The Voyage of the Golden Handshake

by Terry Waite

  On deck, before the punch had arrived, waiters were doing their best to make sure that everything was secure. A sudden gust of wind had smashed several glasses, and orders were given that only plastic glasses were to be brought up. Waiters were seen chasing a couple of linen tablecloths which, unfortunately, disappeared overboard, along with a whole bowlful of salad greens, which scattered like leaves in autumn. Apart from these minor upsets, preparations were going well. Giovanni and Marko were tuning up. Marko played ‘Stranger on the Shore’ not once, but half a dozen times, and Giovanni played Sicilian melodies that few people had heard but most enjoyed.

  The punch arrived, along with the Admiral who stood behind a gleaming silver bowl with a ladle in his hand, ready to serve. The aroma of roasting meat wafted across the deck as passengers took their free drinks to a table and chatted with each other. Enzo emerged from a side door and, to his immense satisfaction, received a small burst of applause from the three or four people who had attended his classes. When his elegant attire was noted, more joined in, and he bowed in acknowledgement before crossing to the microphone. He beamed before welcoming everyone to the barbecue evening. As the weather was calm, he could be heard perfectly as he said that everyone was to have a good time and he hoped that they were enjoying the excellent barbecue. He invited everyone to dance, at which point Giovanni and Marko struck up a lively polka and happy cruisers bounced up and down the deck.

  The Admiral, his bar duties fulfilled but still wearing his cocked hat, joined the Captain’s table where, for the first time, sat Angus MacDonald who had been persuaded to leave the engine room for a while and join in the fun. Being of a somewhat dour disposition, he glowered at everyone from behind his beard and soon made his escape back to the world of nuts and bolts.

  An hour into the proceedings, Fennington Barley was both hungry and exhausted. Never in his life had he danced so much and with such vigour. Elderly ladies, who looked as though they could not manage a shopping trolley, once the music started jigged around the floor like two year olds. He was constantly being prodded by the Cruise Director to dance with passengers so he never got an opportunity to even take a small bite of his steak. Finally, in desperation, he filled a plate and rushed out of a side door where he quickly swallowed what he could before returning to further gyrations. When plates had been cleared away and passengers were now blithely signing chits for more drinks, Enzo returned to the mike. He held up his hands and requested silence which remarkably, he got.

  ‘By special request,’ he exaggerated, ‘this evening I intend to sing for you.’

  There were cries of ‘Well done!’ from sycophants and ‘I’m off!’ from the more boisterous of the gathering.

  Giovanni struck up some opening chords and Enzo began to intone a well-known ditty from Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore, taking the part of Sir Joseph Porter, First Lord of the Admiralty. To everyone’s delight he sang the rousing song about how, as a young office boy and before reaching his present high status, he had ‘polished up the handle of the big front door.’

  This caused immediate delight to the assembled, who roared their approval and sang together: ‘He polished up the handle of the big front door.’

  Enzo strutted across the deck and sang on, explaining that he had polished up the handle ‘so carefullee’, he was now the ‘Ruler of The Queen’s navee!’

  There was more good-natured laughter as the party-goers sang with even greater fervour.

  It was now the Admiral’s turn to join in the fun and, still wearing his cocked hat, he leaped to his feet in mock anger and shook his fist at Enzo.

  ‘Away, you impostor,’ he shouted. ‘I’m in charge!’

  Enzo dismissed him with a lordly wave of the hand as he continued until the end when he concluded with the memorable words, ‘A British sailor is a splendid fellow, Captain,’ at which point both the Captain, an Italian, and the Admiral joined Enzo, and the three took a bow to tumultuous applause.

  ‘That were grand tonight,’ said Albert as he and Alice returned to their Balcony Suite. ‘I’ve not heard better since the Huddersfield lot were on tour.’

  Alice agreed that it had been a very good evening indeed and, along with the rest of the ship that night, the Hardcastles slept the sleep of the just.

