A Yacht Called Erewhon (20 page)

‘Hope you’re right, Bollocks. Suppose you’ll be putting off the launch then?’

‘No, everything is still go, as long as Millie is happy.’

‘She is,’ Mum chimed in. ‘She feels we’d be letting Sam down if it didn’t go ahead.’

‘Great!’ Dad continued. ‘We owe it to the old guy to get his lady floating. What say we talk to Millie about combining his funeral with the launch? Most of his old mates are coming on Saturday, and I’m sure Millie will want her old reverend friend to do Sam’s service. Let’s check.’

Tears welled up in Millie’s eyes when Mum and Dad put forward the idea. She knew Sam would have liked it, but she was concerned about the timing.

‘Don’t worry,’ Mum reassured her. ‘Leave the planning to us.’

Millie couldn’t hold back the tears.

‘Well, if you don’t mind,’ Dad said, as he stood up, ‘I’ll have to get on with proceedings. Sorry I have to rush, Millie, but if we’re going to do this for Sam, we must get under way. I’ve been meaning to ask you for weeks. Would you do the honours with the champagne at the launch ceremony?’

The smile came back to her face. ‘Of course, Jim. I would be very proud, and I know Sam would be too.’

Hepi and I were standing beside
Erewhon
as Dad came racing down the path. ‘Right, you lot!’ he called. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got a yacht to launch and a funeral to organise. Where are the wheels for the cradle?’

‘They’re in the barn. I’ll get them,’ I called, as I headed to the door.

Inside the now empty, dark cavern, I stumbled over to the switchboard to turn on the lights. I flicked the switch and turned to where the wheels were stored. ‘Jeez!’ I called, as my eyes focused in the dull light. ‘Come and have a look at this!’

‘What’s all the racket?’ Hepi yelled, as he came through the door with Dad on his heels.

There, in the corner of the barn, set up on two saw-horses, was a narrow clinker dinghy. All three of us circled the small craft. The detail was magnificent. ‘I’d forgotten this was here. I could turn that into a casket for Sam.’

‘Where did this come from?’ Dad asked.

‘This was the one Sam was doing up when we first met him. He brought it with him when he moved here. He was going to finish it after he completed
Erewhon
, but he never got around to it.’

‘Sam didn’t build it for himself, did he?’

‘No,’ I replied, ‘someone gave it to him. He never told me who, but I think this might be a clue.’ I pointed to a small Maltese cross just above the waterline.

‘You’re kidding!’ Dad replied. He went to fetch Millie, and showed her the dinghy. ‘Ben wants to make a casket for Sam out of this,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

Millie stood in silence for a few moments. ‘Sam would love to be laid to rest in that,’ she whispered finally. ‘You don’t think the funeral director will mind?’

‘He won’t get a choice,’ Dad replied, emphatically.

‘Leave those details to us, Millie,’ Mum continued, ‘and you can get on with the other preparations.’

‘Jim, would it be possible for Sam’s casket to be left open in here for his friends on Friday night?’

‘What, here in the barn?’ Dad looked around. ‘We’d have to clean it up.’

‘No!’ Millie replied. ‘I don’t want it cleaned up. Sam loved the smell of the chips and shavings, and I want him to enjoy it one last time.’

I found the wheels and jack in the corner of the barn, and Hepi and I set about fitting them to the cradle. Paint arrived to help, and in no time
Erewhon
was moving.

As we neared the ramp, she was turned end for end, and by mid-afternoon she was placed above the high-water mark. We positioned Aggie as the winch, and her cable was all that was restraining
Erewhon
’s beautiful hull from gliding into the river.

I set about modifying the dinghy, and late in the evening the barn door swung open. Paint stepped in and handed me a parcel wrapped in newspaper. ‘Thought you might like this,’ he grunted.

Inside was a highly polished brass plaque. It was beautifully etched with Maori motifs, and across the centre were two crossed oars, with
Sam Baverstock, Master Boatbuilder
engraved underneath.

I turned to say thank you to Paint, but he had gone. I walked over to the dinghy and screwed it onto the lid.

When the iwi arrived and camped in the field beside the barn, the farm took on a carnival atmosphere, which seemed a little inappropriate bearing in mind it was Sam’s funeral as well as the launch, but Millie was happy. ‘He would have loved this, and I know his friends and relatives will be happy to see him still being part of it all. I can’t think of a better send-off for my Sam.’

