Authors: Murdo Morrison
As he made his way to the engine room, Tom Wilkinson thanked Providence that he didn’t get seasick. He was grateful that his constitution made him resistant. Many others were not so fortunate. The bitter aroma of vomit hung in the air. He passed the hospital. Tom stopped to look in.
The medical attendants, whose primary task was to care for injured survivors, were busy dealing with bumps, bruises and abrasions caused by the storm.
In the engine room Donald was mindful of the potential for harm. Making a misstep down here could result in serious injuries. He was surrounded by hot surfaces and large moving parts. Donald nodded to Tom, who had come down to relieve him from duty. They had a loud conversation, their heads close together to overcome the pounding of the engines. Tom bent over near Donald’s ear to give him a last word of advice.
“Watch your step up there.” He gave Donald a quick description of conditions between decks.
“Ah think ah wid rather stay doon here,” Donald shouted back.
“No such luck, chum,” Tom yelled, waving him off with a grin.
Donald went back to his cabin and lay on his bunk.
At least ah have a wee space tae masel’
, he thought. He wedged himself in, hoping for sleep.
On the bridge were two people who would have dearly liked to be in a bunk. For a while Hugh had been aware of a change in his surroundings.
It remained on the periphery of what consciousness he was able to muster. His tired brain worked the issue around and around like a math problem in a school exam that he didn’t know how to solve. Feeling cramped he straightened up. Suddenly it came to him. The motion of the ship had lessened by degrees until the difference was sufficient for him to register.
He turned to Llewelyn. “I think we are coming out of the rough weather, Sir.”
The captain stirred and looked ahead. Although spray still crashed over the bow, the wind had dropped. “I think you’re right, Hugh. Let’s see what’s happened to the others.”
They pulled up the hoods of their heavy parkas and went cautiously out onto the open bridge.
Although the wind had lessened, it was still forceful enough for the driven spray to feel like gravel on their faces. They scanned the sea with their binoculars, waiting until the ship rose on a swell to give them a clearer view of the surrounding ocean.
“Well there’s the
Strathcairn
,” Llewelyn said, relieved that his friend had come though unscathed. “And the
Grimsby
,” he added a moment later.
Hugh reported that the
Hengist
was in sight, though a long way off. No matter how much they scanned the horizon, of the
Ocean Voyager
there was not a trace.
“Let’s get our little flock together,” murmured the captain.
Hugh picked up the RT to establish contact and reform their group. It took some time for the ships to reassemble. Hugh had lookouts scan the horizon in all directions hoping for some sign of the
Ocean Voyager
. The
Strathcairn
and the
Grimsby
came up on either side of the
Izmir
. The
Hengist
once again brought up the rear.
The four ships turned their base course now to the southeast, taking the direct route to landfall at Novaya Zemlya. There, they would turn south, skirting its coastline, before making a dash for Archangel. They had steamed together for half an hour, when the captain of the
Grimsby
contacted them with news that he had sighted a ship off to the southwest.
At first, Hugh could see nothing. He ranged back and forth until he spotted what had drawn the
Grimsby’s
attention.
“Ship, Sir; looks like a large freighter. Might be the
Ocean Voyager
, can’t really tell.”
Twenty minutes later, the ship was clearly visible. It was sailing on a course that would converge with their own. They altered course towards the freighter to shorten the interval before their paths would intersect. The
Grimsby,
closer to the approaching ship, confirmed that it was the
Ocean Voyager
rejoining them.
When they had closed sufficiently, they resumed their previous course. Llewelyn came back in from the wing of the bridge and laid down his sextant. He had taken a sighting and scribbled some calculations on a scrap of paper. They were well north of the Russian mainland. Based on his sighting, he estimated 74 15 N. He did some more figuring and came up with a longitude of 50 6 E. He noted the results in the ship’s log.
Hugh had been collecting damage reports. “Well, it looks like we were lucky, Sir. Just minor damage reported. A few bumps and scrapes among the crew but nothing serious.
Strathcairn
lost one of her boats. On the whole, it could have been a lot worse.”
The captain inspected the chart closely for several long moments, chewing on the end of his pencil.
“At our present speed we should sight Novaya Zemlya by about this time tomorrow,” he told Hugh. Llewelyn stabbed the chart with the pencil. “There’s a passage between the islands called the Matochkin Strait. I’m going to suggest to McLellan and the others that we go in and take a look. Maybe some other captains have had the idea to head in there. They might go through the strait if it’s free of ice or take shelter in it. I think it’s worth a try.”
Hugh thought a moment before replying. “You could be right. If they had headed up to the edge of the ice pack to try to get away from the bombers it would make sense that they would head as far east as possible before turning south again. We could wait for a few days to see if any ships turn up.”
When Llewelyn communicated his thoughts to the other captains, he received prompt agreement. McLellan summed matters up in his succinct fashion.
“Aye well, it’s gaun tae be a hell o’ a fight getting’ intae Archangel. It widnae hurt tae have some mair company so we can fight these bastards aff.”
From Novaya Zemlya it would still be a very long haul. They could expect increasing attacks from submarines and aircraft as they approached the Kola Inlet.
Donald made his way to the hospital, where he found Dr. McNicol looking tired and harassed. Seeing his former surgical assistant, the doctor’s face transformed into a smile of greeting.
