A Yacht Called Erewhon (19 page)

T
hat night, we all gathered over dinner to discuss what sort of ceremony
Erewhon
should have at her re-launch. Dad was determined that the occasion wouldn’t pass uncelebrated. He wanted to launch her in the creek at the back of the farm, so we needed a spring tide. The next one was too soon, only a week away, and we still had to anti-foul the hull and do a few other finishing touches. The next spring tide was in a month: the 25th of November.

Mic gasped. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but that was the date of the original launch back in 1929!’

‘By jingoes, you’re right,’ Sam confirmed. ‘I remember it well—flat on my back in hospital with my leg in a sling.’

Dad picked up the calendar. ‘No argument then? Launch day is the 25th.’

Mum looked up. ‘Who’ll be coming, and how are we going to feed them?’

‘Everybody who’s had a hand in the rebuild, including Paint’s iwi. We’ve got a promise to keep,’ Dad replied, ‘so we’ll get in a catering team. They had the Navy band at the original launch, didn’t they?’ he asked, looking at Mic.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Nana says they were wonderful!’

‘I don’t know that we could do the same these days, but I wonder if Matt’s old band could be persuaded to perform?’

‘Dunno, but they’re always looking for funds and an excuse to play,’ he replied.

‘Good. Now, Sam, can you contact all your friends and let us know how many are likely to come?’

Sam nodded.

‘What about TJ and his crew? Do you think I should e-mail them?’ Matt asked.

‘Too right. We need to show them what they’re up against!’ Dad chuckled.

‘How about Looney?’ Mum chipped in.

‘Definitely!’ Dad replied. ‘I’ll get Fatman to get hold of him. In fact, I’d like him to ferry the entourage down-harbour to where we can set the sails.’

Mum turned back to her notepad. ‘Now let me see,’ she said. ‘We’ve got food, booze, music, guests and a clown providing transport. What else are we missing?’

‘What sort of ceremony do we want?’ Dad asked. ‘Some sort of re-christening? What does everybody else think?’

‘A re-christening might be bad luck, and the last thing
Erewhon
needs is any more bad luck,’ Sam said.

‘I take your point,’ Dad replied. ‘So what do we do?’

‘How about a re-dedication?’ said Millie, who had been quietly sipping her brandy. ‘Like a re-dedication when somebody changes church. Something like that.’

‘You mean some sort of holy-roller would come and spout off?’ Dad asked.

‘Not exactly, Jim,’ Millie replied. ‘I think Harry Castleton might know the right words, don’t you, Sam? He’s a retired naval chaplain, and I’m sure he’d be only too happy to help.’

‘Sounds like the man for the job. Can I leave it to you to broach the subject with him, Millie?’ Dad asked.

‘It might cost you a rum or two and a brandy to get him along!’

‘Well, what does he drink—rum or brandy?’

‘He drinks rum, but I drink brandy, and this glass is empty,’ Millie replied holding her glass up to Dad.

The next five weeks were hectic. Stacey Barrett and his team returned to apply the anti-fouling paint. Hepi phoned to say that the mast was ready, and Terry Espie, the mast maker, wanted to know where to deliver it.

The following morning, Dad mentioned to Sam that he was thinking of stepping the mast before the yacht was launched. Sam chuckled. ‘That would be a great idea if you didn’t have to take it out again to get under the Greenhithe Bridge!’ he said, blowing a cloud of smoke from his pipe. ‘Why don’t we get it delivered to the Navy dockyard and step it there? I’ve still got a few connections, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to help.’

Millie phoned her old friend, the Reverend Harry, and he jumped at the chance. He’d heard about the re-emergence of
Erewhon
at the Returned Services Association, and mentioned a ceremony used during the war when ships and launches were commandeered for naval use. ‘I’m sure I could adapt that for this purpose,’ he assured her.

As the weeks trickled by, the checklist shrank, and each day saw the arrival of something new. Hepi spent most of his time as the fetch-and-carry boy in Bertha, and it was an exciting moment when he turned up loaded with sails. Although made with the latest materials, the mainsail weighed half a ton, and the jib was nearly the same. The excitement mounted as each day passed and people involved with the launch came to check on their part in the proceedings.

Hepi and Paint arrived one morning with Bertha loaded with scaffolding to build a stage for the school band. Paint had arranged for the iwi to be at the launch. ‘They’re all coming,’ he informed Dad, ‘and they want to know if they can have some input into the ceremony.’

