What’s in a Name?

Press, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22271, 9 December 1937, Page 7 (Supplement)

What’s in a Name?

PART I “All clear aft, Vic!” shouted Tim, his face aglow with suppressed pride and excitement. “Let go for’ard!” With two deft strokes of his mallet, Vic knocked away the chocks, and their newly built craft, Bermudan rigged, 32 feet overall, and with a small auxiliary engine, slid gently down the slipway into the Fraisthorpe Estuary. Having just that afternoon put the finishing touches to her rigging, they could not resist taking the opportunity of launching her on the full spring tide at 8.30 the same evening. It seemed too long to wait till the next morning. Although only built for fishing, and, therefore, more for utility than for looks, her somewhat stocky outline was softened into graceful contours as she lay there under the glimmering moonlight, bobbing slightly on her own backwash. ~ Running down the slipway, they leapt into a short, flat-bottomed punt which was moored to the end of a rough plahk jetty, sculled out into the stream, and clammered aboard, breathless and triumphant. The feeling of this ship, their ship, under them after so many months of hard work and harder saving, set their pulses racing. At the age of ID, Tim Huxford was almost a grown man, tall, suntanned, and wiry; his friend, Victor Cawthen, a little shorter in height, was not quite a year younger. He was nuggetty, agile as a cat, , and was a capable marine engineer. Born and bred to the life of the sea, whose broad bosom and grey depths had supported the labours of their families for generations, they were already expert sailors. And now, with the friendly help of many an old Fraisthorpe fisherman. a scheme which they had cherished for many months was about to be brought into operation. There were very profitable pickings on the North Sea fishing ground which the Grimsby trawlers were too unwieldy to cope with, and which a small easily handled vessel such as theirs could have for the taking: low upkeep—the auxiliary would only be used for working inshore and for getting under way quickly—no crew to pay, and no set hours on duty. They had calculated it all to a nicety. It couldn’t fail. . The only thing that still worried them was the- choice of a name for their vessel. Tim’s eyes glistened. He cast a sailor’s eye aloft where the masthead swung against the stars. “Light southerly,” he muttered, critically. “Couldn’t be better. Vic, what do you say we get out into the- open water and put her through her first trials?” . “What, to-night!” queried Vic, keenly. , . , “Why not? The moon s full and we couldn’t have a better breeze.” Tim leapt to the tiller and grasped it in his strong, brown hands. “Come on; cast off, and give that old engine a kick over.” . With the engine chugging smoothly the boat slowly nosed her way with the outgoing tide towards the mouth of the estuary. Once outside, they would be only a few miles off the grounds of the North Sea fishing fleet, the lights of which they could see evert now twinkling eerily on the eastern horizon. , , . . When they had reached a point about 100 yards from the mouth of

(By J. K Buddie)

the estuary, Vic, oil-smeared frbm his recent contact with the engine, suddenly stood up on the counter. “Look!” he cried, excitedly, and pointed over the starboard bow. Coming out from the shore, and just visible in the moonlight, was a small dinghy with a single occupant. They soon saw it was a man. He stopped sculling every few moments to beckon frantically to them. , , . The boys looked meaningly at each other. They both knew the way of the sea. Sailors do not heedlessly pass any vessel which appears to be in distress. “Stand by to slow down, Vic, commanded Tim, crisply. Wed better see if he’s all right. The ship was originally Tims idea and he was skipper by tacit agreement. Quick thinking in any emergency, he could handle ships and seamen in difficult situations with an ease which was the envy of many an older man.

Vic skipped nimbly below, and immediately the little vessel lost way, the engine idling gently. The channel being rather narrow, their draft would not permit them to head towards the stranger, but he managed a final spurt which brought ' him round under their counter and up alongside on the port hand. By this time they had reached the swirling eddies where the river met the sea. It was a difficult passage, known only to them through long use, and rendered just now more awkward by the outgoing tide banking up in short steep seas against a tricky wind. Faced with this and the darkness, the boys had little time to attend to their would-be visitor. From his position at the tiller Tim called to the man to make his dinghy fast and climb aboard as best he could, and ordered Vic, stationed up for’ard, to keep a sharp lookout for shoals until they were in the open water. “Port a little,” called Vic, a few seconds later, above the swash and splash of the sea. A light patch in the water some yards ahead had revealed the presence of a sandbank. Nothing happened. The vessel moved on towards the shoal.

“Port! Hard-a-port, Tim,” he yelled. As he turned ter see what was the matter the bow swung sharply and the sandbank slid along their starboard beam as they passed by, scarcely two feet away. The reason for Tim’s delay was not far to seek. Their visitor, his ppwerful frame clothed in rough trousers, a. seaman’s sweater and cap, and heavy sea boots, was seated on the cockpit combing, with a steady right hand levelling a revolver at Tim’s head. He rapped a command over his shoulder to Vic: “If we’re out of the shoals, come back, here and sit in the cockpit. And listen, as sure as we’re afloat, if ydp, try any monkey business I’ll plug you both.” Realising that the ship was now out of danger, Vic stumbled aft, utterly bewildered. At last, their first shock over, the lads began to take stock of the situation. , , . The stranger had moved to where he could keep them both covered. Out of a darkly handsome face a pair of cruel, close-

set eyes, quick and piercing, nervously darted hither and thither about the little craft, with ever and anon a fearful glance towards the shore they had just left. Apparently satisfied for the moment, his next order came clear and incisive: “Hoist every foot of sail you've got. We’re going to Bergen!” They gaped at him incredulously. “Are you mad?” said Tim. “That’s Norway! It’ll take us three days at least, and there are easterly gales predicted. There are no stores aboard, no water.” The man cursed. “Do as I tell you,” he rasped viciously, with a threatening jerk, of his revolver. “I’ve provided for that.” He pointed to a seaman’s kit lying in the cockpit. “Hurry. Every moment counts.” Conditions were all in his favour. Except for the trawlers miles to the eastward, no one was handy to give help. This part of the coast, with its shoals, was mostly deserted, especially at night. The breeze remained steady and would give them a broad lead nor'-nor’-east. The boys had no option but to obey, and the little craft was soon under way. ...

Even in their predicament the? could not suppress a thnllol at her performance. She m - easily and gave every evidence being a very seaworthy snip. As the dim outline of the jjji'; receded, the stranger regmnca^,,, composure somewhat “J 5 jjfci apparently, however. no , apparel being merely a a B^, for as the ship heeled t 0 p vo ighv* gust he clutched the rad ner He seemed to be in a Cte I" 5 * situation.

<.To be continued^