Saints and Sailors

by Pam Rhodes

  “Right,” announced John, as he reset the satnav. “No more stops now until Tilbury. Everyone belted up?”

  How I wish they were, thought Clifford before closing his eyes and his mind to everything around him.

  “May I have your attention, please!” Carole tapped the microphone sharply. “Is this working? Can you hear me at the back?”

  “She’s got a voice as loud as a foghorn,” mumbled Betty to Marion. “What makes her think she ever needs a mike?”

  “It’s okay, Carole. You’re coming through loud and clear!” yelled Sheila, as all three in the back row dissolved into giggles.

  “We are approaching Tilbury Docks,” announced Carole in the clipped tones of a television newsreader. “The coach is not able to stop for long in the holding area, so you need to identify and collect your luggage as soon as possible, then form an orderly queue behind me and I will lead the way into the terminal building. Please make sure you leave nothing on the coach – and don’t leave rubbish by your seat either.” She looked pointedly at the back row as she said this. “There is a litter bin just by the door here at the front.”

  “Huh!” snorted Sheila indignantly, as she stuffed an empty crisp bag into her pocket.

  “I am sure,” continued Carole, smiling benevolently in the direction of the driver, “that you will want to show your appreciation in the usual way for our wonderful driver, Steve. It’s been a pleasure to have such a competent and experienced person at the wheel to bring us safely from Burntacre to our destination here at Tilbury. We look forward to seeing you again, Steve, when you collect us on our return.”

  “Might not be me,” he retorted, “and there’s a queue of vehicles waiting to get in here. Can you all hurry up and get out, please?”

  Claire squeezed Neil’s hand and looked at him with a grin. “Here we go, then.”

  “Lead the way, Mrs Fisher. I’ll bring the bags.”

  It was as Neil was stepping off the coach that he heard his name being called from a car that was coming to a standstill nearby.

  “Neil! Over here!” Barbara had wound down her window and was waving frantically to get his attention. “Oh, and Claire, there you are. It’s so wonderful to see you both.”

  “Burntacre party, stay together, please!” ordered Carole, her eyes narrowing as she viewed the new arrivals. Her instruction came too late. Neil and Claire were already making their way over to shake hands through the window with their old friends from Dunbridge.

  “Neil!” snapped Carole, who had no intention of being ignored. “We’re ready to make our way inside. Keep up with the group, please!”

  Clifford, climbing out from the back seat to greet Claire and Neil, eyed Carole with distaste.

  “She who must be obeyed, eh?”

  “We have a lot to tell you, Clifford,” was Neil’s quiet reply.

  “And I am looking forward very much to catching up with your news, dear boy,” retorted Clifford, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  At just that moment, Peter and Val pulled up behind them, and Carole bristled with indignation as Neil and Claire hurried over to greet the newcomers.

  “Leave them, Carole,” said Garry. “They may not want to get to the front of the queue before the masses arrive, but we do.” And taking his wife by the arm, he led the rest of the St Jude’s coach passengers towards the reception area.

  Claire got to the car first, pulling open the door to help Harry out of his seat so that she could hug him fondly. Iris clambered out with surprising speed, throwing her arms around Neil as if she hadn’t seen him for years.

  “You did pass your Cubs’ badge for swimming, didn’t you?” she whispered in his ear as she embraced him.

  “What?” asked Neil, pushing her away from him slightly, so that he could look down at her. “I’ve no idea. I might have done, because I can just about swim the length of the local pool. I’m not confident enough to swim in the sea, though, so I have no intention of jumping in at any time on this cruise. Does that put your mind at rest?”

  Plainly relieved, Iris hugged him again. “You know how a mother worries, Neil.”

  “And I’m glad you do, Mum. Come on. Let me help you with your bags.”

  Once the cases were safely loaded onto a trolley, Neil and Claire had a chance to say hello properly to Peter and Val. The churchwarden had been a great friend to Neil throughout his three years as a curate at St Stephen’s, and they had helped one another through various crises in both the church and their personal lives. The two couples greeted each other warmly, with Neil giving an especially big hug to Val, who had brought such joy to Peter after the ending of his first, unhappy marriage.

