Robin’s father, mother, and brother had traveled over on the ferry from Southampton earlier in the week, and they spent a happy few days getting to know Diana. Long before the day of the wedding, Sybil fully understood why her son had wanted to return to Jersey after one dance. When the bride walked down the aisle, she found that the ceremony was so well attended that extra chairs had been placed at the back of the church.
Mr. and Mrs. Chapman left the parish church of St. Helier as man and wife, to be greeted with a shower of confetti thrown by Diana’s friends, while two rows of young men in RJGC blazers held up golf clubs to form an arch all the way to their waiting car.
The reception was held at the Royal Jersey, where Malcolm delivered such an accomplished best-man’s speech that it came as no surprise to Robin that Chapman’s of Southend continued to flourish in his absence.
Lord Trent rose to reply on behalf of the guests. He let slip the worst-kept secret on the island when he told everyone that the newlyweds would be sailing round the French coast on his yacht for their honeymoon, but only for ten days, because Robin needed to be back in time for the first round of the President’s Cup. Diana couldn’t be sure if he was joking.
When Mr. and Mrs. Chapman sailed into St. Helier ten days later, the skipper informed Lord Trent that Robin had turned out to be such a good sailor that he had allowed him to take the wheel whenever he needed a break.
The following day, Robin was knocked out in the first round of the President’s Cup.
Robin and Diana quickly settled into their new home on the seafront, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Jersey, Robin had to walk to work. Eleven months later, Diana gave birth to a boy whom they christened Harry.
“Will you do anything to become a member of that damned club?” Diana asked her husband as she sat in the hospital bed surrounded by flowers and cards from well-wishers.
“Anything,” replied Robin, picking up the sleeping baby.
“Well, I have one piece of information that might speed up the process,” said Diana, smiling.
“And what’s that?” asked Robin, handing the suddenly screaming infant back to its mother.
“My brother tells me that the St. Helier lifeboat is looking for a new crew member, and as you spent more time at the helm of Lord Trent’s yacht than you did in our cabin, you must be an obvious candidate.”
“And how will that help me get elected to the Royal Jersey?” inquired Robin.
“Guess who’s president of the RNLI?” said Diana coyly.
The day after Robin failed to make the third round of that year’s President’s Cup, he filled in an application form to join the crew of the lifeboat.
________
Robin’s interview for a place in the lifeboat turned out to be not so much a meeting as an endurance test. John Poynton, the coxswain, put all the applicants through a series of rigorous trials to make sure only the most resilient would want to return a week later.
Robin couldn’t wait to get home and tell Diana how much he’d enjoyed the whole experience, the camaraderie of the crew, the chance to learn new skills and, most important, the opportunity to do something worthwhile. He only hoped the coxswain would take his application seriously, despite his lack of experience.
When the time came for Mr. Poynton to select his new crew member, he unhesitatingly placed a tick by one name, telling his bosun that young Chapman was such a natural he wouldn’t be surprised if the man could walk on water.
As the weeks passed, Robin found himself enjoying being tested by the rigorous drills the crew were put through on the high seas. Whenever the klaxon sounded, the crew were expected to drop everything and report to the boathouse within ten minutes. Robin could never be sure if it would be just another dry run, or if this time they would be going to the aid of someone who was genuinely in distress. The coxswain regularly reminded his crew that all the hours of hard work would prove worthwhile when someone called for their assistance, and only then would they discover which of them could handle the pressure.
It was the middle of the night when the klaxon sounded, waking everyone within a mile of the boathouse. Robin leaped out of bed in the middle of a dream, just as he was taking a putt to win the President’s Cup. He switched on the light and quickly got dressed.
“Off to see your other girlfriend?” inquired Diana, turning over.
“All eight of them,” Robin replied. “But let’s hope I’ll be back in time for breakfast.”
“You’ll be back,” said Diana. “After all, it’s the final of the President’s Cup on Saturday, and as you’re playing my brother, you may never have a better chance of winning.”
“I beat him in my dream,” said Robin as he picked up his bicycle clips.
“In your dreams,” said Diana, smiling.
Robin was pedaling frantically through the empty streets when the klaxon sounded a second time. He pedaled even harder.
He was among the first to arrive at the boathouse, and the look on the coxswain’s face left him in no doubt that he was about to experience his first distress call.
“We’ve had an SOS from a small sailing boat that’s capsized just off the Arden Rock,” the coxswain told his crew as they pulled on their oilskins and sea boots. “It seems a young couple thought it would be fun to sail round the bay after midnight,” he grunted. “I’ll be launching in a couple of minutes.” None of the crew spoke as they climbed on board and carefully checked their stations.
“Knock her out!” the coxswain called to the head launcher once the last crew member had given a thumbs-up.
Robin felt a rush of adrenaline pump through his body as the lifeboat made its way across the lapping waves inside the harbor. Once they had passed the breakwater, the boat reared up and down in the open sea. None of the crew showed any sign of fear, which gave Robin confidence. They had only one thing on their minds as they each carried out their separate duties.
