The Ship of Brides(47)
Author: Jojo Moyes

Margaret and Frances exchanged a look.

‘And horrid old engineers’ wives?’ said Margaret, drily, but Avice didn’t appear to hear.

‘Oh, I wish I’d got out my dress with the blue flowers,’ she said, to no one in particular, as she eyed her cotton skirt. ‘It’s so much nicer.’

‘You all right?’ said Frances, nodding at Margaret’s belly. Despite her large, floppy sunhat, she seemed ill at ease.

‘Fine,’ said Margaret.

‘Need a drink or anything? It’s quite warm.’

‘No,’ said Margaret, a little impatiently.

‘I don’t mind going to the canteen.’ It was as if Frances was desperate to go.

‘Oh, stop fussing,’ said Avice, straightening her hem. ‘If she wants something, she’ll ask for it.’

‘I’ll speak for myself, thanks. I’m fine,’ said Margaret, turning to Frances. ‘I’m not ill, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I just thought—’

‘Well, don’t. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’ She lowered her head, fighting her ill-temper. Beside her, Frances had gone very still, reminding Margaret uncomfortably of Letty.

‘Hear ye, hear ye,’ said Neptune, lifting his trident so that it glinted in the sun. Slowly the noise subsided to a barely suppressed communal giggle, the odd whisper rippling through the crowd like a breeze across a cornfield. Satisfied that he had the women’s full attention, he lifted a scroll of paper.

‘You ladies now by Britain claim’d

Will find our company is shamed.

And offences grave and numerous here

Old Neptune’s court has come to hear.

Rating, captain, all the same,

Before our sea king’s judgement famed

And all will find their sins are met

With punishment both foul and wet,

Whether failing to share with friends his grog

Or being termed a pollywog,

You’ll hear the charge, and then we’ll see

How Neptune choose to punish thee.’

‘It’s hardly Wordsworth, is it?’ sniffed Avice.

‘Who?’ said Jean.

‘Now our ratings, our tadpoles, pollywogs

Will have to fight like cats and dogs

To save themselves from Neptune’s pack

And earn the right to be “Shellback”.

Captain, chaplain, or humble docker,

They’ve sent too many to Davy Jones’ locker.

So we will decide, O ladies fair,

Just who gets a spell in our dunking chair.’

Eventually, after much catcalling and something that might have qualified as a scuffle, the first ‘tadpole’ was called up: a young rating whose squint was explained by the spectacles borne aloft like a prize behind him. His guilt, apparently, was predicated on it being only his second time of crossing the line – the first had been in wartime, and had not been commemorated. As the women howled their approval, he was first charged with ‘failing to acknowledge the territory of Neptune’, then, as the enforcers held him down, the Royal Dentist filled his mouth with what looked like soapsuds, leaving him gagging and choking. He was then lifted into the chair and, at the lowering of Neptune’s trident, summarily ducked, as the women clapped and cheered.

‘It’s not very dignified, is it?’ said Avice, leaning forward for a better view.

At this point, the Bears moved into the crowd, eyeing the women with theatrical intent. The brides, in turn, shrieked obligingly and clutched each other, vowing loudly and without any intent whatsover, to protect each other. They were melodramatic enough for Margaret to roll her eyes. Beside her, Frances didn’t flinch. But, then, she seemed so little moved by the presence of men that Margaret wondered how she had ever come to be married at all.

One of the Bears stopped in front of them. His chest still wet from some previous assault, green-faced with a string of shells around his neck, he bent low and peered at the women. ‘What sinners and miscreants do we have here, then?’ he said. ‘Which of you is deserving of punishment?’ He was met by a collective shriek as the brides parted like biblical waves around him.

Except Frances. As he paused in front of her, she sat very still and stared back at him, until, realising he would get no sport from her, he turned to Margaret. ‘Aha!’ he cried, advancing towards her. Margaret was about to protest smilingly that there was no way they were putting her in that bloody chair when he swivelled round, like a pantomime villain, to face the delighted audience around him. ‘I see I shall have to find another victim,’ he said, thrusting a hand towards her, ‘for it is Neptune’s law that one must not offend a whale!’

The brides around them fell about. Margaret, who had been about to make some smart retort, found herself tongue-tied. They were all laughing at her. As if her pregnancy made her some kind of joke. ‘Oh, rack off,’ she said crossly. But that only made everyone laugh louder.

She sat there as he prowled off after other game, her eyes filled inexplicably with tears. Frances’s hat was pulled low on her head, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

‘Bloody eejit,’ Margaret muttered, then louder: ‘Bloody eejit.’ As if saying it might make her feel better.

The sun grew fiercer and she could feel her nose and cheeks burning. Several other ratings were brought forward, and similarly charged; some were writhing and swearing, or carried bodily, allegedly having attempted to hide in different parts of the ship. Most laughed.

Margaret envied Frances her hat. She shifted on her crate, one hand raised to her hairline as she watched the entertainment, the staged misfortunes of others gradually forcing aside her own bad mood. ‘You’ve been on ships before. Is it always like this?’ she said to Frances, who was now wearing sunglasses. She couldn’t bear an atmosphere.

Frances forced a smile, and Margaret felt ashamed for having been so sharp with her. ‘I couldn’t tell you,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve always been working.’ Then she was distracted by something off to her right.

‘Who are you nodding at?’

‘That’s our marine,’ Frances said.

‘It is?’ Margaret squinted at the dark-haired man standing a short distance away from them. She hadn’t ever really looked at his face, had been too busy hurrying past him, hunched over her concealed dog. ‘He looks bloody awful. Shouldn’t he be asleep if he’s on watch all night?’

Frances didn’t answer. The marine had spotted them and her eyes were now on her feet.