Sam’s body arrived late in the afternoon, and we placed the dinghy on his old saw-horses in the middle of the barn. A small procession of friends, workmates and family came to see him. He lay peacefully in the dinghy as the mourners passed by, crunching wood shavings under their feet. Millie came in,
supported by Mum and Mic, and Dad, Matt and I followed, as the iwi performed a karanga o te ra as their tribute to Sam.

By nine o’clock, we had bid the small procession of mourners farewell. The iwi had a large fire roaring, which they sat around, singing. As we passed, they called out to us to join them, so we sat down and were handed a drink. We sang into the night with songs that seemed to pay tribute to Sam and his life. At one point, one of the elders made a speech to Dad, expressing his delight that the iwi were to be involved with the re-launch of what he called
Waka Erewhon.

It was well past midnight when Mum walked Millie back to the cottage and the rest of us wandered up to the house. We’d intended to have an early night, but we were all enjoying the campfire sing-along so much that we hadn’t noticed time gliding by.

The next morning, I woke as the sun streamed into my room, and despite my late night I felt unusually refreshed. Mum had organised
Erewhon
uniforms, and I found mine on the chair in the corner of the room. I showered, slipped on the new gear, and headed down to the kitchen to find everyone except Mic already eating breakfast. Millie had walked up from the cottage, very proud of her new clothing. ‘I hope Sam won’t mind me wearing pants to his funeral,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry, Millie,’ Mum said. ‘You look wonderful!’

Dad was about to speak but stopped, gazing at the doorway behind me. I turned to see Mic, dressed in traditional kakahu and piupiu, with a superb korowai wrapped around her shoulders, just as Mercedes had done the day
Erewhon
was launched. Around her neck, she wore a gleaming carved pounamu tiki.

‘Right,’ said Dad. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

Erewhon
stood majestically at the water’s edge, adorned in flags, looking every bit the star. The iwi were up and busy, with
their barbecues roaring, and sausages, bacon and eggs flowing from the grills. Paint was already dressed in his ceremonial costume.

‘Plenty of grub if ya want a bite,’ he called, as we neared the camp.

Matt and I must have looked hungry, because without another word he thrust a plate laden with food into our hands. Some of the group had already finished breakfast, and the boys were practising their routines with their taiaha while the girls adjusted each others’ costumes and warmed up their poi.

The air of anticipation grew as every minute passed, and the crowd started to swell. The school band arrived, and the boys who weren’t tuning their instruments or setting up the stage gravitated towards the smell of bacon and eggs. Paint and his team were soon trying to fill them up. The boys were wary of Paint at first, but soon relaxed when Hepi told them he’d already eaten that morning.

Hepi and I set up an awning near
Erewhon
’s bow, and when Harry Castleton arrived we moved Sam from the barn down to the water’s edge. Millie asked Dad, Matt, Hepi and me to be pallbearers, and two of Sam’s old mates from the RSA took up the other places as we carried Sam out to the awning.

‘Never thought I’d see this pile of fuckin’ firewood float. She looks great!’ The voice was unmistakable as we turned to see Looney walking up the ramp.

‘Morning, Looney!’ we all chorused, as the scruffy figure approached with his hand outstretched. I hadn’t noticed the barge nosed into the bank on the other side of
Erewhon.

‘Glad you could make it,’ Dad welcomed him. ‘Has Hepi told you what’s happening?’

‘Yep, I’m goin’ to be a fuckin’ ferry for the day. Sorry to hear about old Sam Baverstock, by the way. Fuckin’ good joker! You picked a nice day for it.’

Dad nodded. ‘Thanks, Looney.’

People continued to arrive, and the band settled in. A cab wheeled around in front of the barn, and as the door swung open a pair of Texan boots hit the ground, followed by two well-tanned pairs of legs in strappy high heels. ‘Hear there’s a launch going on around here today!’

Matt and I rushed over to hug the girls, and Dad greeted TJ with his usual solid handshake. ‘Glad you could make it,’ he said, as they both turned around to look at
Erewhon.
‘What do you think?’

TJ ran his expert eyes over the yacht, nodding his approval as he walked. ‘What, no Kiwi skirt around this one!’ he said, with a chuckle.

‘No!’ replied Dad. ‘What you see is what you get.’

TJ laughed. ‘I must say, she has an interesting underwater concept. How much did you change her from the original design?’

