Authors: Margaret Dickinson
‘In London,’ Robert said and he could not keep the edge of bitterness from his tone as he added pointedly, ‘he’s been there the past week.’ Then, with the
deliberate intention of giving his father food for thought, food that might well give him indigestion, he said slowly, ‘Perhaps Francis should have been your chosen bridegroom for Louise,
after all.’
‘So, your fancy man’s running away to sea, is he?’
Jeannie glanced quickly at her husband and then away again. ‘What are you talking about?’ Then deliberately she added, ‘
Who
are you talking about?’
‘As if you didn’t know,’ Tom sneered.
She turned to face him now. ‘Aye, I ken. And I’m tired of it. You shouldna listen to the neighbours’ blether. Mr Robert used to come here to see his nephew or to bring money
for his keep. But he hasna been for years. You know that, yet still you accuse me of all sorts of dreadful things that are . . .’ she stepped towards him and thrust her face close to his,
‘that are not going on. D’you hear me?’ She tossed her head and added, ‘And whilst we’re on the subject, why is your first port of call when you come ashore always to
see
her
? Not quite the actions of a devoted husband, is it?’
Tom was visibly flustered. ‘I don’t. I mean, it isn’t.’
‘Really?’ Now it was Jeannie’s turn for sarcasm.
‘I do see her. Now and again . . .’ he blustered and as Jeannie’s eyes flashed resentment he put out his hand as if to fend off an expected attack. ‘Not for that,
Jeannie. I promise you. Never for that. I never have. But – but . . .’
‘But what then?’
‘There’s things about Aggie Turnbull and this family – our family – that you don’t understand.’
‘Eh?’ Now Jeannie was surprised. ‘What things?’
‘I can’t tell you. Maybe some day, but not now.’
‘Huh,’ Jeannie snorted. ‘Well, I’ve heard some excuses in my time, but that’s a new one. I’ll ask your mother.’
‘No,’ Tom was shouting now. ‘No, you won’t. I forbid you to.’
‘Forbid me?’ Jeannie retorted. ‘How dare you say such a thing to me?’
‘Jeannie, please, don’t say anything to me mam. It’ll hurt her too much.’
Slowly, Jeannie nodded. ‘Very well then, but only for that. And one day you’ll tell me what you’re on about.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Och there’s no “maybe” about it, Tom Lawrence. You will.’ She paused and then asked, feeling in control now, ‘So, what was it you were saying about Mr
Robert?’
‘He’s joined the Royal Navy, they reckon. Gone away to sea. Though why he didn’t just ship aboard one of his own trawlers, beats me. He could have pulled rank, as they say, and
skippered a Gorton boat if he’d been so desperate to go to sea. More fool him, I say.’
Jeannie turned away hardly listening to Tom now. He didn’t even come to say goodbye, was all she could think.
A few months later, at the beginning of 1939, Tom startled Jeannie by announcing that he, too, was going to join the RNVR.
‘You?’ she said unable to keep the surprise from her tone. ‘But if war is declared, you’d be one of the first to have to go.’
‘I know.’ Tom, now approaching his mid-thirties, ran his hand through his hair. He had never achieved promotion, not even to third-hand status never mind mate or skipper, but had
remained a deckie all his working life. It was, Jeannie knew, because he was unreliable.
‘But why?’
‘All the lads are joining. You know, a sort of “Pals Battalion”. A bit like they did in the last lot. And it’s the obvious choice for fishermen. They reckon if the
balloon does go up, the Navy will be commandeering our ships anyway. I s’pose it makes sense,’ Tom shrugged. ‘There won’t be much point in us trying to fish in the North Sea
when it’s alive with enemy submarines. And there’s no point in the trawlers lying idle if there’s a useful job for them to do.’
‘Tom,’ she said, placing her hand on his arm and looking up into his face, ‘don’t – don’t let yourself be pushed into doing something you don’t really
want do. I mean, just for the sake of – of how it looks.’
He stared down at her, his blue eyes troubled, his mouth tight. And then he put his arms about her and drew her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘Oh Jeannie. You know,
don’t you? Have you always known, how I fear the sea?’
She moved her head against his chest in a tiny movement of denial. ‘No,’ she said, her voice muffled against him. ‘Not at first, but I began to realize.’
‘When I missed a trip at the slightest opportunity, you mean?’
‘Aye, something like that.’
