Censored: William Blake series, #2

By Alan Norris

Censorship, perhaps the ultimate editor for a government – Ask any regular serviceman.

William had a surprise for Marie. They’d been planning to take some time off since they were married six months ago, but they needed to get the restaurant ticking over first and appoint a good sous-chef who could handle things in their absence.

And now they were ready, they would start their holiday, their belated honeymoon, on Monday, in just two days’ time.

But not in quite the way Marie was expecting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Norris
• Release date: Oct 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536581669

Alan Norris

Alan was born in Poole, Dorset, England on October 1st 1948. As a child, he lived in Canada for a few years in what was then a tiny settlement village called Malton in Ontario. He went to his first school in the village, a one-room school that was quite basic but typical of the time in those outlying areas of the Canadian countryside. Later in life he travelled to Western Australia where he worked as a design draughtsman and played drums in his spare time with a very active band called “Unicorn”. Eventually, Alan returned to England, where he found a winter season of high unemployment and a frosty cold that he’d forgotten about. After a couple of dead-end jobs he joined the Royal Navy and quickly worked his way up to become an engine room Chief Petty Officer. His first ship was involved in the brief skirmish of the mid 1970s that they called the “Cod War”. He should have seen the trend, because ten years later he was involved in the Falklands Conflict while serving on the frigate, HMS Argonaut. They were hit by two enormous bombs within minutes of the first day of action. One landed in the boiler room and the other became lodged in an ammunition magazine. Luckily neither of these devices exploded, but unfortunately two of our gunners were killed. One of them was just twenty-one years old that day. Alan’s writing began some years later when, as part of a team producing Technical Handbooks, he began to experiment with fiction and wrote a bag-full of short stories. The experiments continued until 2010 when he set out to use his new-found skills in a second career. Alan now lives with his wife Stella in a quiet part of central Brittany, surrounded by books, forests, fields and their precious dogs, Elsa, Jester and Monty. He still plays drums occasionally too.

Book preview

1

William was excited, but he smothered his impatience as he watched his wife working in their Restaurant. Everything had to be just right. Napkins folded in the shape of a crown, silver cutlery laid out so the rose-wood handles were in a precise row and the heavy lead-crystal wine glasses polished until they sparkled in the light from a dozen candles.

When she had sold her house and country estate, Marie had said that amongst other things, like the restaurant they now sat in, she wanted some adventure, take a risk or two and enjoy the life that they had together. A total contrast to what she’d become used.

William waited patiently for her to finish her preparations and come across to the fireside for their usual glass of wine. It was something they always did before the first of the evening’s customers arrived.

But tonight he had a surprise for Marie. They’d been planning to take some time off since they were married six months ago, but they needed to get the restaurant ticking over first and appoint a good sous-chef who could handle things in their absence.

And now they were ready, they would start their holiday, their belated honeymoon, on Monday, in just two days’ time.

But not in quite the way she was expecting.

~ ~ ~

We had been very lucky to get this place, I thought as I looked around. It had been our favourite restaurant in Pontivy almost since the first day we’d met. Marie had heard of the sale at her bank as she was completing the documents to transfer her house to its new owners. Not one to hesitate when her mind is made up, she made an offer there and then came home to our old Breton cottage with a bottle of champagne, announcing that we were now the new owners of the best restaurant in town.

I watched as my lovely wife looked around the room, making sure everything was as perfect as possible, just as she wanted it. Her shoulder length auburn hair shone in the light from the log fire and her eyes sparkled as she laughed at a joke with Marcel, our head waiter. Her boyishly slim body looked good in her new chef’s whites and she still moved with that feline grace that had captivated me. Her shoulder, wounded in a savage attack last autumn, still ached now and then, but had healed well with very little scarring.

Her enthusiasm and happiness bubbled over, lighting up the room with a glowing warmth whenever she walked in. Marie, fascinated me, I loved her more than I thought it possible. She had inspired a new series of poems that had been finally published a couple of weeks ago. The advance from my publisher had been more generous than usual and I’d used almost all of it setting up the new adventure that I was going to surprise her with this evening.

~ ~ ~

‘We’re going to do what?’ Marie said in a voice so sharp that it startled me.

Marcel looked up from organising his menus, frowned and went out to the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘It’ll be our first real adventure. We’re expected to go aboard the Lady-Bird on Monday afternoon at Douarnenez then we sail out, past Tristan Island, into the Celtic Sea where she’ll anchor up for our welcome aboard dinner.’

‘But I’ve never been on a boat. I won’t know what to do.’ Marie, fiddled with her glass and gazed at her feet. ‘I can’t swim.’ she muttered.

‘Ah...the Lady-B is what they call a brigantine, she’s 35 metres long and has a crew of eight people. You’ll not have to swim anywhere.’ I moved across to sit next to her and picked up her hand. ‘You’ll be fine. I promise.’

‘But I won’t know what to do. I’ve never been on the sea. Ever.’

‘You’ll be ok and you’ll have a bit of time to get used to it. Because our first port will be Gibraltar then we call at Cadiz on the back.’

