The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (18 page)

‘That’s the place,’ he replied. ‘For some reason the anchorage we were due to take and where cruise ships normally call had been declared a prohibited zone, and so we are in what seems to be a vast oil terminal alongside a floating monster belonging to Fairground Cruises. The
Merrygoround
, I think it is. I bet their passengers are having a jolly time visiting the petroleum works.’

‘What about our two passengers?’ queried the chaplain. ‘Will we have to leave them here?’

‘Quite likely,’ said Hackett. ‘Silly fools. Fancy jumping ship in Libya of all places. Gibraltar perhaps, but Libya!’

He replaced a bottle and glass in the side drawer and made to leave.

‘Look, old man, you have spent too much time down here. My guess is that we will be here for a couple of days. Cruise ships
have the curious habit of overnighting in the most unpromising of places. Why not get some air, perhaps visit your holy fishing friends who live here. Rather them than me.’

With that, he got up and left.

The chaplain thought that it might be a very good idea to get away from the ship for an hour or so, and an even better one to visit an old companion. Fortunately he never went anywhere without his SPUDFAM (Society for the Protection of Underprivileged Fishermen and Ancient Mariners) diary, and he quickly consulted it. There, printed prominently in the front, was a list of all the stations around the world where the Society was at work, together with the names and telephone numbers of the Societies’ chaplains. Sure enough, the Reverend Guy Raleigh MBE was listed as being resident in Libya. The chaplain, acting boldly for a change, went across to the doctor’s desk and asked Reception to put him through to the number he had before him. Within a few moments he was talking to a surprised and delighted Guy Raleigh.

Deep below ground, somewhere in Libya, the two Balcony Suite passengers languished. Still wearing their duffel coats and grey bobble hats, they sat on the floor. Alice was in tears and Albert did his best to comfort her.

‘It’s all my fault,’ she wailed. ‘This would never have happened if I hadn’t gone sunbathing.’

‘There, there,’ Albert replied soothingly. ‘They must have mistaken us for someone else. We will be back on board soon.’

Every so often, a dirty bearded fellow, wearing what seemed to Albert like a long nightshirt, came and peered at them through the bars. At each appearance Albert tried to ask him a question but the only reply he ever got was ‘Inshallah’, which meant not a thing to the two travellers from Grimsby. Unknown to Albert and Alice, upstairs in the reception area Harry Parkhurst had been conversing with the authorities and attempting to explain the unexplainable. Alas, Harry had got nowhere and was threatened with detention himself if he did not return immediately to the ship which, he was informed, was being impounded. As soon as Alice and Albert had been whisked away in the car and the group of Arabs with the ladder had been thrown into the back of a police van, Immigration Officers had boarded the ship in force and ordered that no one was to leave. Harry was given permission to visit the authorities but, as we have already heard, his journey was fruitless. He returned to the ship seriously worried.

Unknown to everyone on the ship, the chaplain, who had no idea what was happening, had arranged for the Reverend Guy to visit him, after which they would both return to the Mission House for a meal. Guy arrived at the dockside and saw the
Golden Handshake
moored alongside. Normally he walked directly on board any ship he cared to visit, but today his old
friend Ali stopped him as he was walking to the gangway.

‘Mr Guy, Sir.’

Guy responded by greeting Ali like the old friend that he was. Years ago, Guy had got Ali’s son a job as a steward on one of the cruise lines and this cemented a relationship that would prove invaluable today.

‘Ship full with bad men,’ said Ali. ‘You no go there.’

Guy looked surprised, as well he might.

‘Plenty men on ship want to live Libya,’ continued Ali. ‘Plenty jump ship. Libya clever and catch bad men. More bad men on ship, sir. You no meet bad men, sir.’

‘Ah,’ said Guy, who had gained but a vague idea as to what was going on. ‘My friend padre on ship.’

Ali’s face lit up. ‘Sir, your friend, my friend, sir. You get your friend, sir. No problem.’

The chaplain ascended the gangway and nodded to the two policemen on duty who made way for him. The reception area was buzzing with activity. Armed police and plainclothes men were seemingly everywhere. He spotted the chaplain standing alone by the reception desk looking somewhat dejected. When they caught each other’s eyes, the chaplain’s face lit up.