“Ah jist wanted tae find oot how Andy wis daeing, Doctor. Ye know, the young lad ah helped ye with.”
The doctor nodded, “Well, he’s alive, against all the odds. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think he was going to make it this far, but he’s holding on. If he can get through the next few days I’d say he has a good chance.”
“Wid it be alright tae see him fer a minute.”
“Yes, but not for too long. He was asking about you anyway. Wanted to meet the man who rescued him.”
“Ach well, it wisnae jist me, doctor.”
“Maybe not, but you played a big part in his survival.” The doctor beckoned Donald to follow him.
The hospital was a plain, almost stark space. Along the wall were bunks in pairs, one above the other. By the patient’s head and shoulders was an open frame made of tubular steel that extended halfway down the bunk. In the center of the space were bunks supported on each end by a triangular frame. It was in one of these that Andy lay. Donald followed the doctor, looking around him at the men in the other bunks.
Some of these poor devils look like they’re in a bad way
, he thought.
“You have a visitor, Andy,” the doctor said.
Andy looked up at him and then at Donald.
“You wanted to meet the man who rescued you. Here he is.”
Andy looked more closely at Donald.
“I’ll leave you two to have a chat, but don’t overdo it, OK?”
Donald nodded and bent down on one knee to bring him to the same level as Andy. The bunk swung on its pivots as the ship rolled in the swell left by the storm.
God, he looks like a schoolboy
, Donald thought, although only a few years older than the youth in the bunk.
“So how are ye daeing?”
“All right, I think,” Andy said, his tone subdued. “It hurts a bit but they give me a jag for it.”
“Ach well, it’ll take a wee while before you’re yersel’ again.”
Andy was scrutinizing Donald’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you,” he said. “I don’t remember much about any of it.”
“Don’t worry yer heid aboot that,” Donald told him. “Ah’m jist glad tae see you’re all right. Besides it wisnae jist me that helped ye either.”
“The doctor told me that one of the men who got me on board helped with the operation. Was that you?”
“Aye, that wis me,” Donald said.
“So you did help save me then,” the boy insisted.
“Aye, ah suppose ah did,” Donald conceded.
Andy’s eyes filled with tears. “Thanks,” he said.
“Och now, don’t be silly. Ah wis jist daeing mah job. Any o’ the men wid hae done the same.”
Andy shook his head. “Will you come back and talk to me again?” Andy asked.
“Ah will,” Donald agreed.
“I want to write a letter to my mother,” the young man said. “Would you help me do that?”
“Ah’ll bring paper and a pencil the next time.” He was about to say, “There’ no way tae post it,” but stopped. He saw that Andy was worried that he might die and wanted to send some words home, to feel a connection with his family.
“Make it soon,” the lad said sadly, “just in case.”
“Don’t worry Andy, ah will. Well, the doctor says ah’m no’ tae tire ye oot so ah’ll say cheerio the now and ah’ll come back an’ see ye soon.”
Andy nodded and closed his eyes.
The
Izmir
was packed with many more survivors than it was designed to handle. They occupied every corner of the ship where there was the least bit of room. The crowding made it hard to move through many of the compartments. To each one of the uninjured men, and especially to many of the patients in the hospital, this ship had restored the gift of life. But there were the painful, short ceremonies attended by a small group who stood solemnly by a dead comrade of the sea. No matter how much caring ceremony they brought to the man’s passing it always seemed a meager offering for the totality of the person’s life. The body, draped in a Union Jack, lay on a board, its feet extending over the rail. A few solemn, inadequate words spoken before the corpse slipped into the icy depths. Donald had seen too many men depart the ship in this way and welcomed the prospect of Andy’s survival to place in the balance.
Donald kept his word. He returned the following day with paper and pencil in hand. Donald looked at the lad’s face and was pleased to see that his color had improved. McNicol gave Donald the thumbs up sign. It brought Donald great satisfaction to think that some of the people he rescued would survive to go on with their lives. He had made a difference to this boy, who would now have a chance to grow into a man.
Donald eased Andy into a sitting position. The boy winced, still sore from the surgery. When he was sure Andy was settled securely, he set a wooden tray in front of him and placed the paper and pencil on it. Andy stared at the paper for quite a few moments before picking up the pencil.
"I’m not sure what to say,” he told Donald.
“Well, jist start by telling them you all right,” Donald suggested.
Andy hesitated then started on his letter. The words he wrote were simple ones that left out the pain and fear.
S.S. Izmir
6 July 1942
Dear Mother,
Just a few lines to let you know I am all right. I don’t know when it will be possible to post this to you but will send it off as soon as I can. We have been having a bit of a tough time of it but everything is all right for the moment. I can’t tell you too many details but I will let you know all about it when I see you. I am being well looked after so I don’t want you to worry.
Your Loving Son
Andy
Donald noted down the address. Andy made him take the letter.
“You’ll be able tae get up and post this yersel’,” Donald protested. “But he could see that the confidence and carefree indifference of youth had been permanently taken away.
Only uncertainty lay on his personal horizon. He would survive this time but there was no guarantee that he would the next. And that next time could be just a few minutes in the future. Before this terrible war, death had seemed something only old people had to worry about. Here it came without warning. Who was ever ready for that?