The lookout was the first to spot the capsized yacht. He pointed and bellowed against the high wind, “Nor’ nor’west, skipper, about three hundred yards.”
Robin felt exhilarated as they edged slowly toward the capsized vessel. All the drills they had practiced during the past months were about to be put to the test. As they came alongside, Robin stared into the eyes of a terrified young couple, who couldn’t believe there were eight people on that little island who were willing to risk their lives to rescue them. But however much the coxswain shouted at them to catch hold of one of the grab lines, they kept clinging to the keel of their sinking yacht. Robin began to feel that nothing would make either of them let go, and, if anything, the boy looked even more terrified than his girlfriend. The waves refused to let up, making Robin wonder how long it would be before the coxswain decided his own crew was in just as much danger as the yacht. They tried one more time to maneuver the lifeboat alongside the stricken vessel.
When the boat was at its highest point in the water, Robin wondered if he dare risk it. It was not something to spend much time thinking about. When the bow of the boat plunged into the next wave, he leaped into the sea and with all the strength he could muster managed to grab onto the side of the yacht. He waited for the wave to rise again before he pulled himself up onto what was left of the floating wreck. With the help of the next wave he hauled himself up onto the keel and somehow managed to smile at the two disbelieving faces.
“Take my hand!” he hollered to the girl. After a moment’s hesitation, she released her grip on the keel and clung onto Robin’s outstretched arm. For a moment he feared she might panic and push him back into the sea.
“You’ll have to jump when I give you the signal,” screamed Robin above the noise of the wind. The girl didn’t look convinced. “Are you ready?” he cried as the next wave headed toward them. As the lifeboat reared into the air like a startled horse, Robin shouted, “Now!” and pushed her off the yacht with all the strength left in his body.
Two arms grabbed her as she landed in the water by th
e side of the lifeboat and hauled her unceremoniously on board. Robin waited for the next wave before the young man obeyed the same instruction. He was not as lucky as his companion, and cracked his head on the gunnel before he was finally dragged onto the boat. Robin could see blood pouring from his forehead. He knew there was a first-aid kit in the cockpit but no one would be able to open it, let alone administer any succor, during such a storm.
Robin felt the yacht sinking beneath him and his thoughts switched from the young man’s problems to his own survival. He would only have one chance before the boat disappeared below the waves.
He hunched up in a ball as he waited for the lifeboat to arch on the peak of the wave, then propelled himself toward it like an athlete bursting out of the blocks. But it turned out to be a false start because he missed the grab line by several feet and found himself floundering in the sea. His last thoughts as he sank below the unforgiving waves were of Diana and his son, Harry, but then he bobbed up in a trough and a hand grabbed his hair while another clung to a shoulder and dragged him inch by inch, wave by wave, toward the boat. But the sea still refused to give him up, and when the next wave hurled him against the side of the lifeboat, he felt his arm snap. As he was dragged onto the deck he screamed, but no one heard him above the storm. He would have thanked the coxswain, but all he could manage was to unload a stomach full of sea-water all over him. At least Poynton had the grace to laugh.
Robin couldn’t recall much of the journey back to port, except for the excruciating pain in his right arm and the looks of relief on the faces of the young couple he’d rescued.
“We’ll be back in time for breakfast,” said the coxswain as they passed the lighthouse and sailed into the relative calm of the harbor. When the crew finally disembarked, they were greeted by a cheering crowd.
Diana was standing on the quay, her eyes frantically searching for her husband. Robin smiled and waved at her with the arm that wasn’t broken.
It wasn’t until she read a full report in the Jersey Echo the following day that she realized just how close she’d been to becoming a widow. John Poynton described Robin’s decision to leave the boat to rescue the stranded couple, who undoubtedly owed their lives to him, as an act of selfless courage in the face of overwhelming odds. He had told Robin privately that he thought he was mad, and then shook him by the hand. It was the wrong hand, and Robin screamed again.
All Robin had to say while he sat propped up in a hospital bed, one arm in plaster, the other attempting to handle a spoon and a bowl of cornflakes, was, “I won’t be able to play in the final of the President’s Cup.”
A year later, Diana gave birth to a girl whom they christened Kate, and Robin fell in love for a second time.
Chapman’s Cleaning Services continued to flourish, not least because Robin had become such a popular member of the community, with some of the residents now treating him as if he were a local and not a newcomer.
The following year, he was elected a vice president of the local rotary club, and when the head launcher stepped down, the RNLI committee voted unanimously to invite Robin to take his place. Despite these minor honors being bestowed upon him, he reminded his wife that he was no nearer to becoming a full member of the Royal Jersey, and as his handicap had begun to move in the wrong direction, he’d probably missed his one chance to win the President’s Cup and automatically become a life member.
“You could always join another club,” Diana suggested innocently. “After all, the Royal Jersey’s not the only golf club on the island.”
“If I were to join another club, the committee would strike me off the waiting list without a second thought. No, I’m just going to have to be patient. After all, it should only be about another eight years before they get round to me,” he said, not attempting to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
Diana would have laughed if the klaxon hadn’t sounded for the ninth time that year. Robin dropped his paper and leaped up from the table without a second thought. Diana wondered if her husband had any idea of the anxiety she experienced every time he was away at sea. It hadn’t helped when a few weeks earlier one of the crew had been swept overboard during an abortive rescue attempt.