  28

  The chaplain greatly enjoyed his first involvement with passengers at the barbecue. Angela had hovered, making sure that he was not monopolised by any one individual or group and that he got to meet as many passengers as possible. When he had finished circulating, which frankly he found quite tiring, she whisked him away to a small table in a corner of the deck where she had reserved places for herself, Harry Parkhurst, and the Ludo champions, Norma and Graham Trotter. The Trotters had spent years at sea teaching Ludo and encouraging others to take it up. They were immersed in the game and could talk of little else. They told the party that some players believed the game originated in Pakistan or India, but they thought it was first recognised in England. As World Champions they had visited many parts of the Ludo world. The chaplain, who knew nothing whatsoever about the game, listened politely but, after a prolonged monologue from Graham on the last World Championships, even this patient man flagged. Afterwards Angela apologised; an apology which he brushed aside as he said she could not be held responsible for other people being boring and it was quite right for her to attempt to bring them more into the ship’s life.

  The Captain’s cousin, Pedro, was full of excitement at being invited to join the ship. The previous evening he had listened to the Cruise Director give his impromptu rendering from HMS Pinafore and, although he had never heard of the piece or the composer, he enjoyed it. Enzo was naturally flattered when Pedro told him he had a fine voice and was a wonderful singer. It could have been that Pedro was slightly exaggerating as he wanted to keep on the right side of Enzo as he, too, was anxious to sing to the passengers.

  ‘Perhaps we might have a short talk in my office,’ Enzo suggested when they met near to the reception area.

  They squeezed into the tiny room.

  ‘Pedro,’ began Enzo, ‘you will be with us for several days - correct?’

  Pedro nodded. He had not been given any specific length of time but the Captain had told him he would be their guest for a short while.

  ‘Good,’ said Enzo. ‘Very good. We are just about to enter the Suez Canal,’ he continued, leaving Pedro wondering what he wanted to say.

  ‘It is boring, Pedro - boring, boring, boring. Sand, sand and more sand.’

  Pedro nodded again. He gathered that there was a lot of sand.

  ‘Sand everywhere,’ droned on the Cruise Director, ‘as far as the eye can see. The passengers are not Bedouin Arabs, Pedro. They don’t mind a little sand, but …’ Here his voice trailed off as he glanced through his tiny porthole.

  ‘Mamma Mia!’ he exclaimed. ‘We seem to have entered the Canal. I can see the sand.’

  Pedro wondered if the Cruise Director had got too much sun and was about to suggest a cool drink, when Enzo started to speak again.

  ‘Pedro, my dear friend, I love my job. I love the passengers. I have decided to make a great sacrifice. I want to cancel my language classes at eleven each day and today I would like you and me to sing together in a special concert at eleven.’

  Pedro had not the slightest idea that Enzo had been ordered to cancel his classes, and was thrilled at the thought of appearing at such a prime time. For his part, Enzo was more than anxious to continue to be a star performer no matter what. He was sure that the Captain would be delighted that his relative was appearing on stage, and the Hotel Manager would have great difficulty in banishing Enzo to a mere organising role as he had had such a success at the barbecue.

  ‘This is what we shall do,’ said Enzo. ‘I will introduce you and Giovanni. You will bring your mandolin, yes?’

  Pedro nodded. He never sang without some stringed instrument or other.

  ‘I will sit on a little seat at the side of the stage.
After two or three songs you will invite me to sing and I shall sing two or three songs. We will finish with a duet. Good?’

  ‘Very good,’ said Pedro, his little eyes sparkling at the thought of such an opportunity.

  ‘Right, you choose your songs, I will choose mine and I shall also select a duet. We don’t have much time. I shall now warn the passengers and invite them to come to a very special concert at eleven this morning. You can get Giovanni - quick, we have little time.’

  Meanwhile, unknown to Enzo, the Hotel Manager had spoken to the three rather disgruntled lecturers, Fred Batty, Toby Troy and Sir Horace Beanstalk. He had told them that the Cruise Director would be offering them a prime slot at eleven each morning and they would appear in sequence. He would like all three to have fifteen minutes each to introduce their respective subjects to a morning audience and, if they could make their way to the stage at eleven, a new beginning could be made.