‘Guy!’ he enthused. ‘How good to see you, but it’s bad news, I’m afraid. I can’t leave the ship.’

‘Nonsense,’ Guy replied. ‘Follow me,’ and together they descended the gangway, went through the Customs Hall and in
no time at all were sitting together in the Mission House.

The Mission House was but a short distance from the port and provided simple facilities for visiting seamen such as a canteen, free wifi and a library. Guy lived on the premises and was regarded as part of the furniture in the port and with many of the ships, both cargo and passenger, that called at this somewhat depressing oil terminal. He was a natural communicator and knew everyone in town associated with shipping and Port affairs.

When they had caught up with the years that had passed since their college days, the chaplain explained how he came to be on board the
Golden Handshake
and what a terrible time he was having. Guy sympathised.

‘Why is the ship impounded?’ the chaplain asked. ‘No one tells me anything.’

Guy said that he hadn’t a clue but from what he had heard there might have been some kind of immigration problem. As they were puzzling out what might have happened, the phone rang and Guy answered it. He held his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered across to the chaplain, ‘It’s from your ship. A chap called Parkhurst.’

Guy removed his hand and listened, occasionally interjecting with a ‘yes’, or ‘that’s right’, or ‘how terrible’. The chaplain, as usual, was not able to make head nor tail as to what was being explained. Finally, the long monologue came to an end and Guy replied that he would see what could be done, and that as he had
the chaplain from the
Handshake
with him, he would give him news to bring back to the ship that evening.

‘He seemed very taken aback when he learned you were here,’ Guy remarked. ‘It seems there has been a colossal mix-up somewhere and two passengers are in the immigration lock-up. Come on - we’ll go and visit them.’

Guy set out with the chaplain in tow, who was marvelling at the confidence, and seeming access to the whole of Libya, of his former college friend.

‘Keep quiet,’ Guy warned him when they approached a low brick building with armed guards on duty outside. ‘Leave all the talking to me.’

The chaplain was more than happy to leave the talking to Guy as he still was totally at sea regarding the whole affair.

On entering the building, Guy greeted the staff in Arabic and proceeded to a large office where he had a long conversation in the same language with an official, who looked as though he might run Libya as well as the Immigration Department. They were served strong black coffee and sweet cakes, and there was much smiling and occasional outright laughter. When an hour or so had passed and the chaplain, as promised, had not uttered a word, they rose and the capo shook hands all round before handing them over to a deferential fellow with a large bunch of keys on his belt.

‘Where are we off to now?’ asked the chaplain in a whisper.

Guy motioned him to be quiet and just to follow. They descended some steps and went along a corridor. The deferential chap, who immediately on leaving the office had lost all signs of deference, unlocked a cell-type door and ushered them in.

When the chaplain had adjusted his eyes to the gloom, he saw two duffel-coated, bobble-hatted individuals sitting on the floor and staring at him. Looking closely at them, he thought he might have seen them before - but before he could say anything, the stouter of the two cried out, ‘Good Lord, the last time I saw you, you were being pitched off the stage at the start of the cruise.’

Guy gave a quizzical glance in the chaplain’s direction but said nothing.

‘By gum,’ said the slight fellow. ‘If it isn’t the padre.’

‘Mr and Mrs Hardcastle,’ said Guy.

‘Right first time,’ said the little chap, struggling to his feet.

The larger of the two piped up, ‘We are Balcony Suite passengers on the
Golden Handshake
.’

‘Good,’ said Guy. Then he announced: ‘Come on, you are off back to your Suite’.

After fond farewells were said in the upstairs lobby and assurances were given of eternal friendship, the little party were escorted to a car and this time Albert and Alice were gently ushered
into the vehicle. They drove to the dockside, still uncertain what the events of the day had been all about, but were too tired to care. At the entrance to the Customs Hall Guy said that he had to leave quickly as he had to attend a prayer meeting. He bade farewell to the Hardcastles and promised to keep in touch with the chaplain. The party of three rejoined the car and were driven, in state, back to the
Golden Handshake.

