by Julia Jones
Gongs for Gold Dragon
Monday, September 25th, evening
Great Aunt Ellen had Granny’s face, almost exactly, and Granny’s quick decisive way of doing things. Except that the things Granny used to do had never included lobbing firecrackers at obnoxious policemen.
Granny had kept her short iron-grey hair tucked neatly behind her ears with two matching combs: Great Aunt Ellen’s hair was dark, with silver streaks. She wore it in a long thin plait running straight down her back to her waist. And, instead of a left hand, Great Aunt Ellen had a metal hook. Skye’s word ‘pirate’ suited her.
“Why Sinbad?” was all he could think to ask.
“Because of a story long ago that my sister Eirene loved.” Her voice had a lifting Australian lilt to it – quite unlike Granny’s formal English manner of speaking. Donny wasn’t sure he’d caught the name – Irreny?
“It had a half-drowned kitten way out to sea on a chicken coop. Needing rescue.”
“Did you like the story too?” Somehow Donny felt that this answer was important.
“Yes,” said Great Aunt Ellen after a thinking pause. “Yes, I did. In those days I liked pretty well everything that Eirene liked.”
She paused again, then sort of shook herself as if this wasn’t quite the moment for nostalgia.
She had definitely said Irreny – not Edith.
Donny was admiring the way she had adjusted Strong Winds’s sails so that the junk remained effortlessly still while her captain was talking. The tide, however, was pushing both boats towards the shipping channel. He badly wanted to know about this other sister. But not right now.
“I’m not sitting on a chicken coop,” he pointed out.
“No,” said Great Aunt Ellen. “She’s a dinghy. So why don’t you right her?”
“Because I don’t know how. I may as well tell you that I’m only learning to sail. I’ve read one and a bit books but I don’t think that the people who wrote them ever turned completely upside down like this.”
“Possibly not,” said Polly Lee. “But I have. Frequently. You need to stand up, get a hold of her daggerboard, lean back and pull like hell.”
Donny did exactly as she said. It took all his weight and there was a moment when he wondered if Lively Lady’s mast had got stuck in the seabed. Up she came, at last, the water pouring off her as if she were a dog emerging from a swim. Donny almost expected her to give herself a shake.
“Pass your painter over, Sinbad, and I’ll tow her while you bale.”
“Er, what about him?” said Donny, pointing at Flint who seemed to be drifting rather faster than they were.
“He’ll have radioed for help by now. Hobos like him prefer getting other people to sort out their mess. The high-speed cat’s due in about ten minutes. I rather hope she’ll slice straight through him.”
She’d made his painter fast using her hook almost as naturally as her hand. “Get the water out and come on board. I suppose you’ve got a bucket?”
“Er, yes,” said Donny who’d learned to be profoundly grateful for that particular piece of equipment. He’d stowed it in her for’ard locker when he was tidying up and there it was still. Lively Lady wallowed as he moved cautiously to reach it. Weighed down by all the water sloshing inside her. She looked sorry for herself.
“Tosser!” he muttered, furious with Flint. Then he chuckled. Gold Dragon had given the policeman a well bad time. Maybe he’d steer clear of little old ladies after today.
It didn’t take him long to bale out Lively Lady. His great aunt tossed him a rope ladder when he’d finished and he scrambled up to join her on Strong Winds’s spectacular high stern.
The beauty of the boat wasn’t the first thing to catch his eye, however. It was a Harwich Harbour Authority motor launch approaching on their port bow. Two other official motorboats were close behind.
A VHF radio crackled. The junk’s equipment must be a lot more modern that she was. The HHA were calling up the junk and Polly Lee responded, giving Strong Winds’s name and call sign and confirming her home port as Shanghai.
Donny looked up. There was an aerial on the top of the mainmast where he’d expected to see the dragon pennant. The gold dragon streamed out from the mizzen and, on the foremast, he glimpsed a navy blue flag with white stars, which looked somehow familiar. There was a small red ensign too and a yellow flag whose function he didn’t know.