  When the three men heard Enzo announce the concert at eleven, they were puzzled to say the least. However, they assumed that Pedro would be giving them a short warm-up and then they would be able to go ahead and do their stuff. It seemed a clever move to get more people to attend. Meanwhile, Pedro collected Giovanni, who in turn collected his piano accordion, and together they went through some of their favourite melodies. Pedro was a versatile chap. He could sing in a fine clear tenor voice but he could also sing in the somewhat gruff and rasping tones of an Italian peasant. For the folksongs this morning he decided that was the voice he would adopt.

  Enzo knew nothing but Gilbert and Sullivan, and so chose some of his favourites that he had firmly committed to memory. As for the duet, he would have to print out the words and the music for that, as almost certainly neither Giovanni nor Pedro would know the tune or the words. He switched on the computer and gave it its customary smack to get the screen to spring into life. After much delay he finally got through to the internet where, after another wait of several minutes, he was connected to a site offering lyrics from Gilbert and Sullivan. He searched frantically for something that would be suitable for an Italian street-singer and a self-taught accordionist to sing and play without rehearsal. He was perusing the lyrics from The Mikado, of ‘Three Little Maids’ when, horror of horrors, the screen froze. Try as he might he could not move it on, nor dare he switch off and start again as there was no guarantee he would ever get back to the site. Quickly he took a pencil and copied out the lyrics showing on the screen.

  ‘This will have to do,’ he muttered to himself as he scribbled frantically.

  Fortunately the copier was working and eventually he held in his hand three legible copies of the words and music. Pedro and Giovanni were easily found as the sound of an accordion and the rough tones of Pedro rehearsing in his country voice were audible in the reception area. He handed them the scripts.

  Pedro and Giovanni, who both spoke very passable English but understood no written English whatsoever, stared at the paper. Giovanni could read music, however, and he began to play the tune so familiar with light opera fans the world over.

  ‘Excellent!’ cried Enzo. ‘Really wonderful. Well done, Giovanni.’

  Giovanni grinned. When it came to the words, marks were not so high. It was at this point when Enzo needed all the language skills he could muster.

  ‘Three little maids?’ queried Pedro. ‘What is that?’

  ‘No matter,’ replied Enzo. ‘Just repeat after me.’

  Both Giovanni and Pedro repeated the first verse after Enzo.

  ‘A maid is a girl, eh?’ said Pedro, when they had gone through the first verse.

  Enzo said that a maid was indeed a girl.

  ‘You want me, a Sicilian, to say I am a girl?’

  ‘It’s a song, Pedro,’ said Enzo, beginning to sense a problem.

  ‘In my songs I am not a girl,’ Pedro stated defiantly.

  ‘Please,’ Enzo begged him. We have no time to change it now.’

  ‘You must change song,’ said Pedro, not at all willing to back down.

  Increasingly desperate, Enzo took the scripts and changed all the little maids into little boys.

  ‘How about that?’ he said, proud of his instant transcription. Pedro grinned - and it was then that Enzo realised that neither Pedro nor Giovanni could read English and would never remember the words in time for the morning performance.

  ‘Forget it, Pedro,’ he decided. ‘Giovanni, you play and both you and Pedro hum the tune. Right - are you ready?’

  Giovanni struck up and, humming along with Pedro, Enzo managed to go through several verses. When it came to the line about life being a joke that had just begun, he smiled ruefully to himself.

  He hoped the performance would not turn out to be a joke and that at long last he would appear on stage in a leading role rather than just as a member of the chorus, as had been his lot so far in life.

  At ten forty-five, as the Golden Handshake moved gently through the Suez Canal, passengers who, as Enzo had correctly predicted, grew tired with viewing little else but sand began to look around for other attractions. With memories of the previous night fresh in their minds, and having heard Enzo’s announcement, they made their way to the performing area. Messrs Batty, Troy and Beanstalk had arrived early and sat themselves prominently in the front row awaiting further instructions. They were immensely gratified at the large number of passengers who were filling the room, and privately congratulated Enzo on his skill and consideration in preparing for their appearance in such an effective way.

