Jack's Island (6 page)

The sheets of corrugated iron lay scattered and rusting around the wooden framework of the derelict house.

‘We need a bit without any nail holes,' said Banjo.

We poked a stick under the end of each one and flipped the metal sheets, ready to jump back from any lurking snakes warming themselves under the tin. I hate snakes. Luckily, we hadn't seen anything deadly so far except a few spiders and centipedes.

‘And one that's not all rusted through,' I said, as one sheet broke apart. Eventually we selected the perfect piece with only a few holes and not too much rust.

Making a canoe was easy. We'd made loads before, except they were never very stable and always tipped over and sank, but this time, this time ... We'd seen a Tahitian-style canoe with an outrigger in
Mutiny on the Bounty
with Clark Gable. An outrigger looked like the perfect solution.

We bent both ends of the iron together either side of a bit of narrow timber. Then we banged the corrugations down flat and nailed them to form a sharp wedge at each end. All we needed now was some tar to patch the holes and seal the gaps around the wood.

‘Where are we going to get the tar? It's too cold this time of the year,' I said. In summer we'd just wait until it got hot enough and dig the melted tar out of the edge of the road.

Banjo thought for a moment. ‘At the aerodrome, of course. They're bound to have barrels of it. Barrels and barrels.'

‘But it's out of bounds. There's a huge fence and barbed wire and guards...' But I knew where this was leading.

‘Jones, you'd have to be the biggest chicken in the world.'

‘If we sneak in there at night the guards'll think we're Japs and shoot us,' I protested.

‘It's Saturday. There won't be any guards. Everyone finishes at lunchtime. They'll be at the barracks getting ready for the pictures tonight.
The First of the Few,
with Lesley Howard. Spitfires and all. Remember?'

Of course I remembered. I couldn't wait to see it.

We could ask our fathers to get us some tar, but we'd have to say what we wanted it for and we were absolutely and completely banned from making tin canoes. It looked like the only choice was chancing certain death to get some.

The fence around the aerodrome ended at the edge of Government House Lake so all we needed to do was creep through the reeds, swim across the lake, sneak up the hill, find some tar and swim back across the lake. It should take no time at all. The lake was only a few hundred yards wide.

‘The water'll be cold, Banjo,' I said, taking off my shirt and shorts and hanging them over a bush. ‘What we need is a canoe.'

Banjo looked back at me and rolled his eyes. ‘It's not that bad,' he said, as he entered the water and it quickly rose up to his waist. I knew he was lying through his teeth.

A flock of ducks scattered from the reeds not far away as I followed Banjo in. Not that bad? The cold stung like six of Palmer's best. The water wasn't deep so we could wade most of the way across. We'd only have to swim in the middle bit and because the lake was so salty there wasn't any danger of us sinking.

Shivering, our teeth chattering and our bodies turning blue, we suffered for every single yard until we reached the other side. We scrambled across the small rock-strewn beach and crawled up the low sandhills. Sand stuck to our frozen bodies and filled our hair. The cuts on my knees stung like buggery from the saltwater.

‘What'd I tell you? There's no-one about,' whispered Banjo as we reached the nearest hut. From behind it we couldn't see across to the gate and the guard post, which meant the guard on duty couldn't see us either.

‘What if we get caught?' I said, imagining the public execution we'd face. A full firing squad against the bakery wall, most like. Not to mention the wrath of my mum. That would be far, far worse than any firing squad.

‘We won't get caught. And look,' he said excitedly.

Sure enough, straight across the small street formed by the huts, row after row of black forty-four gallon drums stood, lined up like soldiers on parade. There must've been hundreds of them.

‘You should learn to trust me,' Banjo said.

‘We still have to get across there,' I complained again, ‘without being seen. Without getting shot.'

Then I heard the familiar sound I knew from when Dad and I used to go rabbit shooting in the old days. The double click of a gun bolt being worked. I froze.

‘Halt! Who goes there? Step forward and be recognised!' shouted a voice from behind us.

‘Don't shoot,' I cried. ‘It's me, Jack Jones and Banjo.' We both immediately put our hands in the air like robbers captured by the Durango Kid.

‘What in the hell are you two doing, for crikey's sake? And stark-bollocking naked!' We slowly turned around to face Corporal Bennett, and a big ugly brute he was too. He and about half a dozen other soldiers stood in a sort of half-circle, all with their .303 Lee Enfield rifles pointed straight at us.

‘We damn near shot you both, swimming across the lake like that. We thought you were Nip saboteurs. What were you thinking of? You know we've been on full alert. Surely you two, of all people...'

