Читать книгу Davey Jones's Locker - C.R. Cummings - Страница 14

ROMANTIC HOPES

Monday meant school. It also introduced a new interest. This happened during History. Andrew’s History teacher, Mr Conkey, handed each student an assignment sheet.

“You must select a topic yourself to research,” Mr Conkey said. “As it says on the form the subject must be about some aspect of North Queensland history.”

Andrew liked Mr Conkey, who was a chubby and cheerful man in his late forties. He was also a captain in the army cadets and OC of the school’s army cadet unit. That increased Andrew’s respect and also sometimes led to a bit of good-natured chaffing between teacher and student. After reading through the sheet and noting the main requirements: minimum of 1000 words, must have maps, illustrations optional, must use more than one reference and include a Reference to Sources, he pondered what topic to choose. The class had just studied the Sea Explorers: The Dutchmen, Cook, Flinders and so on, and were now starting on European Settlement: First Fleet, convicts, etc.

‘I could choose an explorer,’ he thought, ‘or maybe do something on the goldrushes. I wonder if I can do something about ships, perhaps the navy in the Second World War?’

He put this question to Mr Conkey. The teacher thought for a moment, then shook his head. “We study the World Wars in Year Ten. I think you should save that till then.”

Andrew felt disappointed but nodded. That still left plenty of subjects. Luke Karaku, the only Melanesian in the class, helped by asking if he could write about Pearl Divers.

Mr Conkey nodded. “That would be a very good topic. There was a lot of that in the early days and it led to some fascinating stories.”

Graham Kirk then put his hand up. “Sir, could I write about the history of coastal shipping, or about one of the ports?”

As Graham’s father actually owned and operated two coasters, a ship and a landing barge, that was logical. Mr Conkey agreed. “You could certainly do that. Remember there used to be a very important coastal trade, even to the south. That was before the railways were built. They even had big passenger liners that serviced all the ports up the coast from Sydney and Brisbane.”

“Didn’t some of them get sunk in cyclones sir?” Graham asked.

Mr Conkey nodded. “Yes they did. The biggest was an eight thousand ton steamer named the S S Yongala. It was sunk near Townsville back in Nineteen Eleven or thereabouts. And there was a smaller one named the Merinda that went down somewhere off Bowen in the Nineteen Fifties. There have been hundreds of shipwrecks off the east coast of Queensland.”

‘Merinda!’ Andrew thought in surprise. Hearing the name gave him quite a jolt. ‘That is the ship Grandad was looking for when he was drowned.’ He thought about it for a few more minutes and as he did the idea grew until he knew he just had to find out as much as he could. He put his hand up.

“Sir, could I write my assignment on the Merinda?”

“Yes. But you might find it a bit hard to get information,” Mr Conkey replied. “You might find it easier to try another topic.”

Andrew shook his head. “I would like to try sir.”

“Alright. I will see what I can do to help you get some information,” Mr Conkey replied.

Further discussion was ended by the bell, sending them on to their next lesson. The topic did not come up again till the next day when Mr Conkey took the whole class to the library to start researching. Once there Mr Conkey recommended that Andrew read a book by Hector Holthouse titled ‘Cyclone’. There was a copy on the shelves so Andrew booked it out. While looking for it he also discovered another called, ‘Ships in the Coral’, by the same author. There several other books which touched on the sea trade of the region but between them all they only provided a single sentence: ‘The coastal steamer Merinda, carrying a crew of 14 and ten passengers, vanished somewhere off Bowen on the night of 24 January 1958 during a cyclone.’

That was frustrating and piqued Andrew’s curiosity even more. ‘There must be more facts available than that,’ he thought. But where, and who to ask?

The first person he asked was Mr Conkey, who suggested the internet. Andrew tried that but was disappointed. If there was information no one had yet transferred it to the computer in a usable form. He went back and told Mr Conkey of his lack of success. Mr Conkey suggested writing to the Oxley Library in Brisbane, and also to the State Archives to see if there was a government report. “There is always an official enquiry after any maritime disaster or accident,” he explained. “Or maybe you should rethink which topic to do your assignment on?” he added.

That just stiffened Andrew’s resolve. Now he was determined to find out more. ‘I will ask Gran and see if she can remember anything else,’ he decided.

After school Andrew pedalled home and had afternoon tea. He then telephoned his Gran to see if she was home. She was, and was more than happy for him to visit. As Andrew was getting his bike from under the house Carmen came home.

“Where are you going Little Brother?” she asked.

“To Gran’s. I want to ask her if she knows any more about the wreck of the Merinda,” Andrew replied. He explained his History assignment.

“Do you mind if I come?” Carmen asked.

“No. Let’s go. I want to be home before Mum and Dad,” Andrew replied.

“Suits me. I have to work tonight,” Carmen replied. She had just started part-time work at a supermarket as a ‘checkout chick’. This gave her nine or ten hours work each week on three evenings.

So brother and sister pedalled over to Till Street. Gran had afternoon tea set out ready. Seeing the fresh baked pumpkin scones and cream biscuits made Andrew feel quite guilty. ‘Gran doesn’t mind having visitors,’ he thought. ‘She is lonely and looks forward to them.’ To ease his guilty feelings he resolved to try to visit more often.