Robin kissed his wife before leaving her with the familiar parting words, “See you when I see you, my darling.”
When he returned, four hours later, he crept quietly into bed, not wanting to wake Diana. She wasn’t asleep.
Robin smiled after he’d read the letter a second time. It was just a short note from the club secretary, nothing official, of course, but he was confident that it wouldn’t be too much longer before the committee was able to ratify his membership of the RJGC. What did “too much longer” mean? Robin wondered. In theory he still had another four years to wait, and he was well aware that there were several other names ahead of his on the waiting list. However, Diana had told him that several members felt he should have been elected after he’d broken his arm and been forced to withdraw from the final of the President’s Cup.
Robin’s spell as head launcher on the lifeboat was coming to an end, as the job required a younger man. Diana couldn’t wait for the day when her husband would become more preoccupied with propelling a little white ball toward a distant hole than with rescuing helpless bodies from a merciless sea.
The following year, Robin opened a second shop in St. Brêlade, and was considering a third, on Guernsey. He felt a little guilty because his brother, Malcolm, was now running four establishments on the mainland, and contributing far more to the company’s bottom line, while at the same time keeping an eye on his two children, who were at prep school on the mainland.
Robin was a contented man, and on his thirty-sixth birthday he promised Diana that he would serve only one more year as head launcher, even if he wasn’t elected to the Royal Jersey. He raised his glass. “To the future,” he said.
Diana raised her glass and smiled. “To the future,” she repeated, unaware that another man on the far side of Europe had other plans for Robin Chapman’s future.
When Britain declared war on Germany on September 3, 1939, Robin’s first instinct was to return to England and sign up, especially as several younger members of his crew had already found their way to Portsmouth and joined the Royal Navy. Diana talked him out of the idea, convincing him that he was too old, and in any case his expertise would be needed on Jersey.
They decided to leave the children at school in England, and Malcolm and his wife unhesitatingly agreed to look after them during the holidays.
When the German army goose-stepped down the Champs-Élysées nine months later, Robin knew it could only be a matter of weeks before Hitler decided to invade the Channel Islands. Thirty thousand islanders had been evacuated to Britain, including his own children, and German bombs had fallen on St. Helier and St. Peter Port on Guernsey.
“I’ll have to stay on as head launcher,” Robin told Diana. “With so few young men available, they’ll never find a replacement before the war is over.”
Diana reluctantly agreed to what she imagined to be the lesser of two evils.
When Lord Trent phoned Robin at home and asked if they could have a private meeting at the club, he assumed the old man was at last going to confirm his membership of the Royal Jersey.
Robin arrived a few minutes early and the club steward ushered him straight into Lord Trent’s study. The look on the President’s face was not one that suggested glad tidings. Lord Trent rose from behind his desk, indicated that they should sit in the more comfortable leather chairs by the fire, and poured two large brandies.
“I need to ask you a special favor, Robin,” he said once he’d settled in his chair.
“Of course, sir,” said Robin. “How can I help?”
“As you know, the ferries from Weymouth and Southampton have been requisitioned by the Government as part of the war effort, and although I thoroughly approve this decision, it presents me with something of a problem, as the Prime Minister has asked me to return to Eng
land at the first possible opportunity.”
Before Robin could ask why, Trent took a telegram from an inside pocket and handed it to him. Robin’s heart missed a beat when he saw the address: “No. 10 Downing Street, London, SW1.” Trent waited until he had finished reading the telegram from Winston Churchill.
“The Prime Minister may well wish to see me urgently,” said Trent, “but he seems to have forgotten that I have no way of getting off this island.” He took another sip of his brandy. “I rather hoped you might feel able to take Mary and me across to the mainland in the lifeboat.”
Robin knew that the lifeboat was never meant to leave the harbor unless it was answering a distress call, but a direct request from the Prime Minister surely allowed him to tear up the rule book. Robin considered the request for some time before he responded. “We’d have to slip out after nightfall, then I could be back before sunrise and no one need be any the wiser.”
“Whatever you say,” said Trent, command changing hands.
“Would tomorrow night suit you, sir?”
The old man nodded. “Thank you, Robin.”
Robin rose from his place. “Then I’ll see you and Lady Trent on the quayside at nine tomorrow night, sir.” He left without another word, his brandy untouched.
Robin was assisted by two young crew members who also wanted to reach the mainland, as they wished to join up. He was surprised by how uneventful the Channel crossing turned out to be. It was a full moon that night and the sea was remarkably calm for October, although Lady Trent proved to be a far better sailor than his lordship, who never opened his mouth during the entire voyage except when he leaned over the side.
When the lifeboat entered Weymouth harbor, a patrol boat escorted them to the dockside, where a Rolls-Royce was waiting to whisk the Trents off to London. Robin shook hands with the old man for the last time.
And Thereby Hangs a Tale Page 12
