SOS Lusitania (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

T
HE
L
USITANIA

P
ark Terrace is a long, level street that leads towards our school and beyond to the Corporation Park. I sauntered to the corner and turned down a sloping street, glimpsing the harbour with its two islands and the shining ocean. Out there on the water was the
Lusitania
, with its decks, black hulls and the four towering funnels like pillars. Could this be the ship in my dream? I couldn’t be sure. How many ships are there in the world? Then the sky darkened and rain lashed the ground. I put my jacket over my head and started to run.

I checked to see that the shopping list was still in my pocket. I was really looking forward to seeing Dad after so many months. I hurried past the cathedral, lofty above the town and the harbour. The spire had a clock like a big eye looking down
at me, a big, watery eye! I raced down the steep hills to the quayside. From down here the
Lusitania
was towering higher, like a giant mountain moored near the biggest island in the bay, Haulbowline. I’d seen the crane at Haulbowline drag a ship out of the water for repairs or for getting a fresh coat of paint after the ravages of the sea.

Suddenly the
Lusitania
gave out a whistle that stopped me in my tracks. It was a loud, low sound, like a sea monster howling in the night. How could anything awful happen to this great ocean liner? My Dad would not let anything destroy the
Lusitania
. Better find him and show him the shopping list.

The quays were busy. There were people everywhere – people who had just arrived, others preparing to leave in a day or two. The huge ship out there in the harbour made everyone stop and stare. I was excited as I slithered past families with mountains of luggage, even children carrying big bundles. These people stayed in the boarding houses along the seafront before travelling to America and England over the waves and far away. The rich people would stay in the hotels.

The Cunard Office in Westbourne Place was painted blue and red. It was really swanky inside, with flags hanging from the ceiling like bunting. Two lines of people stretched from the counters right to the back wall: passengers waiting to talk
about their bookings and collecting their tickets to America; and workers from the
Lusitania
in the second line, chatting and pointing to documents and charts they held in their hands. All I needed to know was how to find Dad. I decided to queue with the people in uniform, and there were very few in front of me. At last a clerk called me to the counter with a smile and a questioning look on his face.

‘Are you the Captain of the
Lusitania
?’ he asked me, smirking at the others. They all laughed.

‘No, but my father is Staff Captain,’ I said proudly.

‘Oh be japers! Who’s your father when he’s at home?’ He stared at me with a quizzical look and took a pencil from his ear, rolling it in his fat, hairy fingers.

‘Captain Jack Kennedy.’

‘Jack Kennedy! Yerra boy, shake hands, son of Jack Kennedy,’ a voice from behind me broke in, and I turned to see a bearded man whose peaked cap shielded his forehead. ‘I am Bill Turner, Captain of the
Lusitania
.’ We shook hands and he smiled warmly. ‘Your father is in the Anchor bar. He has thirty-six hours’ shore leave.’

I took my chance to ask him a question that was worrying me. ‘The
Lusitania
…?’ I stuttered, staring at him, and he squinted down at me as if trying to read my thoughts. ‘Is it
the strongest ship that ever …?’ My question seemed too dangerous to finish and fear gripped me.

‘Do you not see her commanding the bay, boy? She’s solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. That, sonny, is a great whale of a liner. I know her moods better than my missus’s. Have no worries, son. And now, what’s your name?

‘F-F-Finbar Kennedy,’ I said, stuttering again.

‘Good day, Finbar,’ he said with a bigger grin. ‘Could your father walk the bridge of a better vessel? No, he’s on the best – our most valuable Staff Captain, Jack Kennedy,’ he declared. ‘Proud to work with him, I am.’ We shook hands again, and I ran out of the office, embarrassed, flustered and proud.

I walked along the street from the Cunard office in the rain and peered inside the first bar I passed, forgetting to check the name, and slowly went among the throng of people on high stools at the counter. Along the walls, gathered at round tables, were others with pint glasses full of frothy stout beside piles of empty glasses. The floor was covered in sawdust, with mud and cigarette butts scattered in it. Everyone was shouting in a chorus of voices, like a talking choir it seemed to me. The place had a sharp tang and smell of liquor that burnt my nose. It was a merry place, and the noise was terrific. The air was dense like a fog with the smoke of pipes, cigarettes and cigars.
At the counter, sailor fellas with slow voices and dramatic gestures talked to women dressed in brightly coloured clothes. In one corner a man played an accordion, tapping his feet as he shuffled the box in and out. It was lively stuff and made me feel like jumping around.

‘What are you doing in here?’ one of the barmen shouted, pushing a sleeve up his elbow and squinting down at me. ‘What age are you?’ he demanded.

‘I’m looking for my father,’ I shouted back at him. ‘Is this the Anchor bar?’ I had to say it many times while he held a hand up to his ear.

