by Terry Waite
Dawn broke and Harry arrived at the marquee before the town was stirring for the day. Exactly at six in the morning the first group of the Southend Belles arrived and began to lay white cloths over the wooden trestle tables. One of their number appeared with a box of plastic cards which were to act as identification for the passengers and also as electronic door keys for the cabins and suites.
Radley Duvet dragged in a large cardboard box full of plastic beakers and placed them next to a sizeable container holding a suspicious-looking orange liquid which he claimed was fresh orange juice. As earlier, one of the Belles had seen him empty a packet of crystals into the container, he was given little credibility for accuracy. Unfortunately, the cable linking the tent to the mains electricity supply had mysteriously disappeared during the night and so it was impossible to play recorded music as was originally intended. The problem was soon resolved when one of the Belles went home and returned with an ancient gramophone and a plentiful supply of 78 records which she played throughout the morning. The Admiral was not too happy with the selection, as they did not exactly convey the modern image he so wanted to display, but ‘retro’ was all the rage these days, thank goodness.
A local Scout troop had been hired to collect the passengers’ luggage on arrival and transport it along the pier to the ship - a distance of over a mile! Radley was in charge of this operation and briefed the lads as soon as they appeared at eight o’clock. He had borrowed several wheelbarrows from the Southend Gardening Club, which he thought might be of considerable help to the boys, who were willing, but could not possibly manage some of the heavy luggage which was to come their way.
‘Where is Enzo Bigatoni?’ shouted an irate Harry as the clock approached nine. ‘That man has the one and only passenger-list, without which we cannot let anyone board.’
One of the Scouts was dispatched to a nearby boardinghouse where the Cruise Director had been accommodated for the night. A bleary-eyed Director finally arrived at nine thirty, without the list, which he had left behind in his haste to get to the ship. He had spent most of the night attempting to memorise the names of passengers and attach them to faces, but the task defeated him. He was in very low spirits indeed when he finally took up his position behind the first trestle table.
By ten o’clock the Admiral, the General Manager, the Hotel Manager and the Cruise Director were all assembled in the tent ready for the first passengers to arrive.
‘Where is Captain Sparda?’ the Admiral asked irritably. ‘He ought to be here to greet the first of the passengers on this all-important occasion.’
Enquiries were made and it seemed that he had last been seen the previous evening making his way to the ship when the reception broke up. The Admiral trained his telescope on the distant vessel moored to the end of the pier and observed a figure clambering over the side and jumping onto the jetty. It was none other than Captain Sparda … and he presented a sorry sight. His white shorts, so carefully tailored by the good ladies of Southend, were streaked with grease and oil. His hair was dishevelled and it was clear that he had not shaved.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the Admiral. ‘What on earth has Sparda been up to?’
The unfortunate Captain eventually staggered into the tent and was immediately handed a cup of orange liquid by Duvet, which, after taking one gulp, he promptly spat out.
It transpired that the worthy man had spent the whole night with the Chief Engineer, pouring gallon after gallon of oil into the engine and attempting to get the rudder to operate correctly. He assured the Admiral that everything now seemed well. As it was too far to go to the hotel to get cleaned up, he was escorted to a local Public Convenience where he did his best to make himself presentable for the first guests.
At exactly eleven that morning, all was in place. The Scouts were lined up at the entrance to the tent, each lad with a wheelbarrow. Captain Sparda had been able to borrow a pair of clean tennis shorts from one of the Belles and, providing he stood behind one of the trestle tables, he looked presentable as only his top half was visible.
Enzo, who guarded the entrance to the tent from unwelcome visitors, kept an anxious eye open for the first passengers to arrive. Suddenly he heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and a landau rolled into sight, pulled by two rather tired-looking carthorses. It stopped by the entrance and the coachman leaned over and addressed Enzo.
‘Hey, you mate. Is this where folks enlist?’
Enzo looked shocked. ‘What do you mean, Sir?’ he replied haughtily. ‘This is where passengers embark for the World Cruise on the Golden Handshake, if that is your meaning.’
‘Oh,’ said the coachman, glancing at the Scouts. ‘I thought it was Bob-A-Job week.’
Enzo went to open the passenger door.
‘Watch out mate,’ said the driver. ‘It’s liable to come off its hinges if you ain’t careful.’
Enzo cautiously opened the rickety door to none other than Mr and Mrs Albert Hardcastle. Mrs Hardcastle wore an enormous hat decorated with a selection of what appeared to be tropical fruit. Her husband sported a black overcoat and a flat cap. Since deciding to go on the cruise, Albert thought that he ought to do things in style for once in his life. He had visited a local gentleman’s outfitter and bought himself a new suit. Well, quite new. It had been returned the previous week and only required minor alteration to fit him, and of course it was a very reasonable price. His wife’s wardrobe was largely made up from items bought from a Grimsby departmental store when they went into liquidation, and from a Marks and Spencer’s sale, along with a variety of homemade summer dresses. She had fashioned the hat herself and was immensely proud of it.
