thank you also Vivien Foster for your support and help, and for allowing us to march on Colin’s behalf at the 2014 Remembrance Sunday parade in London.

  I owe thanks also to Kenneth Cooke. His incredible memoir, What Cares The Sea, gave me much information, background, and facts, from which I was able to build my story and imagine what he and Colin went through.

  Thanks for the support my daughter and I have had from Hull and East Yorkshire’s HEY Parent & Child Diabetes Support Group. This book is a tribute to all the brave kids with Type 1 Diabetes. Thanks also to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation – support them at www.jdrf.org.uk .

  I want to remember every brave merchant seaman on the lifeboat in 1943: Basil Scown – First Officer, Unnamed Second Engineer, Platten – Chief Steward, John Arnold – Apprentice, King – Apprentice, Kenneth Cooke – Carpenter, Colin Armitage – Able Seaman, Davies – Able Seaman, Weekes – Engineer’s mate, Fowler – Cabin Boy, Stewart – Cabin Boy, Bamford – Army Gunner, Bott – Army Gunner, Leak – Army Gunner.

  Thank you to those who helped on this writing journey, either by encouraging, inspiring or more actively guiding: Carol Macarthur, Roy Woodcock, the Luke Bitmead Bursary team, especially Elaine Hanson, the Hull Truck Women’s Writers and the crazy and creative Ushers, Gill Sennett, Ann Marie Jibson, Fiona Mills, Lesley Oliver, Claire Nolan, the Five Fecks gang, Nick Quantrill, Chris Miller, Jennie at number 1, Carl Wheatley, Lizzie Buckingham, the WF Gang, Carrie Martin, Tom Steer, Rachel Harris, Russ Litten, Cassandra Parkin, Morgan Sproxton, Fawn Neun, Burnsey, Louise Brown, Dave Windass, Sam Hartley, Bryan Marshall, Will Ramsey, Vivien Foster, Brenda Baker, Beate Sigriddaughter, Sarah Louise Davies, Eddie Roberts, and the beloved much missed Kathleen Roberts.

  I can’t forget two important men in my life; my husband Joe who put up with me in the throes of all that writing involves, and my brother Colin who broke text tradition and sent happy emoticons when I told him I’d be published.

  Thank you to the wonderful Karen Sullivan of Orenda Books. I’ll never forget the day (right down to the time) when she told me she would publish How to be Brave and made my lifelong dream come true. Thank you also to her incredible reader, Liz Barnsley of LizLovesBooks who championed me right from the start. Also to West Camel who worked with Karen to provide some great edits and suggestions. Without all of you, the book would not be what it is.

  And last, but absolutely not least, I want to thank my children, Conor and Katy, both of who inspired the book. Katy has to live forever with Type 1 Diabetes, but Conor grew up in a family where a lot more attention had to be given to her because of this, and he never complained, only loved her. I love you both more than you’ll ever know.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Louise Beech has always been haunted by the sea, and regularly writes travel pieces for the Hull Daily Mail, where she was a columnist for ten years. Her short fiction has won the Glass Woman Prize, the Eric Hoffer Award for Prose, and the Aesthetica Creative Works competition, as well as shortlisting for the Bridport Prize twice and being published in a variety of UK magazines. Louise lives with her husband and children on the outskirts of Hull – the UK’s 2017 City of Culture - and loves her job as a Front of House Usher at Hull Truck Theatre, where her first play was performed in 2012. She is also part of the Mums’ Army on Lizzie and Carl’s BBC Radio Humberside Breakfast Show. This is her first book.

/>   Copyright

  Orenda Books

  16 Carson Road

  West Dulwich

  London SE21 8HU

  www.orendabooks.co.uk

  This ebook first published in the United Kingdom by Orenda Books 2015

  Copyright © Louise Beech 2015

  Louise Beech has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publishers.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-910633-18-2

  Typeset in Goudy Old Style

  ISBN 978-1-910633-14-4