“That yellow flag’s an old style request for customs clearance,” said Polly Lee who’d finished her radio conversation and was continuing to sail Strong Winds towards the outer reaches of the harbour. “It’s not strictly necessary now Britain’s in the E.U. I radioed as soon as I was inside territorial waters.”
“Have you sailed all the way from China?” Donny was grappling with his emotions; relief, admiration, amazement – and a niggle of discomfort at his crazy display of ignorance.
“Too old. Both of us. And not enough time. So much to settle when Edith’s letter arrived – fifty years of my life – I couldn’t get ready for sea as well. So we shipped to Rotterdam and unloaded there. I’m not sentimental but I couldn’t finally face arriving back in England on one of those things.” She gestured towards the container ships, now visible under their skeletal line of cranes as Strong Winds made her way steadily into the harbour. “I hadn’t expected a reception quite like this. They asked me if I had a John Walker on board. I answered affirmative.”
“But I’m Donny – John’s in a book.”
“I know that. I’m family, remember. They also said you’d run away from some foster home. That’s why we have the extra company.”
The police boat was close on their starboard side. The two officers on board appeared to be armed. The customs boat was to port and the Harbour Authority launch was cruising steadily ahead.
It wasn’t ideal but Polly Lee didn’t seem all that bothered. She stood small and erect, left hook linked into small metal hoops on her gleaming curved tiller, right hand ready to adjust Strong Winds’s complex array of sheets and halyards.
“Was your running away connected with the redneck we met beyond the Beach End buoy?”
“Yeah, sorry. Unfortunately he’s a policeman.”
“Didn’t look much like one with all that paint over his bows. Had you been having some kind of festival?”
“No. I don’t know what that was. I didn’t really notice.”
“You were too busy obstructing my passage.”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said again. “I was trying to warn you.”
She looked at him. Her eyes were bright and hard. They were not an old person’s eyes.
“Against what?”
He felt stupid again. He’d been expecting a fragile eighty-year-old, not this decisive missile-slinger. “Um, well ... I’m not exactly sure. Against Flint – the policeman – anyway. I thought he wanted to scare you, get money out of you.”
“Why should he think he could do that?”
“Um, well ... Either because he thinks you’re rich and you’ll pay to get to me and Skye. Don’t worry,” he added hastily, not understanding the way she looked, “I know you wouldn’t. You probably don’t want us anyway. Or because he thinks you’re Mrs Big from some smuggling ring.”
This time she looked as if she might laugh. “Mrs Big, eh? No one’s described me like that for years; I must meet this man. But you ran away?”
“S’pose so. It wasn’t just him. I mean ... well, I didn’t know you then and it had all got a bit complicated ...”
How was he going to explain everything about Skye and the SS and the mental hospital and Gerald and Wendy? “I made some good friends though. We’ve got an Alliance.”
The VHF crackled again before he could try explaining any more. There was another formal, slightly tetchy conversation punctuated by call-signs and repetitions.
“... and out.”
She turned to Donny. “They won’t let us enter Shotley unless we have two of them on board. I don’t like passengers and
I like invaders even less. But I’ve agreed. Put the fenders out, Sinbad. Starboard side. I don’t want my topsides scraped.”
She sounded irritated. Donny’s heart sank.
It wasn’t hard for him to do as she ordered. Everything was in place. A few moments later a male and a female police officer were on board Strong Winds asking them for identification. Great Aunt Ellen gave her name as Polly Lee but agreed that she might also be identified as Miss Ellen Walker.
“But not when I’m sailing this ship,” she said fiercely and the police didn’t argue with her. Instead they requested permission to go below and have a look round.
“She was searched at Rotterdam. I don’t tolerate damage.”
“That’s all right, ma’am. We’ve had contact from the Dutch. And from the MCA. We just wanted a look, really. My colleague here’s a fan of yours and she’s read about this boat. Officially we’re only required to remain in attendance and get the boy back safe.”
She snorted. “I’m quite able to manage that myself. I’m his great aunt.”