  “Here come Brian and Sylvia,” said Peter, as the last car arrived from Dunbridge. “And do you remember Julia Dawes from the Ladies’ Guild, and her mum Ida?”

  In fact, Neil remembered Julia and her mother very well, and he was genuinely shocked to see the deterioration in Ida’s condition. As Val and Claire helped the elderly lady out of the back of the car and into her wheelchair, Neil moved across to shake Brian’s hand. There was still a remnant of reserve between the two men: for a time the Lamberts had hoped that Neil might marry their daughter Wendy, but immediately after Neil had chosen Claire, Wendy had unexpectedly taken herself off to live in Australia – which seemed almost as dramatic as joining the Foreign Legion!

  Once all the hellos had been said and the luggage unloaded, Peter and Brian drove their cars to the long-stay car park while the others made their way across to the terminal. Their ears were immediately assaulted by the noise of lively chatter echoing around the huge warehouse-like building, as members of various groups found and greeted each other, and queues formed to register their arrival at the row of desks manned by uniformed members of the ship’s crew.

  “Neil!” Carole Swinton appeared at his side the moment he and Claire stepped into the building. “You are holding us all up. Bring your cases and your paperwork, and follow me. And please keep up from now on!”

  Neil and Claire exchanged a glance that suggested to the Dunbridge group that Carole was one of the more challenging members of his Derbyshire congregation.

  “We’ll see you all on board,” said Claire. “Once we know where our cabin is and we’ve got ourselves sorted, we’ll be heading for whatever sundeck is serving proper cups of tea.”

  “Lunch too,” added Neil. “I’m starving.”

  Following Carole to the head of one of the registration queues, Neil and Claire presented their paperwork and identification as their cabin was allocated and their luggage taken from them. Then, along with the rest of the St Jude’s party, they were ushered through an exit at the other end of the terminal.

  Stepping out onto the dockside, there was a general gasp of delight as they got their first view of The Pilgrim.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so big,” said Betty.

  “I hope I don’t get lost on it,” added Sheila, eyeing the rows of cabin portholes and balconies with trepidation.

  “They said it was old,” finished Marion. “It looks new enough to me.”

  “They paint these ships all the time,” said Pete with the authority of someone who was a builder, painter and decorator himself. “They never stop. I reckon we’ll see them giving the ship a lick of paint at almost every port.”

  “So it always looks nice?” asked Jill.

  “No.” Her husband Rob gave her a patronizing stare. “So it’s safe, of course. Maintenance is everything on ships like this. They have to follow the rules. Passenger safety’s paramount, and that means keeping the ship well maintained.”

  “Photo?” asked a man who suddenly appeared beside them, camera in hand. “You can see your photo on board near the library after dinner this evening. Are you all together? How about a group shot?”

  Carole took charge, ordering that any bags or coats they were carrying should be placed on the floor before arranging everyone into neat lines, so that they looked like a visiting choir rath
er than a motley group of friends.

  “Smile, please!”

  “Saints and sailors!” shouted Marion.

  “Saints and sailors!” called the rest of the group, as the photographer took the picture that was destined to take pride of place in all their albums once they got back home.

  “What are we waiting for?” squealed Betty. “Last one up the gangplank’s a landlubber!”

  Uniformed members of the crew welcomed them, but insisted that everyone squirt their hands with disinfectant before being allowed up the gangplank to get on board.

  “I feel like the queen making her way onto the Royal Yacht Britannia,” said Sheila with a giggle. “Should I wave?”

  Once they’d stepped inside the ship at the top of the ramp, they were each asked to pose for an official snapshot and given an identity card, which they had to keep with them at all times. They then moved on to another table, where a smiling steward gave them their cabin keys.

  “We’re on Deck C,” said Neil. “Are we all together?”

  “I think so,” said Mark, hoping Deirdre would give some indication of where her cabin was to be. Leaning over as subtly as he could manage, he tried to catch a glimpse of her key number. Ever since he’d booked this trip, he’d been dreaming of magical times when he might escort her back to her cabin after a moonlit evening on deck. He was certainly very relieved when he saw her nod agreement to being on C Deck with everyone else.

