Page 40 of The Ship of Brides
‘You’ll still be taking your men home. But you’ve got extra cargo. Six hundred-odd Australian war brides bound for their men in Blighty. The liftwells will be used for the extra berths.’
The welder resumed his work, his torch sending sparks skittering off the metal frame.
Captain Highfield turned to the admiral. ‘But they can’t go on my ship.’
‘It’s the war, Highfield. People are having to make do.’
‘But they travel on troop ships, sir. Liners, where they can cater for them. You can’t have girls and babies and suchlike on an aircraft-carrier. It’s madness. You must tell them.’
‘I can’t say I was entirely happy about it either. But needs must, old chap. All the liners have already been commandeered.’ He patted Highfield’s shoulder. ‘It’s only six weeks. Be gone before you know it. And after all that business with Hart and the mine, it might perk the men up. Take their minds off things.’
But it’s my last voyage. My last time with my men. With my own ship. Highfield felt a great wail build inside him, a fury at the humiliation of it. ‘Sir—’
‘Look, George, the telephone lines to London have been burning up on this one. There’s a bit of a political row brewing up over these wives. The British girls are holding demonstrations outside Parliament because they feel they’ve been forgotten about. Both the top brass and the Australian government are keen not to have that kind of thing repeated over here. It’s caused a lot of bad feeling with the Aussie men, having so many of their women marry out. I think all sides feel the best thing is to get the women away as soon as possible and let the whole thing settle down.’
His tone became conciliatory: ‘I know this is difficult for you, but try to look at it from the girls’ point of view. Some of them haven’t seen their men for two years or more. The war’s over, and they’re desperate to be reunited.’ He noted the rigid set of the other man’s jaw. ‘Put yourself in their shoes, George. They just want to get home to their loved ones as fast and with as little fuss as possible. You must understand how that feels.’
‘It’s a recipe for disaster, women on board.’ The strength of Highfield’s feelings hardened his voice and several men nearby stopped work to watch. ‘I won’t have it! I won’t have this ship disrupted by women. They must understand. They must see.’
The admiral’s voice was soothing, but it had taken on the impersonal bite of someone losing their patience. ‘There’s no babies or children travelling. They’ve picked this lot very carefully. Just fit young women – well, possibly a few in the family way.’
‘But what about the men?’
‘No men. Oh, there might be the odd extra, but we won’t know about that until a few days before boarding. Haven’t had the final short cast on this one yet.’ The admiral paused. ‘Oh, you mean yours. Well, they’ll be on different decks. The liftwells – with the cabins – will be closed off. There’s a few – the, er, ones in the family way – in single cabins. Your men’s work will continue as normal. And we’re putting in all sorts of safeguards to stop any improper mixing – you know the sort of thing.’
Captain Highfield turned to his superior. The urgency of his position had stripped his face of its habitual impassiveness: his whole self was desperate to convey how wrong this was and how impossible. ‘Look, sir, some of my men have been without – without female company for months. This is like sticking a match in a box of fireworks. Did you not hear about the incidents onAudacious? We all know what happened, for God’s sake.’
‘I think we’ve all learnt lessons fromAudacious.’
‘It’s impossible, sir. It’s dangerous and ridiculous and it stands to destabilise the whole atmosphere on the ship. You know how fragile these things are.’
‘It’s really not negotiable, Highfield.’
‘We’ve worked for months to get the balance right. You know what my men have been through. You can’t just drop a load of girls in there and think—’
‘They’ll be under strict orders. The Navy is to issue guidelines—’
‘What do women know of orders? Where there’s men and women in close quarters, there’s going to be trouble.’
‘These are married women, Highfield.’ The admiral’s voice was sharp now. ‘They’re going home to be with their husbands. That’s the whole point.’
‘Well, with respect, sir, that shows just how much you understand about human nature.’
His words hung in the air, shocking both men. Captain Highfield took a quivering breath. ‘Permission to be dismissed. Sir.’ He hardly waited for the nod. For the first time in his naval career, Captain Highfield turned on his heel and walked in anger from his superior.
The admiral stood and watched him travel the length of the hangar and disappear into the bowels of his ship, like a rabbit finding safety in its warren. In some cases such disrespect could prompt the end of a man’s career. But, grumpy old stick that Highfield was, McManus had a lot of respect for him. He didn’t want him to end his working life in ignominy. Besides, the admiral mused, as he nodded to the young ratings to carry on, much as he loved his wife and daughters, if he was truthful, and if it were his ship, he would probably have felt the same.
8
The brides had lectures and demonstrations during the voyage to help them with the shopping and cooking problems of rationing. Their diet on the later stages of the trip was slightly pruned so that the effect of the change to rationed food would not be too severe.
Daily Mirror, 7 August 1946
Five days
With a change of mood as abrupt and capricious as those of the brides on board, the sea conditions altered dramatically outside the stretch of water known as Sydney Heads. The Great Australian Bight, the men said, with a mixture of glee and foreboding, would sort out the sailors among them.
It was as if, having lulled them into a false sense of security, the fates had now decided to demonstrate their vulnerability, the unpredictability of their future. The cheerful blue sea darkened, muddied and swelled into threatening peaks. The winds, born as whispered breezes, grew to stiff gusts, then amplified to gale force, spitting rain on the men who, smothered with oilcloth, attempted repeatedly to secure the planes more firmly to the decks. Beneath them, the ship bucked and rolled her way through the waves, groaning with the effort.
