Authors: Hammond Innes
I reached the cottage at last and went to bed, alone and my mind in a turmoil of self-hate, as it had so often been. I couldn’t sleep and the moon came clear, its shadows moving slowly across the tiny room with its sloping ceiling close under the leaves.
Two days later I took over the
Mary Jane
in Balta Sound. She was a typical island fishing boat, her wooden hull painted black, two tallish masts and a neat little white wooden wheelhouse. The crew were all Shetlanders and she stank of fish. We hosed her out and scrubbed her down, but in the three and a half months I operated her for the Sandford Supply Coy we never entirely got rid of the smell and I suspect that everything we carried out to
Deepwater IV
, particularly the meat, became tainted in the course of the passage.
In all that time I had no word from Gertrude. Ian had delivered the Land-Rover back to her, and when she had read my letter, she had just taken the keys and slammed the door in his face. I hadn’t expected her to understand. How could she when I didn’t understand myself? All the labour of getting that trawler back into service, the problems and difficulties we had faced together, the shared experience of that one night, all thrown away. I had asked her to phone me, but I knew she wouldn’t. It was finished – an episode. The reality was here, on this scruffy boat, with a bunch of men who, among themselves, talked a language that was almost foreign, even Jamie, the mate, who came from Yell.
At first we loaded at Toft on the Mainland side of Yell Sound. Later, when Ian learned that the police were satisfied I had shipped out in some trawler, we loaded direct at Lerwick to save the cost of the truck journey north. He was careful with his money, the only new piece of equipment on the boat a ship-to-shore radio. And he had a signwriter paint the name of his company on each side of the wheelhouse. He was inordinately proud of the fact that he was chairman and managing director of The Sandford Supply Coy Ltd.
It was a fairly good summer for weather, and with not even a gale to relieve the monotony I seemed to live in a sort of vacuum, unconscious of the world outside. Once, when we were in Lerwick, I took a taxi out to The Taing, but the house was locked, the voe empty, so presumably it was true what
Jamie had heard, that the
Duchess
had gone back to her old trade of fishing, and Gertrude with her.
We listened to the radio a lot, and sometimes I heard the news, but it didn’t seem real – little but gloom and violence, and North Sea oil the only ray of hope. They seemed to think the drillers could magic the stuff ashore and in the Utopia that would follow inflation and unrest would disappear in a cloud of fairy smoke.
At the end of August, I think it was, Ian came on the R/T to tell me
North Star
had drilled another dry hole. And the very next day, on our way into Lerwick, I heard on the radio that half the board of VFI had resigned. A fortnight later the results of the DTI enquiry came right at the beginning of the news bulletin; the Company’s licence to operate as a bank under Section 123 revoked and the report such a damning indictment that I wondered where Villiers would find the money to go on drilling, his VFI shares almost worthless now and his financial reputation equally low.
And then
Deepwater IV
reached her planned depth in a dry hole and we stayed with her on stand-by for the three days it took them to clear the seabed and move to the nearby Cormorant field. She was on summer contract only up here in northern waters, for she was one of the new generation of drilling ships that maintain station over the drill site with variable direction screws linked to a computer beamed on the seabed. No cumbersome equipment like
North Star
, no anchors, no cables and winches. It was impressive to see the economy of time as she moved from Dunlin to Cormorant, the divers down in their bell the instant she was locked on to the seabed sonar and no supply ships risking men’s lives and costing money to anchor her.
As soon as she was spudded in we were relieved by a large trawler. The Deepwater contractors were operating for a different consortium now and a spanking new supply ship, straight from a Norwegian yard, began ferrying sealed containers of food with the drill pipe and other equipment. We
were out of a job and Ian ordered us back to Balta Sound.