‘Leave off, corp. Can't you see they're freezing to death?' said Private Gibson, the soldier at the end.

We stood there shaking like leaves in a storm, our teeth chattering uncontrollably, but in my case it wasn't from cold. It was sheer terror. All I could see were the barrels aimed straight at me.

Private Gibson took off his khaki tunic and handed to me. ‘We can see the water's been a touch cool,' he laughed. ‘Put this on.'

Corporal Bennett handed his tunic to Banjo. ‘Tell me truthfully now, what are you doing here?' he asked again.

I pulled the large itchy khaki tunic closer round me. ‘We wanted to get some tar. For our canoe. To stop it leaking.' It sounded pretty lame, even to me.

‘Well, why didn't you say so?' Corporal Bennett laughed. He nodded towards the drums. ‘Private Mann, fetch that can. The one on the ground there. We can't have our heroes in a leaky canoe. Why don't you just go sailing in your dad's dingy, eh, Banjo?'

Banjo shrugged. ‘Because canoes are more fun, I suppose. And besides, we're banned from going near Dad's boat.'

Corporal Bennett laughed again, ‘When has that ever stopped you two from doing anything?'

Private Mann collected a black, encrusted watering can full of hardened tar and handed it to me.

The corporal cleared his throat. ‘Now get back to wherever you've hidden your clothes and don't ever let me catch you in a restricted area again. And that includes that place above the army jetty where you both like to hide. Understand? Do I make myself clear?'

We both nodded.

‘Now scram. And I'll make sure none of the officers hear about this or you'll really be in strife.'

We handed back the tunics and walked though the gate and along the road, still naked, the soldiers laughing and making jokes about us. It was embarrassing but at least we had a whole watering can full of solid tar. All we needed now was a good hot fire to melt it and hopefully thaw ourselves out at the same time. That was providing we managed to reach where we'd left our clothes in the cold wind without freezing solid and our privates disappearing forever.

‘I reckon it's the best canoe we've ever built,' I said as we carried it to the water's edge. Sand scraped the bottom as we set it down in the shallows, but the tar sealing the ends looked pretty watertight. The flag we'd made, with a skull and crossbones drawn in charcoal on an old tea towel, hung off a bamboo mast.

We pushed the canoe over the small waves breaking against the shore and scrambled in. The bamboo poles we'd lashed across the top like outriggers and the two kerosene drums tied on either side with binder twine held firm, the drums bobbing up and down in the swell.

‘Stroke! Stroke!' yelled Banjo, like he was a scull captain in the head of the river.

‘Go stroke yourself,' I yelled, but we paddled like fury with two old floorboards. Within minutes we were beyond the small breakers and out into the channel.

We should've noticed the weather. Clouds like huge black bruises rolled up from the horizon and as we cleared the headland the strongest north-west gale I'd ever seen whipped over us. It happened in almost an instant. One moment the water was calm and the next we were soaked and the wind was blowing so hard we could hardly hear each other.

‘We'd better head back,' I cried above the roar. Banjo nodded. We'd be swamped any second if we stayed in this.

‘Paddle harder,' yelled Banjo. ‘We're not getting anywhere.'

Instead of getting closer to shore we were being blown along the coast, parallel with the settlement but further out to sea. Saltwater splashed over us and dripped from our eyelashes, stinging our eyes. The cold wind whistled round our ears.

‘Banjo! In the water,' I yelled. With the overcast sky there were no reflections and we could see straight to the bottom. A huge dark shape loomed directly under us. ‘A shark!'

‘No, it's a dolphin. I saw some out here yesterday,' he said, hopefully.

‘There is no way that's a dolphin,' I cried. I pulled in my paddle and gripped the sides of the canoe tightly.

More and more water sloshed into the bottom of the canoe and huge drops of rain began to fall. We'd sink before much longer or be capsized by the increasingly furious waves. And it was growing dark. Soon no-one on the island would even see us out here.

‘Keep paddling, Jack. You've got to keep going. We've got no choice. We paddle or we die.'

Someone must have seen us. In the distance by the jetty the lights on the
Valkyrie
suddenly lit up. Several men ran down the jetty towards the boat and then puffs of thick black smoke blew out from the chimney. They'd started the engine.

I pointed to the shore. ‘Look, Banjo, the ferry's coming out. Where's the shark? Where'd it go? I can't see it.'

‘I can't see it either. Keep aiming for the shore.'

Above us our flag whipped in the wind and the bamboo pole twisted and bent like a longbow.