It was Albert’s idea to arrive in this fashion. He reasoned that, as they were miles away from Grimsby, he and Alice could get away with a little flamboyant behaviour, hence the coach and horses. Enzo assisted the first passengers down from their equine transport and Mrs Hardcastle, being kindly disposed towards animals, went to pat one of the horses. Before the coachman could issue a warning, the animal took one large snap at the delicacies displayed on the hat and in a trice had munched through them all.
‘My God, Albert!’ she cried. ‘Me hat - me lovely hat. He’s bloody well eaten it all.’
Quick to act in any crisis, Enzo took Mrs Hardcastle by the arm, and followed by Albert, the party were ushered into the tent where Radley was waiting to thrust a plastic beaker into their hands. One of the Belles, who had witnessed the whole unfortunate episode from a peephole in the canvas, ushered the distraught Alice Hardcastle to a chair.
‘Never mind, dear,’ she said soothingly. ‘There are plenty of fresh bananas on board and I am quite sure the handicraft instructor will be able to repair the damage done to your lovely hat.’
Mrs Hardcastle dabbed her eyes with a violet handkerchief and Albert looked uncomfortable. By now other passengers were arriving and the boarding operation was swinging into action. The World Cruise was almost - not quite but almost - ready to go.
10
Considering all the things that might have gone wrong, the boarding itself went reasonably well. There was a nervous moment when the Belle responsible for checking the names of passengers and handing them their plastic identification card, got hopelessly muddled due to the fact that she had left her reading glasses at home and was operating with a mixture of guesswork and assistance from Radley Duvet and Enzo Bigatoni, both of whom confused the situation considerably. Enzo, who for practice had attempted to memorise names from the London Telephone Directory before the passenger-list was known, now found that the telephone-list was all that he could remember! Radley simply did not have a clue and eventually it fell to Harry to take over the operation and relieve a senior Scout from luggage duties to deal out the cards.
When passengers had walked well over a mile from the tent to the ship, a further complication occurred as the deckhand assigned to operate the onboard check-in system found that none of the cards would work. Apparently Radley had left his new iPad on t
op of the box of plastic, with the result that they had all been neutralised by the magnet in the computer. A fresh supply of cards would have to be ordered, and as that would take several hours, passengers boarded with no electronic identification. Names were scribbled on a writing pad by an Indian crew member whose command of English was limited. Throughout the voyage, therefore, some passengers were never properly identified.
Given that Mrs Alice Hardcastle had experienced such an upset on alighting from her carriage the Admiral, gallant to the last, secured a place for her and her husband on the little train that ran the length of the pier, and so the couple were able to ride in state to occupy their suite. This caused a slight disturbance among other passengers who were required to walk, and an occasional scuffle broke out as tired cruisers attempted to secure a seat on the crowded transport.
The arrival of Councillor Paddy Patterson and his life-partner, Bernie Bollinger, was treated with the respect that it certainly deserved. The Scouts and the Belles were lined up on the Promenade, and just inside the tent the senior staff members were assembled in their white dress uniforms. As Captain Sparda had not yet retrieved his trousers, he had to remain partially hidden behind a trestle table, but he was now well accustomed to this. Regrettably it meant that he could not be with the Admiral outside to be one of the first to welcome the distinguished visitors as the tennis shorts, whilst respectable, were not entirely in keeping with such an event.
The Admiral, with Lady Felicity by his side, took up his position, and waited. Eventually, some twenty minutes after the expected time of arrival, an ancient motor vehicle pulled up and from out of the rear seat emerged the civic partnership, accompanied by a reverend gentleman whom they identified as Justin Longparish their chaplain. Councillor Paddy had donned his pinstriped suit and best purple shirt for the occasion, and alongside the cleric might well have been mis-identified as a Bishop. In fact, he was referred to as ‘My Lord,’ by the Captain, when the introductions were taking place, which flattered him considerably. Bernie wore a bright pink shirt and a canary yellow bow-tie along with a rowing blazer of kaleidoscopic hue. The two made a delightful couple and greatly impressed the Belles.
Once the tent party had been introduced, the Admiral led the newcomers towards the train, where they were introduced to the driver. As the engine-driver had been at school with Bernie and Paddy, and had a low regard for both, this meeting was rather abrupt. They were ushered by the Admiral into a minute compartment within which the Belles had thoughtfully placed several plump velvet cushions which, when sat on, elevated the party to a dangerous height. Had there been any bends on the line, the whole group would have been in grave danger of being tipped out. In this style they made their ceremonial way to the gangway.
There were very few people indeed who were privy to the fact that the Golden Handshake had previously been a cattle and horse transporter. Visitors had remarked on occasions that there seemed to be a slight odour of the equine kingdom, but this was brushed aside by Harry, who informed them that the ship had transported members of the Olympic Equestrian Team and that leather saddles, and other items of equipment carried by the competitors, tended to leave behind their own aroma.
Once safely up the gangway, the two guests were both seen to wrinkle their noses and glance at each other. The Admiral quickly moved them on into what had been the cattle-holding area and was now converted into a ballroom. A stage had been erected at one end and on it was a lectern and microphone. Hanging from the rather low ceiling was a banner which read: Golden Handshake World Cruise - Welcome.