‘Up the street, you gom! Dis is de Schooner,’ he said finally. ‘Can’t you read? Go back to school, you
amadán
.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Off with ya.’

Out on the street the air was cold and icy, and my eyes were watering after the smell of booze and smoke in that bar. It was still drizzling rain.

CHAPTER 4

D
RUNKEN
S
AILORS

T
he Anchor bar was jammed to the door too. Halfway through the tide of drinkers I was nearly knocked down in the crush. It was going to be very hard to find Dad. Where was he? It took a long time to wade through to the back of the pub, but he was nowhere to be seen. On the slow return journey towards the front door I looked up into every face I passed. Next to the long counter was a little room, closed off with its own door. I pushed at it, but couldn’t open it and no one came to my aid. Everyone was busy smoking, drinking and talking.

Suddenly I heard my father’s voice – he was singing from the other side of the door, but then he was drowned out as others joined him in the song. Was it really Dad’s voice? I was sure it was because I knew my father sang better than the birds.

I pushed hard on the door of the snug with both hands and it opened. There, in the middle of a throng, was Dad, a pint in his hand, and for a moment he looked like an actor on stage, holding everyone’s attention. Then he saw me and his face lit up; he put down his glass and lurched towards me, nearly knocking over everyone between us.

‘Shipmates!’ he yelled, pulling me over to the blazing fire, ‘this young man here is my eldest son, Finbar. Finbar, me boyo, come and sit here with your father. Oh it’s good to see you, son.’ He made room for me beside him. I took off my jacket and put it on the turf basket to dry off. He ordered lemonade, nuts, raisins and a bar of chocolate for me and put them on the mantel next to a line of empty glasses and bottles.

‘What kind of a noise annoys an oyster?’ Dad started with his old riddles, as usual. ‘Come on, Finbar, you know what an oyster is?’ he asked while the others listened to us.

‘An oyster is like a dirty, fishy snail,’ I answered, and they laughed, as did my dad.

‘So, what kind of a noise annoys an oyster?’ he still wanted to know, but gave the answer himself: ‘Any kind of a noise annoys an oyster, but a noisy noise annoys an oyster most!’ We all laughed and repeated it.

‘Your father is leading us in a few songs, ’cos what else can sailors do with their land legs?’ someone called to me.

This was my first time in such a place. I was used to meeting Dad outside some bar or other, or going in looking for him, but he had never brought me inside before. Today it seemed that he accepted me as part of his gang. I felt like a man as I looked at the tough faces all around me. Under the seats and chairs were yellow oilskins that were the brightest colour in this grey world of shipmen. One after another the sailors all handed me a coin, which made a good little stack. I thought about the shopping list, but could not bring myself to mention such a thing in their company.

‘Finbar, we’ll be going soon,’ Dad said. ‘Have the bit of a feast and enjoy yourself. Hey, Piper,’ he called to a man sitting across from us, ‘make it “Whiskey in the Jar”. Our last song of the night.’ But it took much more singing and farewells before we finally quit the Anchor. Outside the pub, Dad looked at the
shopping list I handed him and nodded, flicking the paper as he called out each item: bacon, rashers, beans, head of cabbage, turnip, potatoes, tea, sugar, eggs, and sausages. But paying the outstanding bill at the shop would be the main thing, as usual. That would set him back.

‘Dad, when are you off to sea again?’ I wanted to know, not having fully understood Captain Turner’s thirty-six hours’ shore leave.

‘We sail tomorrow night, son. The weather prospects are very good.’ He glanced out at the
Lusitania
looming huge in the harbour.

‘Dad! Can I take a day off school tomorrow?’

‘Ah, you have to go to school, Finbar. Mr Dempsey would come rapping on our door and we’d be in trouble if we kept you out. Sure, I’ll still be here tomorrow when you come home from school.’ He stared at me and seemed to be begging me for courage.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘the spyglass is great. I really like it. Thanks.’ I grabbed his arm for a moment, then he made a fist and I made one too.

‘Ah sure, I’d bring ye back the whole world if I had a bag big enough,’ he laughed, and his words sounded stuck together.

‘Dad!’ I said, ‘I want to leave school and work on the
Lusitania
with you. Can I? Please!’

‘Well, you could, maybe. But you know you need more schooling first – a lot more, Finbar.’ He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Wait a year or two, and if you have learned your books by the age of fourteen or fifteen, well, we might get you working as a cabin boy, or a bellboy. We’ll see.’ He looked at me, but I couldn’t say anything.

‘Very well, that’s settled, so,’ he announced. ‘We’ll all go to sea in a bath-shaped boat – the tinker, the tailor, the soldier, the sailor, the rich man, the poor man, the beggar man, the thief–’

‘Dad, you sound a bit drunk. I hope you won’t be singing for the people collecting their shopping.’