‘Where will we stay? What will I wear?’ she put her hand to her face. ‘I think I’m frightened, or excited. Or both!’

‘Wow, slow down. I’ve got some pictures here.’ I pulled my laptop out of its bag and sipped from my glass while it started up. ‘Here we are. A good shot of the Lady-Bird at sea. And this one shows the owner’s cabin, that’s where we’ll be staying.’

‘You said...Owner’s Cabin?’ Marie looked me in the eye. She reached up and undid her pony-tail, pulled it tighter, then refastened it. ‘What have you been up to? I can’t spend too long away from this place. You know that.’

‘Yeah, I know. But think of it this way....It’ll be an extension of this business, because on the return leg of the trip from Cadiz, that’s in Spain, we’ll be carrying two passengers to.....’

‘Yes, yes I know it’s in Spain. Who are these people, these passengers?’ she asked.

‘They’re a couple of Americans, millionaires and are coming as paying guests mainly for the promised Cordon-Bleu menu that we’ll be offering. The ship has an excellent, modern kitchen, or galley, as we should call it.’ I said, and then waited for the obvious question.

‘So who’s cooking for these nobs?’ she asked, grinning.

‘The very best chef that I know.’ I said and leaned forward, kissing her gently on the lips.

‘So how come we get to use the Owner’s Cabin?’ she asked.

‘I’ve chartered the ship. We’ll be carrying a cargo of wine and tea as well as our passengers when we sail North from Spain.’

‘When did you do all this then?’ Marie asked, nestling her head against my shoulder.

‘Oh, it’s been on my mind for a while. Last year I read an article in the paper about a Frenchman who was using sail power to transport goods from port to port and it seemed a good idea. The proper planning though, started back around the start of the New Year. I found the Lady-B on the internet, my new phone, the one you gave me, was very useful. I went to see her first back in March, the day you went to Rennes with Marcel for that cooking show.’

‘Hm, I had a funny feeling that something was going on.’ she said.

~ ~ ~

Monday morning came around with amazing speed. Neither of us thought that leaving a car on the quayside was a good idea, so we’d booked a taxi to take us and our bags to the main port at Douarnenez. There was quite an impressive pile of stuff sat on the driveway to go with us. I just hoped the taxi firm had believed me when I’d said we’d need an estate car. A big one.

Of course, the reason for so much luggage was my fault for springing surprises. Marie had been expecting a casual week or so in the sun on a Greek island, where we’d not have needed much in the way of clothes. At sea it’d be different, it could often be chilly, especially in the breeze, or it could be wet. So we had the full spectrum of gear to cover us from arctic to equator, most of it would, I knew, stay in its bag or case. But there we are, Marie had taken charge and we were both fully equipped for almost anything.

‘What happens if the wind doesn’t blow?’ asked Marie.

‘The ship’s got a couple of big diesel engines that can be used to drive it along.’

‘Hmm, seem to have thought of everything between you all.’

I hugged her to me.

‘Aye, that we ‘ave me ‘earty!’ I said with a laugh and a wink. ‘Don’t look so worried.’

‘Oh I’m just bothered that I’ll do something stupid and spoil it all. You’ve done so much to try to make it special. I might get sea-sick and have to come home and I’d be here on my own.’ She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout, but couldn’t stop the giggle that dissolved her pretended sulk.

We had tears in our eyes from laughing when the taxi turned into the gateway. The driver took one look at our heap and shook his head in disbelief. But we got it all in eventually and, with a wave to our friend Charlie, who was going to look after the cottage, we were on our way.

2

Between the softly rolling hills of the south Brittany coast, they caught glimpses of the sea as they neared the port, it was a good day with an easy westerly wind blowing and a clear sky. The forecast for the next few days promised a period of stable weather with only the smallest chance of a shower. It was quite exceptional for a day in May on the edge of the Bay of Biscay and it would be a big help for Marie in finding her sea-legs.

To help her feel nautical, Marie had dressed in white jeans with a navy and white striped Breton fisherman’s shirt and a blue smock top. She’d put out a similar smock-shirt for William that morning, but he wore it over a plain white tee-shirt with the usual denim jeans.

Traffic through the town of Douarnenez was light and there were no problems as they wound their way through the old alleyways down to the dockside. It was about here that they caught their first smell of the sea, the clean ozone blended with the sharpness of drying seaweed. The old roads were quite narrow and, as they rounded a bend, they saw the docks and the end of this part of their journey.

~ ~ ~

We came out of the narrow alley onto the dockside and there she was, the Lady-B, fully decked out in bunting with the skipper and crew members by the gangway to welcome us aboard.

The Lady-Bird was an exceptional beauty, she looked even better than when I’d last seen her on that cold, windy day back in March. The hull and coachwork gleamed a snowy-white in the afternoon sunshine. The decks were a weathered teak and had been scrubbed to that soft, pale brown colour that you only find on seagoing ships. Gold-leaf decorated her lines and the scrollwork carvings on the wide transom-stern. As we got closer we could see the cream-coloured ropes and lines, some had been coiled into serpentine rings on the deck and others hung in careful loops from their fastening points.