As the Hardcastles made their way up the gangway, followed by the chaplain, they heard the strains of music. It was Uncle Giovanni on the piano accordion and Mr Contoni on the clarinet, doing their best to play the tune ‘See the Conquering Hero’. At the top of the steps stood the Admiral, the Captain, the Hotel Manager, the Cruise Director, Harry Parkhurst and even the doctor. The Head Chef, Mike Tucker, stood by with an enormous cake, fashioned like St Paul’s Cathedral and bearing the words
Well done Padre.
Behind them stood the passengers, who applauded for all they were worth as Uncle Giovanni broke into ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.’

The Admiral slapped the chaplain on the back and handed him a glass of champagne.

‘Well done, old fellow, well done. You’re a credit to the cloth, of that there’s no mistake. Congratulations.’

The chaplain sipped a little of his champagne and blushed, still wondering what he had done to warrant such a turnout.

All Albert could say was: ‘It’s a grand little ship this. A grand little ship.’

As the
Golden Handshake
sailed away from the oil terminal, beeps sounded in the Suites and cabins, and passengers gathered around the information points.

‘This is your Cruise Director, Enzo,’ began the message.

‘I am afraid that following today’s delay in Libya and the unfortunate closing of our normal ports of call, the next few days will be spent at sea. As soon as we have clearance for our next port, I shall let you know where it is. Meanwhile, we shall have the usual full programme of events for you to enjoy. There will be lectures, and the language classes will continue at eleven each morning. In the evenings we shall have special entertainment for your delight. Tonight, after the excitement of the day, I think we all need an early night. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.’

Considerable problems faced Captain Sparda following the Libyan adventure. Although his ship was allowed to depart, and the passengers released, he had been warned to stay away from Libyan ports in future and not to even think of calling at the two Ancient Roman sites that were on the original itinerary. He was
to consider himself lucky that his ship was not confiscated, and had it not been for the intervention of the great leader himself, who had a high regard for the clergyman, he would have lost his ship. The Captain thought that the clergyman referred to was the chaplain, not Guy, and his respect for him increased tremendously. The serious news concerning future visits was kept from the passengers, of course, and was known only to the Admiral, Sparda and Harry Parkhurst. Where was he to go now? Port fees were excessive these days and he had no desire to get caught up in troubles that might surround a visit to Egypt, although the country had to be encountered in one way or another as he wished to travel through the Suez Canal. So, he decided to cruise around for a bit and then make for the Suez and see what happened.

Back in the Balcony Suite, Albert and Alice were more than happy to be rid of their heavy clothing.

‘That’s the last time I use that balcony,’ said Alice. ‘The very last time.’

‘They’ve all been closed,’ replied Albert, ‘but not to worry. Being in a Balcony Suite, we still get free laundry once a fortnight.’

‘Aye,’ his wife agreed, ‘that’s a great thing about this level of Suite. Not only do we get the washing done, but every Sunday afternoon we get a plate of biscuits brought to our Suite. Lower
cabins don’t get that, Albert.’

‘No, they don’t,’ replied her husband. ‘They certainly don’t.’

When Captain Sparda had finished consulting with his senior staff about the route to be taken during the next few days, he went in search of the chaplain, who modestly had taken himself off to his cot in the sickbay. The poor man was exhausted and had gone to bed early, hoping to get some ‘primetime sleep’ as he had heard the doctor describe sleep before midnight.

Sparda entered the empty Medical Centre and shouted out, ‘Chaplain, where are you?’

A door opened and this time, remembering the unfortunate episode with the surgical nightshirt, the chaplain had wrapped himself in a blanket before appearing.

‘There you are,’ said Sparda, gazing at the blanket-swathed cleric. ‘Where’s your chariot?’ Try as he might, Sparda could not resist teasing the clergyman but today, following what everyone considered to be a remarkable achievement that had undoubtedly saved the World Cruise and perhaps ‘Golden Oceans’ itself, Sparda wanted to speak to the chaplain personally.

‘Your brave actions today have been noted,’ he began. ‘All the senior staff are recommending you for one of the highest honours the company can bestow - The Golden Eagle Award.’

‘But Captain …’ stammered the chaplain.

‘Enough, lad, I’ve not finished. In recognition of your calling we shall make a special one-off award to you personally, called the Golden Chalice Award. At some time during the cruise the Admiral himself will present you with your honour. Meanwhile, one of the Balcony Suite rooms has become available due to the fact that there was a slight problem with the wall, which was repaired quickly. As it was possible to see into the next Suite, the couple in there moved out and are happy with their new quarters. You, Chaplain, will now have superb accommodation - as you so richly deserve.’