“You certainly are, ma’am. But the boy’s subject to a CPO – that’s a Child Protection Order – and our Social Services have been in a panic since he went running off yesterday. They’ve got someone waiting at the marina. To check all’s well. We need to be seen to be returning with him. Bit of window- dressing really.”
Polly Lee – or Gold Dragon – snorted once again but not quite so fiercely. She was definitely dragonish when she was dealing with people, thought Donny. Quick and clever around her ship and ready to spout flames at anyone who bothered her. It had given him a really good feeling when she asserted herself as his great aunt.
The Harbour Authority boat peeled off when they passed the Navyard: then the Shotley side of the river came into view. Great Aunt Ellen stared at the farther shore.
“It’s completely different,” she muttered, sounding for a moment like an elderly lady, not dragonish at all.
Then she noticed the Hispaniola. She pulled out a telescope and peered intently. “So they have been having a festival ... No, it’s a signal hoist. U – Uniform – You are standing into danger,” she read. “And that looks like a remarkably good copy of my house flag. Would this be your work?” she asked Donny. Her tone gave nothing away.
“Yeah. And my friends.”
“Have we had the danger?”
“Not sure ... think so ... probably.”
He hoped it wasn’t Toxic who was waiting at the marina.
“Handsome,” she commented as she took Strong Winds close to the lonely schooner and gazed up at the three flags flying just below the cross-trees, “though it should have been the Australian not the Chinese national flag. You identify the nationality of the owner, not the boat.”
“Oh, er, sorry.” He was a bit confused by this but relieved that she liked the flags. “My friend Anna made them. Maggi and Xanthe helped with every thing else. And their parents. And Lively Lady.”
“Tell me later. We need to drop our sails now.” And to Donny’s slight surprise she pressed an inconspicuous black button. Tonk, tonk, tonk. An engine started chugging musically, deep inside Strong Winds. “Lister Marine, starts like a dream,” she commented. “Your great uncle Ned would have loved it. Now lend a hand with that tricing clew. Stand by fore and aft.”
Another relly?
Donny and the police officers did as they were told and Strong Winds moved slowly into Shotley lock; her sails furled, her engine gently turning over and Lively Lady following sweetly in her wake. The police launch went in ahead; the customs boat tied up at the small holding jetty where the foot ferry usually docked.
Donny was taken aback to see that there was a crowd of people waiting. These weren’t casual lock-side spectators; these people were pointing, waving, flashing cameras. A white van marked Anglia News was parked close to the marina office. It had an immense aerial from the centre of its roof and a TV camera on a tripod.
Donny gulped and hoped Gold Dragon had run out of firecrackers. Someone cheered. Then there were more cheers and shouts of welcome as Donny and the police officers made the junk fast and fended her off as the gates behind them closed.
The sluices opened.
The water swirled in, silently. Strong Winds was rising steadily towards the level of the spectators.
Polly Lee didn’t move. She raised her hand to acknowledge the crowd but otherwise said nothing except to give terse instructions to her uninvited crew.
Then Donny spotted Anna. She was waving frantically and there were tears streaming down her face.
He’d never seen Anna like that. Luke and Liam were brandishing England flags and Gerald was there with Vicky in her easy rider, desperately trying to persuade the boys to stay away from the edge.
“Smile Miss Lee, smile for the camera!” shouted a photographer.
Great Aunt Ellen tried, but she couldn’t. Donny understood how hard she would be finding this. She was his granny’s sister. Never mind that Polly Lee had been a sailing celebrity and this probably wasn’t the first time she’d been greeted by crowds on arrival in a distant port; this arrival was something different. She was maybe eighty years old. She was coming home, the last of all her brothers and sisters, and nothing so far had been as she expected or remembered.
Donny guessed that she was struggling not to weep.
It was a good thing that most of the spectators were more interested in her boat than they were in her. People were pointing to Strong Winds’s three sturdy bamboo masts, her flags, her carved deck-fittings and ornamental scrollwork. Some of them smiled when they noticed the bedraggled Mirror dinghy astern. There were lots of photos.