The room was nearly full of passengers, some of whom had managed to find a seat. Most stood around clutching yet another beaker of coloured liquid supplied by the ever-thoughtful Hotel Director. When the stage party entered, consisting of the Admiral and Lady Harrington, Paddy Patterson, Bernie Bollinger, Mr Harry Parkhurst, Captain Peché Sparda (now thankfully reunited with a new pair of trousers), Enzo Bigatoni and last, but certainly not least, Mr Radley Duvet, the whole room stood as though it was a school assembly.
As Cruise Director it was Enzo’s responsibility to host the proceedings. He stepped carefully towards the lectern and it appeared as though he was speaking, although not a sound emanated from the equipment in the room.
‘Can’t hear!’ cried a voice from the floor. ‘Speak up!’ urged another.
Enzo tried the time-honoured technique of tapping the microphone with his forefinger, to no avail. A technician appeared in the wings and began a crouched run towards the centre of the stage. Why he crouched no one knew as he was not obscuring the vision of anyone, but again technicians always do a crouched run when having to take the stage in an emergency and he was simply following tradition. He produced a large screwdriver and there was a sharp retort when sparks flew from Enzo’s hand-mike, which he promptly dropped. Another crouching technician appeared from the opposite side carrying a megaphone which he thrust into the empty hands of Enzo and left the stage.
‘Welcome everybody,’ began the Cruise Director, bellowing down the ship’s hailer. ‘Welcome to the World Cruise of the Golden Handshake.’
This was to be the cue for one of the technical staff to start a gramophone record of the Band of the Royal Marines playing the National Anthem. Unfortunately, everyone had forgotten that the said gramophone had been pressed into urgent service the previous evening at the reception - and no one had thought to bring it to the ship. There was an awkward pause before the Admiral started to sing and everyone else joined in. At the end of the first verse several began to launch into the next stanza, but Enzo brought them to a ragged halt by holding one hand high in the air and waving it furiously.
‘Golden Cruisers,’ he intoned, ‘may I present to you the Commandant of the Fleet and the Owner of the Company, Rear Admiral Benbow Harrington, Retired, accompanied by his charming wife Lady Felicity Harrington.’
The Admiral stepped forward and was handed the hailer by Enzo. His speech, which detailed the history of the company and the excellent safety record of the ships, was long. The passengers, many of whom had travelled a great distance and had had to walk the length of the pier, in addition showed signs of flagging. Most of them had yet to be shown to their Suites, and many were worried about being reunited with their luggage. All they wanted was a cup of tea and a period of calm. Finally he concluded his opening words and introduced his honoured guest, Councillor Paddy Patterson, who, he said, would give the official speech inaugurating the World Cruise.
Councillor Paddy rose from his seat and, as he did so, received a whispered word of encouragement from his consort Bernie, he of the pink shirt and yellow dickie bow. He was just about to begin speaking when there was a slight commotion from the wings and a somewhat dishevelled clerical figure appeared. As the Councillors’ chaplain had not been introduced, few people had the slightest idea who he was and what he was doing on the platform. It transpired that he had been taken on a tour of the ship and had been busy placing religious tracts in each cabin. He would have liked to have deposited Bibles but, as he was single-handed, he could not manage the weight and so contented himself with a document which invited the reader to become a Sunbeam for Jesus. Alas, the chaplain had strayed into the crew’s quarters and was apprehended whilst inserting a document in the bedside drawer of the chief greaser. Thinking that he was being robbed, the greaser set about the unfortunate cleric and locked him in the oil storage room where he languished until he was released when it was noticed by one of the Councillors’ party that he was missing.
Councillor Paddy gave him a long hard stare then turned his attention to the megaphone.
‘We are delighted to be here today. It is an honour for me to be invited to inaugurate this great world cruise. It is an honour for Southend and for my Council in the County. Er, it is an honour indeed … Um, an honour … Uh, indeed … Yes, it is … An honour.’
Consort Bernie glanced at his partner with a worried look on his face. This was not going as smoothly as it had this mo
rning when they had rehearsed the speech in front of the bathroom mirror. Perhaps dear Paddy had mixed up the pages of his notes as he did occasionally. Bernie half-stood and, adopting the standard crouching position, edged towards the lectern. He held out his hand for Paddy’s notes, grabbed hold of them and did a quick shuffle before returning them.
That did the trick.
‘We are living in days when equality is important,’ Paddy resumed. ‘Why, you tell me, why ought a ship be referred to as “she”?’ From the corner of his eye he could see the Admiral flinch. ‘It is nothing but discrimination and ought to be banned by law,’ he went on. ‘By law, I say.’
Here he thumped the lectern with such force that the Admiral not only flinched, he visibly jumped.
‘Why is a floating marine device referred to as a lifebuoy? Do you know? Is it not another example of sexism? Why are we instructed to shout “Man overboard” and not “Person overboard”? The country is riddled with sexism. Riddled, I tell you. Through and through.’
At this juncture the platform party were getting distinctly restless and passengers were beginning to drift out of the arena. The Admiral glanced at his watch and passed a written note to Enzo, who looked pained. He half-stood but the Councillor motioned him to sit down.