The chaplain pulled the blanket further round his shoulders and was about to stammer a reply when the door burst open and in walked the doctor.

‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he said in his usual breezy manner. He stared at the blanket-wrapped cleric.

‘Got the shivering habjabs, Chaplain? I know the remedy for that, for sure. Evening, Captain sir’, he continued respectfully. ‘I trust you are fighting fit.’

‘Perfectly,’ replied Sparda. ‘I came to inform the Reverend Gentleman that he will be moving to a Suite and will be honoured by the Admiral.’

‘Quite right,’ said the cheery medic. ‘This calls for a celebration.’ He pulled up two chairs for the others and seated himself behind his desk. He opened a drawer and took out a bottle and three glasses.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ he said, looking at the chaplain. ‘You only drink jungle juice don’t you?’ He poured a tonic into the chaplain’s glass and two stiff measures of something from other tropical climes for himself and the Captain. Then he held his glass high.

‘Here’s to the Great Leader,’ he cried, ‘and more especially to his spiritual adviser, the chaplain.’

Glasses were raised and the toast was drunk by all three. It was the end of a perfect day!

When the ship was being fitted out in preparation for the World Cruise, Admiral Harrington had wanted the passengers to be able to keep in touch with their family and friends via the internet. He had investigated the possibility of installing wifi in every Suite and cabin, but, as the cost was prohibitive, he contented himself with equipping a small computer room with four screens which would be available to passengers and crew. He did not think it worthwhile to employ a full-time technician to be responsible for this facility, so the role was given to Mr Angus MacDonald, the Chief Engineer - ‘Beefy’, as he was aptly known to the crew. Angus was none too pleased to be given this additional charge as passengers were constantly complaining about the slowness of the service, and the vast majority had not the faintest idea how to use a computer, let alone send an email. A great deal of his time was spent sorting out internet
problems when he already had enough worries with the rudder, which was still not totally fixed.

Angus had attempted to delegate his computing responsibilities to a junior crew member, but the lad was so inept that he caused the whole internet and the ship’s navigation system to close down for three hours. This gave the navigator agonies as he quickly had to revert to pulling out old charts and sharpening his pencils, something he had not done for many a year. The computer room was originally open from ten in the morning until mid-day, but as the Cruise Director complained bitterly that this timing conflicted with his language classes, the times were changed from the morning slot to ten at night until midnight. This really upset Angus as it meant he had to be available at this late hour, something which, quite understandably, he did not like. It led to a fierce confrontation between the engineer and the Cruise Director. Had several crew members not stood between the huge Scot and the manipulative Enzo, the ship would have been like the proverbial village - short of an idiot! At least, that is what Angus said.

The day began well enough in the engine room, even though the engineer had no idea where they were making for. Captain Sparda had said that they would cruise around for a day or so before entering the Suez Canal, and so that is what they would do. Fortunately, they had been able to take fuel on board in Libya, which was the one and only blessing received from that
port of call. The route took them along the coast of Libya then along the Egyptian coast until just beyond Cairo where they would arrive at the Canal.

Instead of proceeding in a direct route along the coast, the Captain, conscious that there was time to kill, manoeuvred the ship as one might manoeuvre a pleasure cruise around Poole Harbour. As he was in foreign waters he was careful to keep outside the twelve-mile territorial limit, especially now that the ship was not in the best of relations with Libya. What he had failed to remember was that some time previously, Libya had laid claim to the Gulf of Sidra and he was sailing merrily through disputed territory. It would not have been so bad had he not cruised up and down, and backwards and forwards, much to the annoyance of the engine room. The passengers appreciated it very much and there were cries of delight on deck when the Captain ordered another change of direction.

‘I wish the wee fella would make up his mind,’ complained Angus. ‘One moment it’s full speed ahead. Then it’s slow. Then reverse. If this damn thing could sail underwater, we would be thirty fathoms down by now!’