The
Valkyrie
grew closer, its bow rising up with the waves and crashing back into the troughs. It didn't seem to be moving. I could see the men on the foredeck shouting but their voices were carried away by the wind. And back at the island, barely visible through the driving rain, I could just make out a single figure on the beach. I knew it was my father standing there, alone, looking out to sea. The rain cleared for a second and I saw he had a pair of field glasses trained on us. I raised my hand to wave and instantly he did the same. And in that second, somehow, I knew we would be all right.

It felt like hours but the
Valkyrie
finally came close. Little Eric stood on the bow, gripping the rail with both hands. He was drenched to the bone and trying to wipe the rain from his face. The bow still bucked and heaved and waves crashed over him but he didn't move. As the boat drew closer he stripped off his shirt. He had a rope tied round his waist. He was about to dive in.

‘No!'
I screamed, pointing at the water. ‘Shark! We've seen a shark!'

He heard me, thank God. He paused and shouted something back towards his father in the steering house. Red Eric immediately spun the wheel and the
Valkyrie
pulled even closer. I thought we'd be swamped or smashed under its crashing bow as it swung wildly on the waves.

Little Eric looked down at the water again, grabbed another line, put it between his teeth, and without hesitating dived in. He disappeared in the spray and foam. I couldn't believe he'd dived in. He'd be eaten for sure. He swam straight to us, overarm, faster than Johnny Weissmuller in
Tarzan
ever did, and pulled himself onto the outrigger.

‘You two sure get into some scrapes,' he panted as he pushed his hair from his forehead. ‘Grab this rope and tie it round your waist, Jack. You too, Banjo. Quick as you can now.'

On the bow of the
Valkyrie
four men gripped the ropes, ready to pull us through the green water.

I quickly tied half a dozen granny knots round my waist and got ready to leap into the sea. But not that ready. Where'd the shark gone? How could we jump into the water after we'd just seen a shark?

‘But the shark...' I said to Little Eric.

‘Don't worry about that. We'll have you onto the
Valkyrie
before he knows you're missing. Over you go.' He stayed calm even though he must've known that at any second his legs could be bitten right off.

With a sudden dip, the canoe sank even deeper in the water. We had no choice.

‘Go! Now!' shouted Little Eric. Banjo and I leapt at the same time, and jeez, did I do an impression of Jesus. I hit the water and just about bounced straight out again onto the deck of the ferry. Constable Campbell hauled me aboard, the rope round my waist cutting into me and scraping my skin.

He pushed back the hood on his oilskin. ‘Welcome aboard, Captain Kidd,' he said with a hollow laugh. ‘The artillery plotters up at the Kingston guns saw your flag. Lucky for you, eh?'

He quickly turned to help haul Banjo and Little Eric on board. ‘Well done, Eric.' Little Eric didn't reply. He lay face down on the deck, puffing, unable to get his breath.

Mr Merson, Bess's dad, came out from the cabin with grey army blankets and wrapped them round our shoulders. ‘You three could use some tea, I bet.'

I didn't like tea too much but after a mug full my arms and legs stopped shivering slightly. The warm liquid burning my throat felt wonderful.

‘We'll be a while getting back,' shouted Captain Jansen from the wheelhouse door. ‘Need to keep well clear of the reef in this sort of sea.' He turned the wheel to run parallel with the shore for a while. The wind roared across the deck.

Banjo and I sat against the wheelhouse wall trying to keep upright as the ferry jumped and crashed down with each wave. A shudder ran the length of the old boat with each sudden dip. I pulled my blanket tighter round me and looked out at the dark sea and driving rain. The drops sounded like machine gun bullets pelting against the canvas awnings. We weren't out of danger yet. The old ferry might still be dashed on the reef or shudder itself to bits in the huge waves.

‘Jack?' Banjo nudged my arm. ‘Look over there. There's a light. Like a fire. In the cave near the beach. Way over there. See, below the point?'

‘How can you see anything in this?'

‘Look!' he commanded. ‘Do you reckon it's the Jap whose helmet we found? Who else'd be camping there under the cliffs? Maybe he got left behind.'

I tried peering through the spray and the rain, but to me the shore stayed almost invisible.

Eventually the roaring of the gale eased as the ferry crossed behind the headland of Bathurst Point and chugged into the bay. The rain still pelted down but the jetty grew closer. One man stood on the end waiting for us. I knew who it was.

Christian edged his way out onto the deck and threw over the mooring line. ‘Take this, Rob. Second bollard,' he yelled as the coiled rope with a large loop on the end fell straight at my father's feet.