What was strange was that the TV camera seemed to spend almost as much time focussing on him and the two police officers as it did on Polly Lee and her beautiful yacht.
A man from the marina office stepped over the protective barrier and handed her an envelope.
“Arrived for you this morning,” he explained. Donny recognised the envelope he’d posted with one of his stolen stamps. She was looking at it suspiciously.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s only from me. I sent you Skye’s address, in case they caught me first. She needs rescue.”
“Are you responsible for ... this, as well?” she indicated the crowd.
“No,” he was shocked. “I certainly am not.”
“Donny! Donny!” Someone was thrusting a furry microphone in his face. “How does it feel to find your auntie after all this time? And you stole a boat to meet her!”
“No! No, I didn’t ...” he began but the man from the marina office was shooing the reporter back behind the barriers.
A smart lady with a conciliating smile and an SS Media Relations badge came hurrying forward saying that it wasn’t appropriate to speak to the child now. Perhaps a photo-call with the foster family later...
“Child? Huh, I’m fourteen today!” Donny felt like shouting. But there was no one there who cared, except himself. Then he saw Gold Dragon reaching into a cardboard box.
“Duck!” he yelled at the PR lady.
Nothing was actually thrown but the lady got the message. She hopped back smartly, gabbling that she’d be happy to explain the Local Authority’s position – somewhere else. Back in the reception area maybe?
The lock gates at the far end were opening. The police launch moved forward and Strong Winds’s crew cast off their warps to follow her.
At that moment there was a tremendous clanging from the seaward side. Xanthe and Maggi leapt up, hammering on what appeared to be two large cymbals from the Gallister High music department, and chanting “She’s a twenty-two gong tai- coon, she’s a twenty two gong tai-coooon” to Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘Gentlemen of Japan’. They were still in their school uniforms but they were each wearing red stocking caps with tassels – a sisterly trademark that Donny knew they’d pinched from Swallows and Amazons. Their dark faces were ablaze with delight and they were jumping up and down like mad things.
Even Great Aunt Ellen couldn’t resist. Her weather-beaten face crinkled into helpless laughter and the TV man got a wonderful picture of her dashing back unshed tears as Strong Winds moved into the smooth water of the marina basin.
Donny was leaping up now and punching the air, as he’d wanted to do ever since he’d first spotted those golden sails. He shouted with happiness as he saw Anna, Luke and Liam break away from Gerald and come charging round to meet them.
Snow Goose was already there: her white hull glistening in the last light of evening and somehow Donny wasn’t surprised to see June Ribiero sitting in the cockpit, chatting amicably to Mr McMullen and Sandra, the okay social worker.
No Toxic!
Snow Goose’s occupants waved, nodded and smiled, but stayed where they were.
It wasn’t until Strong Winds was securely moored, the TV van had left, and the marina staff had closed the access pontoon to everyone except berth-holders that the three more sensible adults came on board to calm the situation down. Sandra told Donny that she’d been very worried about him but was glad that he was safe. She asked Great Aunt Ellen where Donny would be sleeping that night.
“Here, of course, where else?”
“In that case I think I can safely say that we’ll be postponing tomorrow’s review meeting.”
“Surely you mean cancelling ...” said Mr McMullen. Donny remembered how much his tutor disliked meetings.
Sandra smiled ruefully. “Obviously that’s what ought to happen but I’ve afraid the system doesn’t work like that. Donny’s case has to be considered in the light of the legal processes of care and adoption and I understand that there are further issues to be resolved. Our Education Welfare Officer has serious concerns about behavioural issues, safety and a pattern of unauthorised absence from school.”
A quick look from Mr McMullen stopped Donny from exploding. Pattern, indeed!
“You can reassure Ms Tune that Donny’s absence today was not unauthorised. Anna Livesey delivered his note of explanation this morning and the school was easily able to authorise his absence under the category of exceptional family circumstances. We’ll stretch that to cover tomorrow as well – though there’ll be some class-work to make up if he’s continuing at Gallister High. I allocate special after-school sessions to students in his situation. As I believe he already knows ...”