After two cups of tea and several scones Gran looked at him and said, “Well? What do you want to know this time?”

“Aw, Gran! I didn’t mean to make it sound like that,” Andrew said. “I just wanted to know more about Grandad and the ship he went looking for. But if it bothers you then don’t worry about it.”

“Of course it bothers me!” Gran replied. “It is the sort of thing you never forget, but life goes on, and at my age you’ve seen it all, so it doesn’t matter if I get a bit weepy. It is good that you want to know about your Grandad.”

“Thanks Gran,” Andrew answered, blushing with embarrassment. He finished another scone, then said, “I have to write a History assignment and I chose to do it on the wreck of the Merinda. But I can’t find any books on it and hoped you might have some information.”

Gran snorted. “Blasted ships! Well, I think there are a few old papers here somewhere but what they are about I am not sure. But if you want to talk to someone who knows a lot more than me then go and have a chat to old Michael McGackey. He worked on her as a cook I think; and he was a cook on a couple of ships that Bert was on as well.”

“Where do I find him Gran?” Andrew asked.

“Oh, the ‘Tropic Seas’ Retirement Home I think. I will ask,” Gran answered. “I will just look for those papers. You children eat some more scones while I do.”

Gran left them for about twenty minutes, then returned with a small pile of papers. One was a faded newspaper. “This talks about the wreck,” she says. “It has an interview with one of the survivors.”

“Survivors?” Andrew asked in surprise. “I didn’t think there were any.”

Gran shook her head. “No, three or four of the crew survived. That was how Bert knew where to go looking.”

Andrew and Carmen bent over the musty, yellowed page and read. It had a smudgy and blurred photo of the Merinda. That gave Andrew his first clear idea of what the ship looked like: superstructure taking up the aft half of the hull with cargo hold and focsle forward. A single black funnel, two lifeboats, two masts and an open bridge above the wheelhouse. ‘Built at Denny’s on the Clyde in 1912,’ read part of the explanation.

Three men had survived: a deckhand, a stoker and a passenger named Hoolihan. The deckhand, Frederick Longton, said that the ship struck a reef during a storm at night and had its bottom ripped out. ‘She sank like a stone,’ he said. ‘We only survived because we were on deck and were able to grab a raft as it floated past.’

There was a photo of the raft. To Andrew it looked like one of the ‘Carly Float’ type he had seen in photos of World War 2 ships- a float with ropes looped around the outside and a netting bottom. ‘The float on the beach at Bowen, held by Mr Rowbotham’, read the caption.

The survivors had drifted for four days in mountainous seas before washing ashore near Abbot Point, a few kilometres north of Bowen. When asked where the ship had gone down all the deckhand could say was: ‘Next morning I got a glimpse of Holbourne Island a few miles to the north.’ When pressed to confirm this he had commented that he was not sure. He had not been on duty for nearly 8 hours. ‘In fact, I was just going up to take over on the wheel at 4am,’ he said. ‘That was why I was awake and dressed. If I’d been asleep I would have gone down with the ship she sank so fast,’ he added.

The deckhand added that when he had been on duty as the quartermaster at the wheel the previous afternoon he had noted the pencil line on the chart indicating the ship’s planned course ran quite close to Holbourne Island. ‘That was normal,’ he explained. ‘The main shipping route goes near it, keeping well clear of Nares Rock (The rock on which the SS Gothenberg was wrecked in 1875 with the loss of 102 lives) and I have seen Holbourne Island a dozen times on previous voyages.’

On reading about the wreck of the Gothenberg Andrew was amazed. “There seem to have been a lot of wrecks in that area,” he commented.

Gran nodded. “I think there have been. A dangerous piece of water. Now, here is the one about the loss of the Deeral.” She handed him a newspaper cutting.

One glance made Andrew’s chest tighten with emotion and anxiety. There were two blurry photos but he had already seen the original of one. It showed two white men and two black men standing on the deck of a small ship in Cairns Inlet. The other was of a small motor vessel.

THREE LOCAL MEN PERISH AT SEA read the headline. TREASURE HUNT TURNS INTO TRAGEDY was the sub-heading. Andrew met Carmen’s eye and bit his lip. The photo was the one in the album at home and showed Bert Collins and Joshua Murchison. The two black men were not named in the caption. However they were named in the first paragraph.

‘The sea has claimed the lives of three local men who had spent their working lives on it. Last Wednesday the 56 foot motor launch Deeral struck a reef off the Whitsunday Islands in bad weather and sank. Mr Joshua Murchison, one of the partners who owned the boat, was the only survivor. The other partner, local salvage expert and diver Mr Bert Collins, went down with the vessel. Also lost at sea in this second maritime tragedy in two weeks were two crewmen, Francis Sailboat and Solomon Tapau.’

Andrew glanced at the photos again, then read on. ‘The men set off in an attempt to locate the wreck of the SS Merinda which sank off Bowen two weeks ago. It was rumoured that they were hoping to find the wreck and salvage a large quantity of gold that was part of the Merinda’s cargo.’