‘There you go! You’re a great lad protecting the old man from making a fool of himself.’

In Fitzgibbon’s grocery, Mrs Fitz took the shopping list, and quickly began to clamber up and down to the shelves, using her footstool, to find the things we needed. I watched her cutting rashers and noisily slapping muddy potatoes onto the weighing scales. She shook rainwater out of the cabbage and carefully wrapped twelve eggs, each in a piece of newspaper, and filled a brown bag with them. ‘Mind those eggs,’ she said to
me, raising a warning finger in the air and smiling at Dad who smiled back at her. Before we left, Dad went into her kitchen with her to pay out the money for our monthly grocery bill, while more people came into the shop. I saw Tommy Horgan, the messenger boy, come in to collect groceries. He gave me a smirk, but didn’t talk as he was busy. In and out he went like a hare, carrying stuff until the double basket on the bike outside was filled. I envied him his job. He always had pennies. I stared out as he passed the window, pushing the bike, plodding along, with the ‘Fitzgibbon Grocery’ sign hanging from the bar between the wheels.

‘So we still owe you?’ I heard Dad whisper from the kitchen. ‘Even though I’ve paid off the bill for January and February?’

‘Look, Jack, it’s fine. You can catch up,’ said Mrs Fitz. ‘Kitty and the kids have to eat. And she has to buy the eggs, flour and fruit for the bakery.’ Her voice was kind.

‘I know, I know,’ Dad said, ‘but I’m always in debt.’

‘You’re too good to your children, you spoil them – but, sure, why not? Ye’d better get home for the supper now. Say hello to Mrs Kennedy and Mrs Kelly. And I hear the ship sails tomorrow night for New York? You’ve got till the summer to clear your bill. Your credit is good, Jack.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Fitz. I won’t let you down. Thanks again.’

Mam was delighted to see us and we were all hugging each other for joy as if Dad had arrived home all over again! Mam and Dad put away the groceries in the dresser while I carefully unwrapped each egg and filled a bowl with them that rose like a tiny cove of round rocks that you would stack up at the seaside. My parents seemed to enter their own space in the kitchen as their voices blended together. Colleen, Sean, Christopher and I wandered into the parlour to look again at the toys and presents.

Then Dad put his head around the door. ‘I’m going up to the turret,’ he said. Colleen and I followed him upstairs, while Sean and Christopher stayed with the toys.

Up the narrow stairs we went, clumping noisily to the turret room, the attic that Dad had made for himself. He kept the stuff up here that he needed for his work. There were maps framed in glass on the walls, a writing desk where he kept his gun, a Smith & Wesson revolver, locked away when he was home from sea. His bookcase had glass doors and held a pair of binoculars, a twenty-four-hour ship’s clock, a circular barometer, telescopes, parallel rulers, compasses, dividers, and logbooks, as well as nautical almanacs. Some of the shelves had the stories that he read, especially books by Joseph Conrad
such as
Typhoon
. We sat quietly in the turret room, watching Dad go through all his things and sort out what to take with him tomorrow.

Then we got our homework done while our parents went out visiting since it was Dad’s last night. It is difficult when your father works on a ship, I tell you. He’s no sooner home than he has to go again. Mrs Kelly dropped in once to see if we were all right and later I heard my parents arrive with their friends, and the comforting sound of the voices downstairs lulled me into a deep, happy sleep. Oh why couldn’t every night be like this?

The next day we all raced home as soon as school was over.

‘Hey Colleen, wait!’ I shouted as she ran ahead of me, but Christopher and Sean were winning the race home today. When I got to the front door my cheeks were really hot. I saw the others inside all clinging onto Dad who was dressed in his naval uniform. His leather case, with the letters JK, was ready on the kitchen table. I felt sad; the time for leaving had almost come again. Dad sat in his favourite armchair and gathered us around him. He began to tell stories and recite rhymes and riddles, and in no time he had the four of us in fits of laughter. 

Two hours later, Dad poured himself a final cup of strong tea. Mam fetched a goose wing and brushed off his uniform, telling him that he ‘might have creased it a bit with all the hugging and fooling around, but no bother.’ There was an apple tart on the table. Dad talked non-stop while we all dived into the tart that was made specially for this supper.

At last Dad stood up. ‘Now, shipmates, it’s nearly time for me to set sail,’ he said, pursing his lips and sighing. ‘Sure, I hate to leave ye.’

Christopher and Sean were first to say goodbye as Dad tucked them into their bunks. Then he hugged me and Colleen before sending us off to bed too. He told me to be ‘the man of the house’ while he was away. Colleen was ‘to help Mam as much as she could.’