During the whole of this period I had only seen him twice. On each occasion he had been in Lerwick for a meeting of the Zetland Council and he had had little time to spare for us, coming on board for a quick look round and then leaving in a hurry as soon as I produced my list of requirements. But at Balta Sound he sat down in the wheelhouse and went through my whole list, agreeing almost everything. ‘Have you had a win on the pools or what?’ I asked him. ‘I’ve been badgering you for new warps, new anchor chain –’
‘Think I didn’t look the boat over before I chartered her?’ My sarcasm seemed to have caught him on the raw, for his voice was tense as he went on, ‘You’ve never worked an island fishing boat before. Distant water, that’s all you’ve known, and a wealthy company to foot the bills.’ He leaned towards me, speaking very loudly the way some people speak to a foreigner. ‘I grew up in the post-war years when every penny counted and everything was scarce. If you wanted something, then you looked around until you found it, or made do with something else, even though it was rusty as hell or half-rotted through with damp. That’s the world I grew up in, and that’s why I don’t throw my money around.’ And then with something near to a sneer he added, ‘But I don’t expect you to understand that. Your world was very different. You never had to scrimp and save, not in the home you grew up in.’
‘Not then,’ I said. ‘But I’ve made up for it since.’
He grinned and that made me like him a little better. ‘Well, nobody gets it good all the time, not even men like Villiers. They say he’s bust if
North Star
doesn’t hit it with the next hole.’
‘Then you’ll have two boats out of a job.’
‘Oh, not me. I got other jobs lined up for them. And there’s always the fishing to fall back on.’ He got to his feet. ‘Let’s have a word with Harry Priest now.’
‘He says he needs at least a week to do a complete overhaul on that clapped-out old engine of ours.’
‘Well, he can have it – a week, but that’s all.’
‘What about spares? Or is that the owner’s responsibility?’
‘No, it’s mine now,’ he said. ‘The boat’s no longer under charter. I’ve bought her.’ There was pride in the way he said it, an air of cockiness, and I laughed, seeing him in his own imagination already halfway to rivalling the big Greek shipowners.
‘Who’s paying for it?’ I asked. ‘Your father?’
‘The old man?’ He shook his head. ‘Borrow from the masses, that’s what he says. Banks, insurance companies, pension funds. Or from the oil companies. Never risk your own capital. He’s a shrewd old devil. But just not interested, not for himself, anyway.’
‘Is it that easy to borrow money now?’ I was thinking of all the problems we had had with the
Duchess
.
He grinned at me. ‘It is so long as the boats earn more than my backer charges in interest.’
I asked him if his backer was a local man, but he shook his head. ‘A property dealer from the south who likes playing around with boats.’ There was a note of envy in his voice. ‘It’s just a leisure occupation, like birdwatching is to some of the visitors I used to have. Goes out periodically and tries new ways of fishing whenever he’s up in Shetland on business. Owns some land on Sullom Voe, and with all the oil companies negotiating for terminal facilities – well, it helps my being on the Council.’
‘Is that how you met him, through your work on the Council?’
‘No, it was the old man. He put me in touch with him.’ But when I asked his name, he closed up on me and got to his feet. ‘None of your business,’ he said sharply as though afraid I was about to steal the source of his capital. He poked his head out of the wheelhouse door, calling for Harry Priest.
He was about two hours on board and when I saw him over the side – we were anchored off at the time – he said, ‘See Harry keeps at it. A week, that’s all you’ve got. Then you’ll relieve
Island Girl.
’ I stared at him and he nodded. ‘That’s right. On stand-by to
North Star.
I’ve had to send the other boat down to Lerwick for repairs. Damaged herself alongside one of the supply ships and sprang a leak.’ He jumped down into the row boat. ‘See you in a few days’ time.’
That night I lay in my bunk listening to the lap of the water against the wooden sides, conscious of the quiet on board, with all the crew, except Priest, gone to their homes, and wondering who wanted me back with
North Star
, and why. An accident, Ian had said. The
Island Girl
’s relief boat damaged. And he had bought the
Mary Jane.
On the old man’s advice? Was Ian Sandford just an unwitting pawn in a game he didn’t understand, or was it all in my imagination, the feeling that I was cast in the role of scapegoat?
In the week that followed, as Priest overhauled his engine and new gear came aboard, I thought a lot about that half-brother of mine and the strange father we shared. I could have taken time off and gone to see him at Burra Firth, but I didn’t. Somehow I couldn’t face him again, that twisted face. The fact is I was scared of him.
We sailed on 3rd October and Ian came down to see us off with two bottles of Scotch and instructions that all R/T communications were to be handled by Jamie.
‘Does Fuller know who’s skippering this boat?’ I asked him.