Dad pulled out his notebook. ‘What have they got in mind, and where would it fit in?’

‘You’ve gone soft, Bollocks—you’re asking our opinion,’ Hepi said, with his usual grin.

‘Soft is right, but I don’t want to provoke any more demons!’

‘We’d like to do a haka and a karakia at the start of proceedings, and then the girls would like to do a waiata and poi dance as
Erewhon
enters the water,’ Paint replied.

‘Don’t have a problem with that.’

On the Wednesday night before launch day, Dad came in through the French doors. Sam and I had already started on our first beers. ‘Well, lad,’ Sam said to Dad, ‘she’s ready.’ He tossed his worn leather notebook on the table.

Dad picked it up and flicked through a few of the tatty pages. Each entry had been neatly crossed out as the task had been completed. Dad reached out and shook Sam’s hand heartily. ‘Well done! We’d never have got it done without you. And
Erewhon
would never have looked half as good!’

Sam allowed himself a smile, and thanked Dad for the opportunity to do the job without interference. Then he looked at me. ‘Thank you, lad, for all your help, and good luck in the future. Just remember one thing. Whenever you pick up a tool, never do a job you wouldn’t be proud to show Jack.’

I reached out and shook the leathery hand. ‘I need to talk to
you about completing my hours to get my Trade Certificate,’ I said, as I sat down.

Sam nodded.

Dad looked hard at Sam. ‘I’ve got another job for you, if you’re interested,’ he said.

Sam nodded. ‘We’ll talk about all this in a day or two,’ he said. ‘Right now, I’m going home.’ He stood up and stepped out through the French doors without another word.

Back at the house, Dad and I talked over our plans for the next three days. The next day we’d move
Erewhon
to the ramp and make her ready for the launch. We’d need to start early on Saturday to be on time for the nine o’clock tide, so everything would have to be ready and in position by Friday night.

Mum came into the room. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to the floor beside where Sam had been sitting. ‘There’s Sam’s pipe and baccy. It’s not like him to forget.’

I picked them up and headed out the door. ‘I’ll just drop them down to him.’

‘Who is it?’ Millie called, when I tapped on the door. She opened the door and appeared surprised to see me.

‘Sam left these up at the house,’ I said, as I handed her the pipe and tin.

She looked startled. ‘Sam’s not here—I thought he was up with you.’

‘No, he left us about half an hour ago. He said he was coming down here.’

Millie’s hand flew up to her mouth.

‘He’s probably stopped off at
Erewhon
,’ I said, leaving her standing at the door.

‘Sam!’ I bellowed, as I neared the hull, but there was no reply. ‘Sam!’ I called again as I went up the ladder and onto the deck. ‘Sam!’ I yelled for the third time, but there was still silence. I peered down the companionway and into the darkened saloon.
‘Sam!’ I called, as I scrambled around looking for the switch for the auxiliary lights.

I heard footsteps coming down the path. ‘Sam, is that you?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s me,’ Dad replied, ‘What’s all the commotion?’

‘Sam’s missing,’ I said, as I found the light switch and flicked it on. I returned to the hatch and peered into the saloon. My worst fears were realised as my eyes adjusted to the light. ‘Dad!’ I bellowed. ‘Get an ambulance. He’s in here and he’s not moving!’

I quickly rolled the old man onto his back and checked for a pulse. Nothing. I threw my head down on his chest and listened. ‘Get an ambulance!’ I screamed again, as Matt and Dad peered into the cabin. I began CPR as Matt threw his cellphone open and dialled the number. Dad dived into the cabin to assist me. We worked furiously on the old man, but there was no response. I pumped and pumped as Dad breathed into his mouth. I pleaded with him to start breathing again, but there wasn’t a sound. Matt appeared in the cabin door to assure us the ambulance was on its way.

‘Get Mum to look after Millie!’ I yelled, sweat now dripping from my face. Dad took over and tried to coax life back into Sam’s still body. I was desperately fighting my emotions as the ambulance pulled up alongside
Erewhon
and the two officers climbed quickly up the ladder. Despite their best efforts, Sam didn’t breathe again, and after a half-hour of CPR and defibrillation, they said he was gone.

I climbed slowly down the ladder. Mic was waiting, and she gave me a wordless hug. Nobody was saying anything: we were all in shock. I wanted to cry out loud, but I remained mute.
Why?
I asked myself.
Why couldn’t Sam at least have seen
Erewhon
back in the water?
It seemed so unfair. I felt cheated. Sam hadn’t stayed around so I could finish my apprenticeship.
Then I felt really guilty for being so selfish. He’d taught me so much in the time we’d worked together, so why did I feel cheated?