A group of children and their parents had stopped nearby to see what was happening their necks craned forward to see what was going on. Our taxi stopped on the quayside, opposite the narrow gangway and the skipper stepped forward to open the door for Marie.

She waved and smiled to the kids as she stepped onto the dockside. Just like royalty, I thought. But I knew she was trembling inside with trepidation and excitement.

~ ~ ~

The skipper gave us a smart, seaman-like salute and we shook hands. He was anything but the stereotype sea-captain that might spring to mind. He was somewhere in his mid-forties and as thin as a spar, which made him seem taller than he was. His hair was a bright blonde that looked odd against his darker beard and tanned face. The green eyes, set in in a light web of weathered creases, seemed to look straight into you. He was dressed in smart grey trousers with open neck shirt and a navy-blue reefer-style pea jacket. Pushed onto the back of his head, he wore a battered, salt-stained peaked cap that once had probably been a dark navy-blue or black.

‘Good afternoon.’ he said in flawless french with just a slight Scots accent. ‘I am Jim Fraser, your captain and sailing master.’ he said with a beaming smile. I felt a little uncomfortable as I noticed his eyes sweep over Marie, taking in her healthy body and good looks. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, I thought.

‘And this is our crew.’ he continued as he led us across the gangway. He named each one of the men and gave a brief description of their specialist jobs. Marie quickly struck up a smiling conversation with Andy, the ship’s cook. He was a broad shouldered man, dressed in the chef’s uniform of blue-check trousers and white jacket. He was openly delighted to meet another chef and was eager to take Marie below and show her around his galley and stores.

‘Perhaps later Andy.’ said the captain with a smile. ‘We need to bring aboard the luggage and settle Monsieur et Madam Blake into their accommodation. Perhaps you would take charge of that and, yes, pay the taxi.’

‘Aye sir. Right away.’ Andy said cheerfully. ‘Come on lads, let’s be at it.’

And off they went across the gangway towards the waiting car and its patient driver.

Jim Fraser turned his smiling face toward us, ‘Perhaps, while the men bring your luggage on board, you would allow me to show you the ship and the amenities that are at your disposal?’

~ ~ ~

We duly got the full ship’s tour, from the engineroom to the unobtrusive wheelhouse with its tiny steering wheel and impressive array of modern instrumentation. He described the process of hoisting and setting the sails and explained the benefits of the type of rig that the Lady-B was fitted. Apparently it was called a hermaphrodite as it comprised two different styles of sailing ship’s rig, Square on the foremast and Gaff rig on the mainmast behind it.

While the men readied the ship for sea, Andy brought us a tray with a coffee pot and two sturdy mugs, which he set up on a folding table to one side of the deck at the stern.

‘Here you go. From back here you’ll be able to see everything that goes on.’ He chattered happily as he poured steaming coffee into the plain white mugs. ‘We’ll be going out on our engines ma’am and then, as we round Tristan Island, the men’ll go aloft to set the sails. An impressive sight, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so ma’am.’

Marie smiled, ‘Thanks Andy, the coffee’s good, but please call me Marie. Ma’am makes me feel old and decrepit.’

The two of them laughed, I could see that they’d be getting on ok, which was a relief. In the back of my mind, I’d had a niggling worry that the ship’s cook might see Marie as a rival or threat. Particularly, I thought, as she’d be taking over his galley when we took our passengers on board for the north-bound leg of this trip.

Marie gazed upwards as the strings of brightly coloured welcoming flags were brought down. The two masts rose from the deck like pillars, they were so tall she thought, that they seemed to support the very sky.

‘Oh my god.’ she said, putting her hand to her cheek and craning her head back. ‘The men actually go up there!’ she gasped.

‘It isn’t so difficult, Marie.’ said Andy. ‘We sometimes do it a dozen times a day and while we’re up there, we’re always clipped onto our safety lines. Even in calm weather. It’s one of them ship’s laws.’

‘Mm, well I for one don’t fancy climbing up there. Safety line or not.’ she said.

They felt the deck quiver beneath their feet as the engines were started and two of the crewmen ran ashore to single-up the mooring lines and get ready to cast off.

‘We’ve an onshore wind, pressing us against the dock wall.’ called Jim to explain to us what was going on. ‘So I’m going to use the stern-spring cable to help bring us away from the dockside on the engines.’

‘It’s all double-Dutch to me.’ murmured Marie. ‘What spring?’

‘I think you’ll find that’s it there.’ I said, pointing to a mooring rope that angled forward to the dock from near where we stood. ‘Let’s see what happens.’

‘Cast off fore and aft.’ called the captain.

The two men on the dockside lifted the two mooring ropes off the quayside posts and let them drop into the water where they were pulled aboard by some others. Sprinting nimbly, they came back on board the Lady-B, unlashing the gangway as they came and pulling it in after them on its rollers.

The vibration in the deck deepened and our coffee cups tinkled on the tray. Marie gripped my arm tighter as we watched the churning water under the transom stern slowly push us away from the dock wall. The engine