Dad smiled. ‘Anything you see that’s wood is original design. The keel has been lightened because of the lighter mast.’

‘But that rudder set-up’s not original?’

‘Yes, it’s the original rudder,’ a voice chipped in from behind them.

‘Well, hello!’ TJ said, as he eyed Mic’s costume. ‘You look absolutely wonderful!’ He reached out and enveloped her with a giant hug and kiss.

Mic hugged him back. ‘Thank you for coming. It’s so nice to see you again!’

‘I don’t know which is more beautiful, you or
Erewhon
,’ TJ continued, and then caught himself when he realised what he’d just said.

‘
Erewhon
really does look the most beautiful. It’s her day,’ Mic replied, helping TJ out.

TJ quickly returned to his question about
Erewhon
’s
underwater sections. ‘You know, this would be the only J I know of that doesn’t have the rudder swinging on the rear of the keel. She’s very innovative for her time. I bet she can turn on a dime.’

Mum, Mic and Millie walked slowly down the path, went around the end of the barn, and headed towards the water’s edge, where Sam’s coffin rested under the awning.

The band struck up as they took the last few paces. Harry stepped forward to escort Millie to her seat, then stepped up to the microphone and welcomed everyone, pointing out that he’d known Sam since the Second World War and Millie for just about as long. He reminded those present that Sam wouldn’t have wanted this to be a sad occasion, and said he couldn’t think of a more fitting way to celebrate Sam’s life. He continued, ‘Sam would have been very unhappy with me if we’d missed the tide for the launch of this most magnificent vessel, so with Millie’s permission I would like to start with the re-dedication of
Erewhon
.’ Millie nodded, and Harry signalled to Hepi, who nodded to Paint.

Without a word, the men of the iwi rose in full costume and performed a wero. Paint’s intensity was absolutely frightening, and Dad hesitantly stepped forward and picked up the green branch. In full flight and with his full body tattoo, Paint was a magnificent sight.

The guests were buzzing as Dad stepped up to the microphone and welcomed everyone to the farm. He gave a brief history of the yacht and our family’s involvement with her. He then talked about Sam’s involvement with the yacht, right from its original inception to the day he turned up unexpectedly at the barn and took over the restoration.
Dad outlined his hopes for
Erewhon
and his desire to finish unfinished business by racing
Shamrock V.

As he sat down, Hepi nodded to Paint again, and the women of the iwi came up to stand by
Erewhon
’s bow, where they sang a haunting waiata and performed an action song with poi. Their voices drifted out across the water, and a strange echo gave the impression that there was another group standing on the far bank, joining in.

Harry delivered a short prayer, followed by a sermon on man’s desire to put to sea, setting the mood for the day in a most unexpected way. The crowd, obviously affected by what he had said, sat in silence as he blessed
Erewhon,
and on his nod Chalky, the bandmaster, had the trumpeter play reveille.

Hepi signalled to Dad, who in turn stepped over and offered his hand to Millie, as he beckoned her towards the rostrum by
Erewhon
’s bow. Millie picked up the champagne bottle in her right hand and cried at the top of her voice, ‘I re-dedicate this waka
Erewhon
! May all who sail on her do so in safety. And may God bless her!’

The crowd roared as the bottle smashed into the brass anchor-warp guide and sprayed the foaming liquid all over the gleaming varnish. Hepi stepped up to Aggie and hit the start button as the band struck up. Aggie roared into life, and Hepi engaged the winch and took the strain, as Matt and I removed the blocks from behind the wheels.

Paint stepped forward with his mere in his hand and, standing between Aggie and
Erewhon
, led the iwi in a haka, as Hepi eased the brake on the winch drum and
Erewhon
inched down the ramp. The rear wheels of the cradle disappeared, and then the new keel tasted cool salt water for the first time. Slowly, Hepi eased the cable out, and the keel and rudder slipped from sight.

The band seemed to increase their volume, and the crowd
got louder. My heart took a leap when I saw bubbles breaking the surface, but I relaxed when I realised it was only air escaping from the cradle tubing.

I turned and looked at Millie, Mic and Mum. All three were standing at the top of the ramp, smiling and crying. Dad was up on the bank, silently watching proceedings, waiting for the hull to lift free. Looney had moved his barge in against the piles on the far side and lowered the bow-ramp onto the bank. The crowd surged on board as the water now lapped at the hull.