Close to him she heard the sigh deep within his chest. Then he pulled away from her and held her at arm’s length looking down into her face. ‘I just wanted to be like me dad,’
he said simply.
‘And you went to sea because of him?’
Tom nodded. ‘And now,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m going to get involved in this blasted war just because I still want him to be proud of me.’
‘Your father would be proud of you whatever you did, Tom.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know so. You dinna have to keep proving yourself over and over again.’
Quietly he said, ‘Maybe I do, Jeannie. Maybe I do, even if only for myself.’
‘Oh Tom.’ She shook her head and there were sudden tears in her eyes. ‘I dinna want anything to happen to you.’
He touched her cheek with calloused fingers. ‘You mean that? You really mean that?’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, now with a trace of impatience. Then, more gently, she added, ‘But you do what you want to do for yourself. I’m not going to stand in your
way, but please, Tom Lawrence, just come home safely.’
As he drew her against him and wrapped his arms about her again, now with a fierce intensity, Jeannie buried her head against his chest and closed her eyes, knowing a sudden fear for her
husband.
Robert’d be safe, she told herself. With his connections, Robert would get a desk job. With his father’s influence, he’d be bound to be in a safe, shore job. He wouldn’t
be sent to sea. At least Robert would be safe, Jeannie told herself.
But what about Tom?
On 26 August 1939, Robert, in London on business, received a telephone call. The voice on the other end of the telephone said, ‘You’re to report to
Lieutenant-Commander Walsh at Lowestoft, Gorton, at 0.700 hours tomorrow. That’s where the Royal Naval Patrol Service has been set up. Bit of a hotch-potch at the moment, but the chaps down
there will soon sort it all out. Walsh asked for you personally. He’ll be mustering his crew and wants you as his first lieutenant aboard a minesweeper . . .’ The man went on with
travel details and finished by saying, ‘Walsh says you have particular knowledge of trawlers. A fisherman, are you? I know a lot have volunteered.’
‘Not exactly,’ Robert replied, not wanting to explain fully. ‘But I do have a knowledge of trawlers, sir, yes.’ He wanted, in this war in which he was obviously going to
be involved now, to be treated on his own merits. Without deliberately lying, he intended to conceal the fact that he was a trawler owner with the distinction of the name Hayes-Gorton. He had
considered using the name Hayes only, and dropping the Gorton, but instead had decided to drop the double-barrelled bit and become plain Robert Gorton. It was doubtful now that the
Gorton-Hathersage Trawler Company would have many ships left by the end of the conflict. He wondered what would happen to his family’s business and if there would be any company left for his
father to cut him out of.
He listened as the voice crackled down the wire giving him further instructions ending with the words, ‘You’ll be going to a place called Havelock. Ever heard of it?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘Oh good. Can’t say I have, but there you are. A chap can’t know of all these little fishing villages round the coast.’
As Robert replaced the receiver, he was smiling to himself, and murmured, ‘What a pity my father couldn’t have heard that last remark.’
‘Jeannie, I’m to report to Lowestoft along with a lot of the other lads.’
‘Oh Tom. So this is it, then?’
‘Looks like it.’
She watched him. There was apprehension in his eyes but something else too. Was it, could it possibly be, excitement? At his next words, Jeannie began to understand a little of what Tom was
feeling.
‘Me dad never went to war. He didn’t serve in the last lot. I’m doing something me dad never did.’
Was that it? Was that what Tom had needed all along? The chance to emerge from the shadow of the big man and be himself? Smiling, Jeannie went to him and put her arms about his waist, saying
again what she knew he needed to hear. ‘We’re all proud of you, Tom, and your dad would be too. Just take care of yoursel’ and get home whenever you can.’
He was back in a few days and the exhilaration was gone already from his eyes. ‘You’ll never believe it. I’ve not only got drafted back to me own home town but on bloody
trawlers turned into minesweepers. I’ll be serving on the same bloody boats I’ve been on all me life. I thought at least I’d get chance to go on a proper warship or summat. But a
bloody trawler . . .’
‘Will you be minding your language, Tom Lawrence,’ Jeannie snapped, disappointed that the first tentative signs of a change in Tom had already been swept away.
‘And that’s not all.’ His expression was resentful, full of loathing. ‘Jimmy the One on my ship is none other than Mr bloody Robert Hayes-Gorton. Lieutenant Gorton, as he
wants to be known now.’
‘Jimmy the Who?’ Jeannie asked.