  “Actually, we’re on E Deck, much higher up, near the captain’s quarters, I believe,” said Carole nonchalantly. “We paid extra for a bit more luxury.”

  “Ooh!” said Betty. “I fancy a guided tour round your cabin then!”

  “So the rest of us are all looking for C Deck, are we?” asked Claire.

  “Well,” said Pete, smiling in Arthur’s direction. “I’ve got a bit of news. It seems the people from the British Legion have been in touch with the shipping company about Dad being on this trip. You know he wants to see France again. He’s not been back since D-Day.”

  “Oh, that’s so moving,” sighed Betty. “Brings tears to my eyes…”

  “Anyway, apparently the company thinks it’s an honour to have a D-Day veteran on board, so when we came to check in, they treated Dad like a VIP. And guess what? They said they’ve given Dad, Callum and me a big family suite on Deck E – probably quite near to you, Carole.”

  “How nice,” commented Carole through gritted teeth, plainly furious at this invasion of her specially booked space, and the unforgivable upstaging of her status on board.

  “Well,” said Neil, “apparently it’s going to take a while for our bags to be delivered to us. How about we just drop our bits and pieces in the cabins for now, then meet in quarter of an hour or so, wherever they might be serving lunch?”

  With general agreement all round, they headed off to the main stairs, where they spent several minutes studying the wall map, trying to work out where they were and locate their cabins.

  “C125: this is it,” called Claire, who was slightly ahead of Neil as they walked down the long corridor, scanning cabin numbers. Eagerly, she turned the key in the lock and they walked into a surprisingly roomy space that was both homely and cleverly arranged. A door on the right revealed a small shower room with a colourful array of toiletries laid out in front of the mirror. They pulled open the wardrobe doors to find plenty of hanging and drawer space, with a safe secreted on the bottom shelf. There was a desk where Neil could work on his notes, a television complete with DVD player, and a wide window through which they could see the dockside bathed in pale sunlight.

  “Oh no!” sighed Neil. “Single beds!”

  Claire’s face fell as she followed his gaze. “Do you think we could change cabins?”

  There was a sudden knock as Betty popped her head round their open door.

  “What’s your cabin like? Oh, yes, just the same as mine and Sheila’s. Marion’s looks like this too. They must all be identical on this corridor. Good, isn’t it?”

  Claire slipped her hand inside Neil’s and gave it a squeeze.

  “Hmm,” was all Neil could manage to reply.

  “We’ve found out that they’ve got a buffet restaurant three floors up at the back of the boat,” squealed Betty, plainly beside herself with excitement. “That’s the round end, not the pointy one. We’ll see you there when you’re ready.”

  As Betty pulled their door closed behind her, the couple stared down at the two narrow beds on opposite sides of the cabin.

  “We’ll have to do spoons,” said Claire. “It could be fun.”

  “It’ll be one heck of a squeeze. If one of us turns over, the other will end up on the deck – and I bet that’s me!”

  She turned her face up to his, slipping her arms around his waist. “We’ll just have to cling together and be very inventive.”

  “I love you, Mrs Fisher…”

  “And I need some lunch, Vicar. Coming?”

  “Well, I must say, I’m very pleasantly surprised,” announced Iris as she looked around the buffet restaurant. The tables were elegantly set and an army of polite and welcoming staff were on hand.

  “Thank God for small mercies…” quipped Harry.

  “Look at the waiters serving the food – they’re all wearing hygienic gloves.”

  “Apparently they do that for the first forty-eight hours, to make sure no infection is passed on if a passenger gets on board with a bug of some kind,” said Sylvia. “The restaurant manager was explaining to Brian and me while we were in the queue waiting to be served.”

  “Most efficient,” agreed Iris.

  “And this coronation chicken is delicious,” enthused Harry, until he caught Iris’s sideways glance. “Nowhere near as nice as the coronation chicken you cook, my dear Iris, but very good all the same.”