‘According to Mr Murchison the Deeral sailed from Cairns on 3rd February. She was off Townsville by sundown the next day. On the afternoon of the third day they reached Holbourne Island and began a systematic search. For the next week the men searched every reef in the vicinity, including the inner edge of the Great Barrier Reef. During the afternoon of 12th February the weather deteriorated. The Deeral was turned for Bowen but the wind shifted and the waves became so high that they had no choice but to run before the weather.’

‘By nightfall the weather was so bad they had to heave-to and turn into it. For the next two days they could do no more than ride the storm. By the second night they were not sure of their position but Mr Murchison believed they were well to the east of Holbourne Island, having been on that heading for many hours. While attempting to gain shelter in the lee of a coral reef during the night Deeral struck an isolated outcrop of coral. The unfortunate little vessel was holed and rolled over almost at once.’

Andrew paused for a few seconds, his mind filled with horrifying images of men struggling in darkness and foam, of being pounded on sharp coral. He read on:

‘Mr Murchison was flung into the raging sea and says he almost immediately lost sight of the boat, which he thinks was still afloat but upside down and being driven by the waves on into deeper water. He says that something stuck his face and he grabbed at it, finding it was a lifebuoy. But for that providential stroke of luck Mr Murchison says he felt sure he would also have perished.’

‘For the next three days Mr Murchison clung to the lifebuoy until, almost crazed by thirst, he was washed ashore on the seaward side of Hayman Island. Throughout this ordeal he says he was several times circled by sharks and gave himself up for lost. “Prayer saved me,” he said.’

On reading that Andrew had a series of vivid flashbacks to his own ordeal the previous year and shuddered. ‘Poor bugger. I know just how he felt,’ he thought. He again bent to study the paper.

The second photo now held his attention. It was a blurry image of the Deeral. The text told him it was a steel work boat with a diesel engine. The photo showed that it had a single mast with a derrick and a small wheelhouse and cabin aft.

“Can we borrow these Gran? I will photocopy them and bring them back,” Andrew asked.

“Of course dearie. They’ve just sat in a box all these years,” Gran replied.

Carmen now said, “We had better go. I have to get to work by six.”

Gran held up another box. “Just wait a few minutes. I also found these.” She lifted out a small cloth bundle, from which came the chink of metal. The bundle was gently laid on the table and carefully unwrapped. When he saw what the cloth contained Andrew gasped in delight.

“Grandad’s medals!”

Gran nodded. Both children bent to study the medals with great interest. Andrew marvelled at how shiny they still were after all the years. Carmen commented on how pretty the ribbons were. That got Andrew biting his lip. He knew that the medal ribbons indicated the meaning of the medals but was quite unable to recognize a single one.

“What are they for Gran, do you know?” he asked.

“Oh dear! That’s a hard one,” Gran replied, holding a hand to the side of her face. She picked up one of the medals and turned it over. “Ah yes! Here, it tells you.”

Andrew bent closer and read: Pacific Star. On the other side his grandfather’s name had been engraved. They were able to read the other three: the 1939-45 Star, the 1939-45 Defence Medal, and the Australian Service Medal (1939-1945).

“Gran, do you know what this little copper leaf badge on this one means?” Andrew asked, pointing to a metal clasp on one of the medal ribbons.

“That means Bert was mentioned in dispatches; that his name went to the king in a report,” Gran answered. “The citation saying what he actually did is somewhere here.”

That really excited Andrew’s interest and pride. ‘Grandad was a hero in the war!’ he thought happily. “It would be great if you could find it Gran,” he answered.

Carmen looked at her watch and let out a little gasp. “Oh, look at the time! Thanks Gran. We really must fly. We will see you again soon.”

As they went out the front door of the low set timber house Andrew turned and said, “Could you please arrange for us to talk to this Mr McCackle bloke Gran?”

Gran smiled. “Mr McGackey,” she corrected. “Yes, I will. Thank you for calling children.”

Brother and sister jumped on their bikes and pedalled hard. As the rode along they discussed the new information and Andrew’s thoughts dwelt on the fact that his Grandad had been a brave man. That made him a bit unsure of himself. ‘I’m not very brave, at least not underwater, and Grandad was a diver in wartime. Maybe I am a coward?’ he worried.

It was only after they arrived home that Andrew’s thoughts shifted to another worry: Muriel had not phoned the night before. ‘Maybe she has changed her mind?’ he fretted.

The worry grew into gnawing anxiety as the evening wore on. Teatime, TV news, homework; all slid by with no call. Carmen returned from work at 9pm and still the phone had not rung. Andrew’s hopes kept sliding down and he became moody and grumpy.

Suddenly the phone rang. But before Andrew could reach it his mother picked it up and answered. “Hello, Mrs Collins. Who is speaking please? Who? Oh yes, Andrew. Here he is.”

She turned and gave Andrew a smile which made him blush. “Muriel,” she said as she handed him the phone.

‘Muriel!’ Andrew thought, his romantic hopes shooting up.