Sparda had been enjoying himself doing a figure of eight motion and was about to set course again for Cairo when he noticed two vessels approaching at speed; one from the Libyan coast and the other from the direction of Egypt. Both were flashing signals at him which, due to the very bright sun, he was
unable to understand. Alas, the communications on the ship had failed once again, due to a problem with the system which Angus had yet to resolve, and so there was a temporary loss of radio contact with the outside world. As the boats drew nearer, it could be seen that one bore the Libyan flag and the other was an American vessel. They both stood off some distance from the
Handshake
and began to call the ship through very powerful loudhailers. Unfortunately, at that very moment the rudder started to play up and the
Handshake
turned rapidly and began to head directly for the Libyan boat. Loud shouts in Arabic emanated from the vessel, which speedily moved away just as the
Golden Handshake
turned once more - and this time headed for the American boat. There were scenes of panic on the bridge as both Sparda and the Staff Captain attempted to gain control.

In the engine room the air was blue as the crew on duty, already worn out by the morning’s sailing, now had to cope with a malfunctioning steering gear. Suddenly and without warning, the engine gave a huge shudder and stopped. The two motor boats, thinking that a deliberate attempt had been made to ram them, pulled some distance away but continued to hail the
Golden Handshake
. When they saw that the ship was now stationary in the water they cautiously approached yet again. The exchange that took place between the bridge and the boats is best left unrecorded. As it was conducted half in Arabic with the Libyan boat, which no one on the
Handshake
could understand,
it meant that there was a total lack of effective communication. The American boat stood some way off, so there was no telling what they were saying.

At one point Enzo, the linguistic Cruise Director, was brought out to translate but he simply caused further misunderstanding, so much so that a crew member from the Libyan boat gestured that he should be thrown into the water, at which point the Captain ordered Enzo below decks. In the engine room, Angus and his team were working feverishly to re-start the engine and to steady the rudder. By a minor miracle they achieved this, and once the engine was started, sufficient rapport, albeit fragile, had been established with the visitors and enough understanding gained for the bridge to realise that the
Golden Handshake
would be escorted to the Canal with immediate effect. The Staff Captain was put back in charge and now was able to continue gently towards the Canal.

Harry took the Captain to one side and explained what might have been the cause of the events of the day.

It had been known, he said, for mysterious ships to collect huge quantities of arms from Libya and transport them to equally mysterious destinations. That is what might have attracted the attention of the Americans. As for the Libyans, well, they were probably simply laying claim to what they believed to be their territorial rights.

Sparda listened intently. Messina was tranquil compared to
this part of the world, he thought. And on this point he was right.

The approach of the two speedy motor boats naturally attracted the attention of the passengers, many of whom were on deck enjoying the sunshine and showing their appreciation of the Captain’s nautical skills. As it became clear that the marine visitors wished to apprehend the
Golden Handshake,
the crew were ordered to instruct the passengers to go below into the main restaurant and lie on the floor in case shots were fired. This caused much excitement and not a little complaining from those who entered the air-conditioned interior in their bathing costumes. As they were prohibited at this time from returning to their cabins to change, they lay shivering on the floor until helpful waiters came and covered them with tablecloths.

Albert and Alice had by now dispensed with the warm clothing they had been given for their night on the balcony and had changed into clothes more suitable for warm weather. Alice wore a light floral dress which she had made herself from a pattern she found in a popular magazine, and Albert wore one of three pairs of elastic banded trousers he had bought from a bargain offer advertised in his Sunday newspaper. Those, together with three shirts purchased for six pounds each from the local supermarket, completed his summer wardrobe.

The couple had just put on their new lightweight outfits and had gone on deck for some sun when they were ordered below
into the cold of the dining room.

‘This is a queer do and no mistake,’ said Albert as he lay shivering on the floor. ‘I could do with me old duffel coat back now.’

‘I don’t understand this at all,’ remarked Alice as she drew the tablecloth over her ample shoulders. ‘They certainly provide plenty of variety on this boat.’

After what seemed an age the all-clear was announced and there was a general exodus from the room.

After the drama of the morning, once safely in the confines of the Suez Canal, calm reigned on board. Radio communications were restored and explanations given, and it was a relief to the Captain when the ship passed from the coast of Libya to travel along the coast of Egypt. At the entrance to the Suez Canal the escort, which by then was an American vessel, departed and they were on their own once more. The journey through the Canal was one of relentless dullness as there were only sand dunes and the occasional burned-out tank to view, and so the crew had to work especially hard to provide a variety of activities to pass the time away.