‘No. And if he did he wouldn’t care. He’s got other things to worry about, with men leaving and difficulty with mud and other supplies. Everything is in short supply and Star-Trion has to compete with companies that carry a lot more weight.’ He shrugged when I asked him why men were leaving. ‘They say the rig’s bad luck and the man driving them a Jonah.’
‘Ed Wiseberg, you mean?’
‘That’s right. And Villiers’ name stinks.’
‘You realize my name is on the ship’s papers,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Nobody’s going to look at them. Not with the heat on and those that have agreed to stick it out on
North Star
hell-bent to grab the bonuses they’ve been promised.’
It was getting late in the season, too late, I thought, for an old rig anchored in those waters.
North Star
was farther north and a lot farther west than
Transocean III
when she went down. ‘They must pull out soon.’
But he shook his head. ‘Not till they’ve drilled hole No. 3. There’s even talk that they’ll stay out there all winter if necessary.’ He finished his whisky and pushed open the door of the wheelhouse. ‘Anyway, not your worry, and not mine.’ He held out his hand to me, something he had never done before. ‘Have a good trip and stay off the R/T. It gives them confidence if they hear only Shetland voices.’
It was a dull grey morning with a light rain falling as we headed out round The Nev, turning north to take the tide round the top of Unst. The glass was falling, the forecast bad, and by nightfall we were bucking a heavy sea. It was dawn before we sighted
North Star
, the rig slowly coming up over the horizon and the waves breaking in a white smother of foam against the columns of her ‘legs’. Long before we had reached the eastward anchor buoys,
Island Girl
met us, the skipper wishing us joy of it over the loudhailer as he steamed past. I left Jamie to talk to him, keeping out of sight until he was well past us, headed for Scalloway with the wind behind him.
We had an uncomfortable week of it, doing the round of the buoys, rolling our guts out and lying hove-to head-to-wind as a series of small fronts passed through.
Rattler
did not come out once during the whole week. The sea was too rough for her to lie stern-on to the rig, and anyway they were fishing for a broken bit. We heard about it over the radio, van Dam trying to explain the hold-up to Fuller. And then, late on the Monday morning, when they had started drilling again, I picked up Villiers’ voice, clear and very controlled, wanting to know how long before they reached depth, and van Dam answering, ‘Two weeks maybe if ve don’t ’ave no more trouble.’ Information like that, given over an open line to London, indicated the urgency of Villiers’ situation.
Nobody had any time now for lifting and re-laying the windward anchors. I had Jamie check with the barge engineer on duty. It hadn’t been done since they had spudded in on the new location, and when I did manage to get a proper fix, I found they were well to the west of the first drill position.
The water was deeper, the risk greater. And the summer gone now. They were into the period of deepening depressions and stronger winds. No time for a small supply ship like
Rattler
to be fooling around with anchors. And it would probably mean hanging off the drilling string in case
North Star
dragged. A man as desperate as Villiers must be to go on drilling into the start of winter would hardly tolerate such an apparently unnecessary delay.
The wind turned northerly at the end of the week, and when
Island Girl
relieved us on the Saturday morning the sky was clear and cold with cross-seas breaking on the westerly swell. She came close alongside and the skipper shouted across to Jamie, ‘Ye’re to proceed to Rispond in north-west Scotland to pick up some equipment. Ian Sandford’s orders. There’ll be a lorry on the jetty there at 19.00 hours tomorrow evening. Three cases. And you’re to deliver them back to Burra Firth. Okay?’
Jamie nodded and swung the helm, turning away to the south. Fortunately we had Chart 1954 on board and Jamie knew the place – ‘A wee gut they used to call the Port o’ the North. Ah knew a man once who could remember the time when they sailed open boats oot of Rispond round John o’ Groats and all down the east coast to Great Yarmouth for the fishing. Aye, they wore like Vikings, hard boggers, all of them.’
Rispond was a tiny inlet on the north-western point of Loch Eriboll, completely sheltered from the north and east. The distance was about 150 miles. I had the engineer check our fuel. There was plenty to get us there, but not enough to get us back to Burra Firth. ‘We’ll be able to take on diesel at Kinlochbervie,’ Priest said. They all seemed to know the area.