The Ship of Brides(32)
Author: Jojo Moyes

His tone became conciliatory: ‘I know this is difficult for you, but try to look at it from the girls’ point of view. Some of them haven’t seen their men for two years or more. The war’s over, and they’re desperate to be reunited.’ He noted the rigid set of the other man’s jaw. ‘Put yourself in their shoes, George. They just want to get home to their loved ones as fast and with as little fuss as possible. You must understand how that feels.’

‘It’s a recipe for disaster, women on board.’ The strength of Highfield’s feelings hardened his voice and several men nearby stopped work to watch. ‘I won’t have it! I won’t have this ship disrupted by women. They must understand. They must see.’

The admiral’s voice was soothing, but it had taken on the impersonal bite of someone losing their patience. ‘There’s no babies or children travelling. They’ve picked this lot very carefully. Just fit young women – well, possibly a few in the family way.’

‘But what about the men?’

‘No men. Oh, there might be the odd extra, but we won’t know about that until a few days before boarding. Haven’t had the final short cast on this one yet.’ The admiral paused. ‘Oh, you mean yours. Well, they’ll be on different decks. The liftwells – with the cabins – will be closed off. There’s a few – the, er, ones in the family way – in single cabins. Your men’s work will continue as normal. And we’re putting in all sorts of safeguards to stop any improper mixing – you know the sort of thing.’

Captain Highfield turned to his superior. The urgency of his position had stripped his face of its habitual impassiveness: his whole self was desperate to convey how wrong this was and how impossible. ‘Look, sir, some of my men have been without – without female company for months. This is like sticking a match in a box of fireworks. Did you not hear about the incidents on Audacious? We all know what happened, for God’s sake.’

‘I think we’ve all learnt lessons from Audacious.’

‘It’s impossible, sir. It’s dangerous and ridiculous and it stands to destabilise the whole atmosphere on the ship. You know how fragile these things are.’

‘It’s really not negotiable, Highfield.’

‘We’ve worked for months to get the balance right. You know what my men have been through. You can’t just drop a load of girls in there and think—’

‘They’ll be under strict orders. The Navy is to issue guidelines—’

‘What do women know of orders? Where there’s men and women in close quarters, there’s going to be trouble.’

‘These are married women, Highfield.’ The admiral’s voice was sharp now. ‘They’re going home to be with their husbands. That’s the whole point.’

‘Well, with respect, sir, that shows just how much you understand about human nature.’

His words hung in the air, shocking both men. Captain Highfield took a quivering breath. ‘Permission to be dismissed. Sir.’ He hardly waited for the nod. For the first time in his naval career, Captain Highfield turned on his heel and walked in anger from his superior.

The admiral stood and watched him travel the length of the hangar and disappear into the bowels of his ship, like a rabbit finding safety in its warren. In some cases such disrespect could prompt the end of a man’s career. But, grumpy old stick that Highfield was, McManus had a lot of respect for him. He didn’t want him to end his working life in ignominy. Besides, the admiral mused, as he nodded to the young ratings to carry on, much as he loved his wife and daughters, if he was truthful, and if it were his ship, he would probably have felt the same.

8

The brides had lectures and demonstrations during the voyage to help them with the shopping and cooking problems of rationing. Their diet on the later stages of the trip was slightly pruned so that the effect of the change to rationed food would not be too severe.

Daily Mirror, 7 August 1946

Five days

With a change of mood as abrupt and capricious as those of the brides on board, the sea conditions altered dramatically outside the stretch of water known as Sydney Heads. The Great Australian Bight, the men said, with a mixture of glee and foreboding, would sort out the sailors among them.

It was as if, having lulled them into a false sense of security, the fates had now decided to demonstrate their vulnerability, the unpredictability of their future. The cheerful blue sea darkened, muddied and swelled into threatening peaks. The winds, born as whispered breezes, grew to stiff gusts, then amplified to gale force, spitting rain on the men who, smothered with oilcloth, attempted repeatedly to secure the planes more firmly to the decks. Beneath them, the ship bucked and rolled her way through the waves, groaning with the effort.

It was at this point that the passengers, who had spent the previous days meandering round the decks like a restless swarm, retired, at first one by one, then in greater numbers, to their bunks. Those remaining on their feet made their way unsteadily along the passageways, legs braced, leaning whey-faced against the walls. Lectures were cancelled, as was the planned lifeboat drill when the ship’s company realised that too few women could stand to make it worthwhile. The women’s service officers still able to walk did their best to distribute anti-nausea pills.

The pounding of the seas, the periodic sounding of the ship’s horn and the incessant clanging of the chains and aeroplanes above them made sleep impossible. Avice and Jean (it would be Jean, wouldn’t it?) were lying on their bunks locked into their private worlds of nauseous misery. At least, Avice’s world had been private: she thought she knew Jean’s every symptom – how her stomach felt like it had curdled, how even a piece of dry bread had led her to disgrace herself outside the flight-deck canteen, how that horrible stoker who kept following them along by the laundry had eaten a cheese and Vegemite sandwich right in front of her, just to make her go even more green. It had all been hanging out of his mouth and—

‘Yes, yes, Jean. I get the picture,’ Avice had said, and blocked her ears.

‘You not coming for some tea, then?’ said Margaret, standing in the doorway. ‘It’s potted steak.’ The dog was asleep on her bed, apparently unaffected by the rough weather.

Jean was turned to the wall. Her reply, perhaps fortuitously, was unintelligible.

‘Come on, then, Frances,’ said Margaret. ‘I guess it’s just you and me.’