As Dad talked to the ambulance officers, I suddenly remembered Millie. I found her sitting at the table in the cottage with Mum pouring her a cup of tea. She looked up as I came though the door. ‘Thank you, Ben,’ she said, ‘for all your effort in trying to save him. Would you like a cup of tea?’

I looked at this remarkable woman. How could she be so calm?

Mum produced another cup, and Millie insisted on pouring. I didn’t argue, and took my cup without a word. Millie stood up and walked over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer. She produced a large envelope and handed it to me. ‘Sam was going to give this to you after the launch, but I think now is probably a more appropriate time.’

Inside it were a Certificate of Completion of Apprenticeship and a letter.

I stared at the citation and Sam’s signature in the lower corner.

I opened the letter.

Dear Ben,

It is with great pleasure and pride that I give you your Apprenticeship Completion Certificate. Although our time together has been short, your skill leaves me in no doubt that you are qualified to take the title of Craftsman Boatbuilder.

Good luck, lad.

Sam

P.S. Remember the golden rule: Jack is always watching!

I looked at Millie as I tucked the letter back in the envelope. She smiled. ‘He knew he was going to die, didn’t he?’ I asked.

‘Sam’s been on borrowed time for years, Ben. He’s been in pain from sand in the stomach, a legacy of years in the desert during the war, after Crete.’

‘But he never said anything.’

‘No, he never complained, but before he started
Erewhon
the doctor had given him a matter of months to live.’

‘Why did you let him take on the job?’

‘I couldn’t have stopped him even if I’d wanted to—he loved
Erewhon
so much. I’m so grateful to your Dad and
Erewhon.
They gave me another two years with him. I know he would have been dead long ago if he hadn’t had her to focus on.’

As I looked at Millie, I could see her immense love for a man whose life was now complete. ‘You seemed to know that Sam was gone when I brought the pipe down here,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ Millie agreed. ‘Sam told me he’d give up smoking the wretched thing when he went to heaven, and I’m sure St Peter has the gates open right now.’

Mum came into the kitchen through the French doors. ‘She’s sleeping. The doctor gave her a sedative, and she went off to bed. I tried to get her to come up here for the night, but she wouldn’t. I’ll check on her first thing in the morning.’

Dad went to the drinks cabinet and withdrew an unopened bottle of Scotch. Without asking, he twisted the top off, poured four drinks, and handed one each to Mum, Matt and me. ‘I think we all need a serious drink,’ he said.

We were sitting looking at our glasses when Mic breezed into the room. ‘Why all the glum faces?’

I looked at her in astonishment: how could she be so flippant at a time like this? Dad poured her a drink.

‘Must be serious if we’re drinking hard liquor,’ she continued. ‘Now come on, you lot, I know Sam has gone, but don’t be sad. I’m sure he’s very happy with the way things ended.’

She took a gulp of her Scotch and thumped the empty glass on the table. ‘I’d forgotten how much kick that stuff has. I haven’t tasted whisky like that since Mary MacCarthy and I sneaked into Dad’s cabinet when we were children. I was grounded for a month. I’ll have another!’

We all looked at each other and started laughing.

I banged my glass down on the table. ‘I’ll have another!’ I said. Mum and Matt followed suit, and we all downed another shot.

‘Can you talk to Sam, then?’ I asked.

‘He told Nana to tell us not to sit around moping. There’s no time to waste.
Erewhon
has to catch the tide at 09:00 on Saturday.’

Dad poured the third round. ‘We’d better make this the last. We don’t want to let Sam down and miss the tide.’

Anaesthetised by the Scotch, we all fell asleep quickly, only to be woken by Hepi and Bertha roaring up the drive. The news of Sam’s death hadn’t yet reached the outside world, and Hepi came bounding through the French doors, looking for breakfast. Mum had been up since dawn and followed him through the doors. She’d been checking on Millie, and quickly filled Hepi in.

‘Jeez, Bollocks,’ he said, ‘that bloody boat still has a hoodoo!’

Dad just looked at his friend. ‘I’m hoping last night was the end of it. Everybody connected with the building of
Erewhon
has now passed on. Sam was the last link, and by all accounts she extended his life by a couple of years, so I’m looking for a positive from all of this.’