Tom clicked his tongue against his teeth with exasperation and waved his hand. ‘Oh, it’s the nickname they give to the first lieutenant on board ship. And do you know what I’m
to be called? Sparks.’
‘Sparks?’ Jeannie repeated and then started to laugh. ‘What on earth does that mean?’
With a sudden change of mood, Tom puffed out his chest proudly. ‘I took a course to be a wireless operator when I joined the RNVR. And after the war, I could become a sparks aboard a
trawler. No more eighteen hours – and longer – on deck guttin’ for me, Jeannie.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Nice cosy little room for me from now on. The most
important people on a trawler, is the sparks. A skipper relies on his wireless operator, he does.’
Jeannie glanced at him and then looked away. He was forgetting she was a fisherman’s daughter and knew that every man aboard a trawler was just as important as the next, from skipper to
galley boy. Poor Tom, she thought with sudden sympathy, always trying to prove himself and never quite managing it.
Aloud, she laughed, wanting to hold on to his sunnier temper. ‘Well, sit down to your dinner, laddie, else there’ll be sparks flying in this hoose if you let this meal go to
waste.’
‘So, dear boy,’ Francis said languidly, ‘you’re going to play the hero at last, are you? Well, just mind you take care of our ship and don’t let
her get blown up by the enemy.’
Robert grinned. ‘Thanks, Francis, for your concern about
my
safety.’
They were all gathered together to dine at Samuel Hayes-Gorton’s home, Louise and her widowed mother being present too.
‘I must say, you look awfully handsome in your uniform, darling, doesn’t he, Mummy?’
Conscious that she was a guest, she smiled politely, but, Robert noticed, the smile never reached her eyes which remained as cold as they had always been when turned upon him.
‘We’ll go to London when you come home on leave, darling, and I can show you off to all Madeleine’s friends. Her husband’s joined the RAF and they all make such a fuss
about the glamorous boys in blue, but I think the Royal Navy uniform is even smarter.’
‘Louise, it won’t be safe in London from now on. You really shouldn’t go there any more.’
‘Not go? Not go to London?’ Louise was plainly horrified. ‘Oh Robert, you know I couldn’t stay and stagnate in this place for months on end.’
‘She’ll be safe enough,’ Francis said. ‘It’ll not last long and I doubt even Herr Hitler would dare to bomb London . . .’
Robert and Tom had been going to sea for almost two months, four or five days at a stretch then returning to Havelock for thirty-six hours or so, out of which they were allowed
about eight hours ashore. On 13 November, the first bombs were dropped on British soil: the Shetlands. Jeannie read the news with horror, at once imagining part of her beloved homeland to be laid
waste. People dead or dying and beginning interminable days and nights of living with constant fear. Later that same month, specially designed enemy U-boats began to lay a devastating new type of
mine, the magnetic mine, around the coast of Britain. And so began a game of cat and mouse between the scientists on both sides. The one to invent newer and deadlier mechanisms, the other to find
ways of destroying the mines before they blew up the convoy ships.
Already the war was a devastating reality and the two men were now engaged in trawling the icy waters of the North Sea for a far more deadly fish.
‘Why can’t we go and join up like Dad?’ Joe asked mutinously.
She could not remember ever having seen the two boys so united, standing shoulder to shoulder to argue with her, the common enemy. Though she had to admit that since the time Sammy had found out
the circumstances of his birth, he had not allowed Joe to dominate him. The realization that Joe was his cousin, and not his brother, had strengthened the boy’s character rather than weakened
it. Sammy’s new stance had for a time resulted in some bloody-nosed battles between the two of them. But Jeannie thought that the best way was to allow them to sort it out between themselves.
Now, as they stood before her, she knew she had been right, but, she thought wryly, maybe to her own detriment.
‘You’re no’ old enough,’ she said firmly. ‘You have to be eighteen at least.’ She wasn’t sure if that was exactly right but she was relying upon them
not knowing either. ‘You’re only just sixteen.’
‘We could sign on as cabin boys, couldn’t we?’ Sammy stood beside Joe. ‘We’re old enough for that, aren’t we?’
She glanced at each of them in turn, deliberately making sure that her glance did not rest longer upon Sammy than it did upon her own son. Why was it, she thought, that fight it though she did,
she could never stop feeling more for the boy that was not flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, than she did for the one who was? Just the same, her conscience pricked her, as she worried more
about Robert Hayes-Gorton than she did about her own husband.