  At eleven o’clock exactly, Enzo appeared on stage. He was dressed smartly in his ‘Compère’ suit, which was simply a white jacket worn with black trousers.

  ‘A very good morning to you, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began ebulliently. ‘How wonderful to see you here this morning for my show.’

  Batty, Troy and Beanstalk glanced at each other.

  ‘You are in for wonderful entertainment this morning. Let me introduce to you two fellow performers who will also take part. Mr Giovanni on the accordion and the world-famous Sicilian folksinger Pedro!’

  The two fellow musicians entered and the audience broke into loud applause.

  ‘First, Pedro accompanied by Giovanni will sing a selection of traditional Sicilian folk melodies. Then I shall sing a selection taken from the world of English Opera and finally a concluding song when both Giovanni and Pedro will provide me with the musical backing.’

  Troy leaned across and whispered to Beanstalk, ‘What is going on? He’s announcing a show, not a warm-up!’

  Giovanni operated the squeezebox and Pedro began to sing in his local dialect with a deep rasping voice. He finished the first song to polite applause and announced another.

  ‘Hell!’ exclaimed Troy. ‘There’s more.’

  When he announced the third song, Toby Troy could contain himself no longer. He got to his feet and approached Enzo, who was sitting at the side of the stage awaiting his turn to sing. He tugged at the sleeve of the white jacket. Enzo motioned him to go away but Troy persisted.

  ‘When do we go on?’ he asked in a voice that could be heard several rows back.

  Enzo, who had not the faintest idea what he was talking about, shook him off.

  ‘Go away,’ he hissed. ‘You are disrupting my show.’

  ‘What do you mean, “your show’’?’ Troy said in an angry tone. ‘All three of us are due on stage now, and we only have fifteen minutes each.’

  Despite the exchange at the side of the stage, Giovanni continued to play. Pedro was well into a ditty that told of the agony of unrequited love when Troy tugged again at Enzo’s sleeve and the unfortunate man fell from his chair with an enormous crash. By now Troy had been joined by Batty and a somewhat apprehensive Beanstalk. Batty, as a former AA man and accustomed to dealing with emergencies, helped Enzo to his feet. Pedro came to the end of his song and immediately Troy leaped forward and commandeered the mike. He was just about to announce his introduction when Enzo, who had recovered from his fall,
rushed in Troy’s direction and attempted to wrestle the mike from his hand. Completely bewildered, the audience did not know whether to laugh, applaud or intervene.

  Batty now came forward and tried to separate the combatants, but simply succeeded in bringing them both to the ground, where they continued to fight like tigers. By now the audience were on their feet shouting and yelling. Several old ladies were in tears and tried to squeeze their way out of the room. Beanstalk simply gazed in despair at the scene before him.

  The Hotel Manager, who was enjoying a morning coffee in his office, thought he heard an unusual noise coming from the direction of the performance area. He remembered that the three lecturers would be appearing today to introduce their series at the new time of eleven o’clock, and he wondered what could possibly be causing such excitement. As he proceeded towards the room to find out, he came across several elderly ladies walking away from the hall and dabbing their eyes.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Ellis,’ he said to one veteran. ‘Did you find the lecture upsetting?’

  Mrs Ellis stared at him. ‘What lecture?’ she responded. ‘There have been no lectures. Just singing and now fighting.’

  ‘Fighting?’ he queried. ‘I don’t believe that was on the programme.’

  He pushed his way into the room past a largish group of people, some of whom were attempting to leave and others who were shoving to get a better view of the stage. Enzo and Troy continued to be locked in combat, and somehow Batty had got caught up with them so it looked as though a free-for-all wrestling match was taking place. Giovanni and Pedro had quietly left the stage when it seemed to them that there would be no more folksongs that morning. Perhaps a little folk behaviour, but definitely no folk tunes.