  “I counted eight different kinds of fish, both fresh and smoked,” said Barbara. “Fish is John’s favourite, isn’t it, love?”

  “Need to keep the cholesterol down these days.” John patted his stomach, while Barbara looked on fondly.

  “I had the roast,” said Raymond, who was still managing to smile while shovelling down fork-loads of food at the same time. “And some of that cottage pie. The pasta was good too. And all those different bread rolls! I just tried the three that looked best because I couldn’t decide which one to choose.”

  “I’ve got my eye on the puds,” said Val. “We never usually bother with desserts at home, do we, Peter? But when they’re made specially for us and they’re just asking to be eaten, what can we do?”

  “Well, Mum’s always loved puds, so I’m going to pile a spoonful of every single one of them onto her plate,” laughed Julia, pushing Ida in her wheelchair to join the group. “I’m sure her eyes lit up when she saw the buffet. You’ve always had a good appetite, haven’t you, Mum?”

  Ida’s face was impassive as she looked back at her daughter.

  Barbara smiled warmly at her. “Lovely food here, Ida, isn’t it? We’re going to be really spoilt on this trip. Heaven help my waistline!”

  Sylvia leaned over to speak quietly to Val, who was sitting next to her. “I know Ida still enjoys her meals. It seems odd when she’s withdrawn from so many other things that used to matter to her.”

  “That’s often the case,” answered Val. “I’ve nursed lots of dementia patients over the years, and mealtimes can be the most important part of their day. They may lose connection with people around them, and get frustrated when they can’t understand what people are saying to them, let alone make themselves understood, but I suppose there’s something so fundamental and comforting about eating. Appetite’s often one of the very last things they lose.”

  “When I booked this cruise,” said Clifford, “I promised myself that I would remember my high sugar levels and my low will-power, and make sure that this sylph-like figure – which, of course, you all envy – remains as lithe and lovely as ever!”

  “And that treacle pudding and custard is
all part of the diet master plan, is it?” laughed Brian.

  “There are no calories on board ship, Brian – and I’m telling you that as one church organist to another, so it must be true!”

  Laughter was still rippling round their large table when Neil and Claire walked into the restaurant. Instantly there was a flurry of noisy greetings, hugs and chair-moving to make room for the new arrivals. On the other side of the restaurant, closely monitoring the goings-on, one couple was sitting slightly apart from the group of Neil’s Derbyshire parishioners.

  “That has got to stop,” hissed Carole. “Neil is our vicar. St Jude’s pays his wages. He’d do well to remember that.”

  “They seem such an unruly bunch.” Garry was staring pointedly at the table of people from Dunbridge as he spoke.

  “Neil said they’ve got two organists and a choir mistress in their group.”

  “Obviously not to the high standard of your musical training, my darling. You’ve got a degree!”

  “And I have no intention of letting that uncouth rabble rule the roost where the music is concerned.”

  Garry reached across the table to cover her hand with his own. “Of course not. Now drink your coffee, then we’ll go for a stroll around the deck to get our bearings.”

  Most of the other St Jude’s group members were sitting at the neighbouring table.

  “Did any of you have a chance to read this Daily Programme they’ve left in our cabins?” asked Mark. “There’s a bit about a fire drill we’ve got to take part in this afternoon.”

  “I’ve heard that all cruise ships have to organize a fire drill by law before they’re allowed to set sail,” said Deirdre. Mark’s heart lurched to see her smiling at him as she replied.

  “What does it involve, did it say?” This was the first time Jill had spoken for a while. She had come to lunch by herself, looking somewhat subdued, after Rob had decided he’d prefer a beer and snack on his own at a bar they’d come across en route to the restaurant.

  “We found our life jackets on the top shelf in the wardrobe,” said Sheila. “I expect that’s where yours are too. Anyway, there’s a notice on the back of our door which says where you need to assemble in case of fire. From what I gather, there’ll be some sort of bell or announcement at four o’clock this afternoon. Then we all have to put on our life jackets and make our way to wherever we’re supposed to be.”